Emily
I lay in bed, watching Tucker move around the room in just his boxer briefs, muscles flexing as he checked the locks on the windows—his nightly routine, a habit from his military days that he’d probably never break.
Not that I minded the view.
Six months together, and he still made my mouth go dry.
He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”
“Maybe,” I bit my lip, feeling absolutely wanted and unashamed to let my husband know that. And what I needed. He’d done that for me—made me feel desired in a way I’d never experienced before. Like my curves were something to worship, not tolerate.
He climbed onto the bed, caging me in with his arms, his body warm and solid above mine. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
“Oh?” I traced my fingers down his chest, feeling the scars I knew by heart now. Each one a story. Each one a part of him. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about how good you looked in my shirt this morning.” His lips brushed my jaw. “How I wanted to strip it off you and make you late for work.”
Heat flooded through me. “I wasn’t wearing anything under it.”
His eyes darkened. “I know.”
“You knew?” I gasped as his hand slid under my night shirt—one of his t-shirts that I had confiscated. What was the use of being married to a big, mountain man when you couldn’t steal his clothes. “Why didn’t you do something about it?”
“Because you had patients to see.” His thumb brushed the underside of my breast, teasing. “And I’m trying to be responsible.”
“Well, I don’t have patients now.” I arched into his touch. “So stop being responsible and kiss me already.”
He smiled—that rare, beautiful smile that was just for me—and lowered his mouth to mine. The kiss was slow and deep, taking its time.
Six months together and kissing him still felt like the first time on the side of the road. My toes still curled and my heart raced.
His hands roamed, sliding the shirt up and over my head, leaving me bare except for my panties. He pulled back to look at me, and I fought the urge to cover myself. That old instinct to hide.
But the way he looked at me made all those insecurities go quiet in an instant.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hands cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing over my nipples until they peaked. “Every single inch of you.”
He lowered his head, taking one nipple into his mouth. He sucked and licked, lavishing attention until I was squirming beneath him, my hands fisted in his hair.
“Please,” I gasped.
“Please what?” He switched to my other breast, his hand sliding down my stomach to the waistband of my panties. “Tell me what you want.”
“You. I want you.”
“You have me.” His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding me wet and ready. “You’ve had me since the day you knocked on my door with that bag of pills and that stubborn chin.”
I would’ve laughed, but he chose that moment to slide a finger inside me, and all coherent thought fled. I arched into his hand, chasing the sensation, the pleasure building low in my belly as I rocked into his touch.
“That’s it,” he growled against my neck. “Take what you need.”
He added another finger, stretching me, his thumb finding my clit and circling with just the right pressure. I was already close, wound tight from the anticipation, from the way he touched me like he had all the time in the world.
“Come for me,” he commanded, and I shattered, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crashed over me.
Before I could catch my breath, he was pulling off my panties and positioning himself between my thighs. He gripped my hips, lifting them slightly, and I wrapped my legs around his waist.
“I love you,” he said, his eyes locked on mine as he pushed inside, slow and deep, filling me completely.
“I love you too,” I gasped, my body adjusting to him, welcoming him home.
He set a rhythm that was slow at first, almost torturous, making me feel every inch of him as he moved and in. But as my nails dug into his back, as I urged him to go faster, harder, he gave me what I needed.
What we both needed.
The headboard knocked against the wall with each thrust, and I didn’t care. Didn’t care if the whole mountain heard us. All I cared about was this—him inside me, above me, loving me with his body because words were still hard for him sometimes.
But this? This he was fluent in.
“Touch yourself. I want to see you touch yourself.”
I slid my hand between us, finding my clit, and the added sensation made my insides start to flutter. He watched me with hooded eyes, his jaw clenched with the effort to hold back, to wait for me.
All it took as a few more thrusts and I came with a cry, my body clenching around him, pulling him deeper. He followed seconds later with a groan, burying himself to the hilt as he emptied inside me, his body shuddering with his release.
We stayed like that for a long moment, connected, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.
Finally, he rolled to the side, pulling me with him so I was curled against his chest, his arm tight around me.
We lay there warm under the covers he’d pulled over us, comfortable in the silence, in each other’s presence. This was my life now. This cabin on the mountain. This man who loved me.
“Emily?”
“Mmm?”
“I want you to move in. Officially.”
I lifted my head to look at him. “I practically live here already.”
“I know. But I want it to be real.” He opened the nightstand and pulled out a small, black velvet box.
My throat went tight. “Tucker—”
“I’m not good with words. You know that.” His hand cupped my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “But I want a life with you. A real one. Here on this mountain. Marry me, Emily.”
“That’s an awful big step, Tucker.”
“Yeah, it is. But it’s one I want to take with you.”
Tears pricked my eyes. “If you’re sure.
His mouth crashed down on mine. “That’s my line, sweetheart. Say yes, Emily. Be my wife.”
“Yes,” I whispered and he kissed me again, this time slow and sweet and full of promise. When he pulled back, his eyes were warm.
“Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”
“Good,” I echoed, snuggling back against his chest. “Because I’m never leaving.”