Chapter 12
Juniper
I’m still trying to figure out what Rhett has up his sleeves. I don’t buy for a second that he brought me out here to talk or even just to admire the view. And, god, is it beautiful.
No, this has something to do with how I teased him earlier.
Finally, I say, “You said this is what happens when two people stop pretending.”
He nods.
“So what happens next? Do we bare our feelings for each other? Go on a date? Act like nothing’s changed?”
His gaze searches mine. “You’re asking because you’ve never done this.”
It’s not even a question. He just knows.
I swallow, but say, “Yeah.”
“You never dated anyone when you left?”
I look off into the distance. “I wouldn’t call it dating by any means. I slept with a few men. That’s it.”
My chest is tight as I say the words. I slept with those men to try to erase what happened to me. To feel something other than shame. It didn’t work then which means it won’t work now. Hell, it might even be worse because I actually care about Rhett. The thought has me pausing.
Rhett doesn’t speak right away. The silence stretches, heavy as the darkness settling over the ridge.
“You think I’m judging you,” he says quietly.
“Aren’t you?”
He shakes his head. “No. I’m trying to figure out what you’re telling me.”
“That I’ve been on my own for a long time,” I say. “That I don’t do this—whatever this is.”
His jaw flexes, and he glances at the horizon before looking back at me. “Then let me make it easy for you. Come here.”
“Why?”
“So we can stop pretending a little more.”
My stomach flips. “You’re impossible.”
He grins. It’s the kind of grin that makes promises he intends to keep.
“And you’re still over there.”
I finally scoot toward him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his body.
The wind stirs the hem of my shirt, and when his hand brushes mine, it’s deliberate.
He doesn’t kiss me right away. He just looks at me like he’s cataloging every reaction, every flicker of doubt or want that crosses my face.
Then, in a low voice that hums with restraint, he says, “This isn’t about games, Juniper. You wanted to know what happens when two people stop pretending? It’s choosing to stop fighting what’s been true the whole damn time.”
When he finally leans in, his mouth barely grazes mine, a ghost of a kiss that’s more promise than act. My breath catches.
“Still think I brought you here to talk?” he murmurs.
“Maybe.”
He shifts closer, his thigh brushing mine. The contact is warm and somehow grounding. His hand moves up, cupping the side of my face again, and this time he kisses me like he’s giving me every chance to pull away.
I don’t.
My fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, but he doesn’t let me have control. His mouth moves over mine, coaxing, but not taking. He kisses me like he wants to rewrite every careless touch I’ve ever known, and it breaks something deep inside of me. Which is why I kiss him back.
When he finally pulls away I’m breathing hard and he rests his forehead against mine.
“Tell me what you want,” he says.
“You,” I whisper.
He smiles faintly. “You already have me. But I’m not rushing this.”
“Rhett—”
He cuts me off with another kiss, this one softer but deeper, dragging me under again. His hands slide through my hair, down my back, his touch everywhere and nowhere at once. The restraint in him is maddening because I want him to break.
By the time he pulls back again, my heart is pounding, and my body is trembling with need.
I grab his shirt, desperate. “Please.”
His lips curl with satisfaction and something tender flickering in his eyes.
“That’s what I was waiting for,” he says, voice rough.
When his lips cover mine there’s no more patience or pretending.
Just heat, honesty, and the slow surrender neither of us can take back.
It’s the kind of kiss that wrecks you from the inside out.
I don’t just feel it in my chest. I feel it in my spine, my fingertips, and definitely in the hollow ache low in my belly.
He pulls back just enough to look at me, thumb grazing my bottom lip like he’s checking if I’m real.
“You sure?” he asks, voice ragged.
I nod, breathless. “Yeah. I’ve never been surer.”
That’s all he needs.
He unbuttons my shirt slowly, watching my reaction as he draws it over my shoulders and tosses it aside. His hands follow the path of exposed skin like it’s sacred. He palms the curve of my waist, runs a rough thumb beneath my bra, then leans in and presses a kiss just below my collarbone.
“You drive me out of my mind,” he murmurs against my skin.
I tug at his shirt, and he lets me strip it off, revealing muscle and tension and a body that feels like fire pressed against mine.
His jeans and my shorts are next, fumbled with between hot kisses and ragged laughs.
There’s nothing polished about it. It’s messy and breathless and soaked in everything we’ve been denying.
There’s a moment when we just stop and stare at each other. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, but I’m wondering how this is really happening. How can someone like him be attracted to someone like me?
“Good?” He asks.
I know if I were to say no he’d stop and that would be the end of it. But I don’t want to stop.
“Good.”
His smile steals my breath.
“Good,” he echoes.
And then his hands are everywhere, coaxing me apart until I’m gasping beneath him.
My bra and panties are next and then his boxers.
I lie back on the blanket, spreading my legs for him.
His grin is wicked as he moves over me, pressing a kiss to my lips.
When he finally slides into me, he does it slowly, like he’s trying to memorize the way we fit together. For a moment neither of us moves.
Then he does.
And the rhythm builds slowly like a promise.
It’s not quiet. I moan his name into the crook of his shoulder, fingers dragging down his back as he drives into me.
He kisses my throat, my jaw, my lips. Our bodies move in sync and the air around us is thick with heat and need and the sheer inevitability of this moment.
Time blurs. So do the stars.
When I shatter, it’s with his name on my tongue and his hands locked around mine. He follows a heartbeat later, burying his face in my neck, voice broken, body trembling. We stay like that, tangled, breathless, and silent.
Then he shifts just enough to look down at me.
“That wasn’t something casual,” he says.
I look up at him, vulnerable in a way I never let myself be. “I know.”
He finally pulls out, and I feel the aftermath of us—raw and hot—slip down my thigh, and I shudder.
Rhett rolls onto his side, propping himself on one elbow as he looks at me. He reaches out, drags the back of his knuckles down my stomach, a slow trail that makes me twitch.
“We’ll need to go into town,” I say hoarsely. “I’m not on birth control.”
“I figured.” His voice is still dark, gritty with the edge of restraint. “You want kids one day?”
I pause. “Maybe. I haven’t thought about it much.”
That’s a lie. I’ve thought about it a lot. He raises a brow but doesn’t push.
“What about you?” I ask. “Do you want them?”
“Yeah.” His tone drops even lower. “But only with the right person.”
A chill skates down my spine. I try to ignore it.
“Why not with Tilly?” I ask.
He scoffs. “Having a kid with that woman would’ve been the worst mistake of my life. I’d be stuck dealing with her for eighteen years minimum.”
“Fair,” I mutter, curling closer to him. My skin’s cooling in the night air. His is still warm.
Rhett shifts and rubs my arm. “Come on. Let’s get back to the house.”
We dress quietly, but the silence between us isn’t awkward. It hums with the afterglow. He slings his shirt over his shoulder and holds the blanket under one arm. We’re halfway to the truck before he threads his fingers through mine like he’s done it a hundred times.
When we reach the tailgate, I turn to ask what he’s thinking but I don’t get the chance.
He slams his mouth to mine. Hungry. Rough. No warning.
And he’s already hard again.
His jeans do nothing to hide it, thick and pressing into my belly as he cages me against the truck.
“Guessing that’s for me?” I ask, fingers grazing the bulge.
“Hell yeah, it is,” he growls. “You think I can get enough of you after that?”
He grips my hips, hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around his waist without hesitation.
“You ever been fucked against a truck, Juniper?”
My breath catches. “No.”
“You’re about to be.”
My back hits cold metal, but his body follows fast, all heat and pressure and hunger. He grinds against me.
“You feel what you do to me?” he murmurs against my neck. “Still wet for me, aren’t you?”
I nod, trembling, but he wants words.
“Say it.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “I’m still soaked for you.”
He groans like he’s about to lose it. “You like being messy for me, don’t you? Like being full of me.”
I nod again, helpless. Drunk on him.
He works one hand between us into my shorts, touching me between my legs where I’m still wet. Just long enough to make me cry out.
“Fuck,” he mutters, dragging his fingers back up to my lips. “Taste what you do to me.”
I do.
And when he pushes inside again, it’s with a low growl. The thrusts are deeper this time. Filthier. Like he wants to fuck every thought out of my head and make damn sure I remember who I belong to.
“Has anyone’s ever had you like this?” he rasps, panting against my ear.
“No,” I breathe. “Only you.”
“Damn right.”
The rhythm builds. I’m gasping, grabbing at his shoulders, moaning loud enough to make the coyotes scatter. He grits out praise and filth in equal measure, calling me sweet girl, dirty thing, the best goddamn mistake he’s ever made.
I fall apart in his arms, back arching, stars burning overhead.
He follows with a rough, broken sound, pressing kisses into my neck like he’s trying to ground himself.