Chapter 7
SEVEN
WARRICK
Instead of turning on the coffee machine, or keeping myself busy hiding that fucking tent and the rest of her things, I find myself standing at the bottom of the stairs listening for her.
I don’t know what I’m expecting to hear.
The window doesn’t make enough noise that I’d know if she was climbing out and trying to make a run for it, but I still don’t move, straining to hear anything that proves she’s still here.
After spending well over a year wondering what crazy fucking Kool-Aid my brothers and teammates have drunk that made them lose their shit over women they barely knew, I finally get it. Having her here has settled the frantic anxiety that’s been humming beneath my skin since the moment I saw her.
Verity is mine, and I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep her, even if that means locking her in this house so she can’t leave.
The prospect of having to go back to work in a couple of days makes me feel nauseous.
I need to make her unequivocally mine between now and then, and I have no idea how to do that, or even if it’s possible.
A sound catches my attention, and I climb up two steps, turning my ear in the direction of the noise while I try to figure out what it is.
When there’s nothing but silence, I exhale and prepare to go back into the living room, only to hear something else, something that sounds like a wounded animal or my perfect girl’s pain.
Before I can stop myself, I climb up two more steps, holding my breath so I don’t miss another sound.
When I hear it again, I know exactly what it is.
She’s crying. No, she’s sobbing, the sound invoking a response in me that’s so strong, my heart actually pulses in rhythm with the sounds of her pain.
I know I shouldn’t, but I climb the stairs, pausing for a moment outside the bedroom door that I stupidly pulled almost closed when I left.
If I hadn’t, I’d be able to see her now, but instead I’m impatiently waiting outside the door, wanting to go inside but unsure if my presence will help or hinder her right now.
One, two, three, four, five. I count to twenty in my head, giving her an opportunity to settle and the privacy to handle her own emotions, but the moment twenty comes and the sound of her desolation escalates, I storm through the door, stuttering to a stop at the sight of her crumpled into a heap on the floor.
Enough. I don’t know if I say it in my head or out loud, but either way, this is as much as I can take. Falling to my knees, I slip my arms beneath her and tug her into my chest, wrapping her tiny trembling body in my arms until I can feel her everywhere, her body heat merging with mine.
I hate her pain. I hate her sadness, but holding her this way makes my dick pulse and thicken, wanting to replace her tears with gasps of pleasure.
It’s fucked up to be turned on in this moment, but I want her, all of her.
I want her pretty or disheveled. Crying or smiling.
Weak or strong. I want it all, and now that I’ve had her in my arms, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let her go.
“Shh, amore mio, your tears are killing me. It’s okay, I’m going to make it all okay. I’ve got you. I’ll make it better. I’ll take away all your tears,” I coo into her hair, pressing her face into my chest as her tears soak my shirt.
I’m barely aware of everything I’m saying, but as I promise her the earth, I know I mean every word. I was meant to find this girl. I was meant to take care of her, to protect her, to coddle and look after her, and I can’t fucking wait to start.
Cupping her cheek, I turn her tear-stained face to look at me, and then I lean down and press a kiss against her forehead.
I want to taste her lips, but not now, not like this.
I plan to kiss her tears away soon, but those won’t be tears of sadness or heartbreak.
They’ll be tears of desperation and need when I tease her over and over, not letting her come until she gives herself over to me completely.
Only then will I make her mine. Only then will I sink my cock into her cunt.
“You’re safe now, amore mio, you’re home.”
Whispering into the top of her head, I do my best to reassure her that I have her now, that I have her, and that she’s not alone anymore. I don’t know how much she hears or understands, but I’m making those promises to myself as much as her.
I feel the moment she fights her way through her grief and comes back to the present. As she stiffens in my arms, I debate releasing her, or at least loosening my hold, but I don’t want that. I want to keep her here like this. Soft, sweet, and engulfed by me.
“Warrick,” she croaks, her voice low and thick with tears.
“Yes, amore mio?”
“I’m sorry.”
“You never have to apologize,” I chide her.
“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I’m a mess. I should go. I can call a cab, or find a ride, or walk,” she mutters, pushing at my hold on her.
“What did I just say, amore mio?” I question.
“What?”
“I asked you what I just told you?” I repeat.
“You said I didn’t need to apologize, but—”
“And what does that mean?” I ask.
“Warrick.”
“What does it mean, Verity?”
“That…that I shouldn’t apologize.”
“Exactly. So don’t do it again.”
“I’m sorry,” she immediately says, not managing to stop herself.
“We’ll work on it,” I assure her.
“I…should go.”
“You’re not going anywhere. This is your home now.”
“No. I can’t—”
“You have nowhere else to go, amore mio. You staying in that fucking tent isn’t an option. You live here now. I’ll take care of you; I’ll keep you safe.”
“I don’t need—” she starts, but her protests are so weak she doesn’t even manage to finish her sentence.
Loosening my hold on her just enough, I hook my finger under her chin and tip her face back to look at me.
“I’m going to take care of you, amore mio.
From now on I’ll make sure you have everything you need.
You’ll never sleep on the ground again. You’ll never be cold or scared or alone. You’re home now, Verity.”
Hope and trepidation flare to life in her eyes as she looks up at me, and it solidifies every thought and need and desire I’ve had since the moment I laid eyes on her.
This is exactly what was meant to happen.
I was meant to see her. I was meant to wait for her.
I was meant to find that fucking godforsaken tent, and I was meant to bring her home… to me.
“I can’t,” she tries again, but I press my thumb to her lips and silence her.
“You can, and you will.”
Her lips part, but I shake my head, stopping her before she can start talking. “No more, amore mio. Let’s go and get you a drink and maybe a snack. You need some sugar and to rehydrate.”
Standing with her in my arms, I lower her to her feet once I’m upright, wrapping her hand in mine as I lead her out of the bedroom and downstairs. Once we’re in the kitchen, I keep hold of her with one hand while I pull out a bottle of water and a beer from the refrigerator.
Twisting the top off the bottle of water, I hold it out to her.
“Can I have a beer?” she asks.
“No,” I tell her.
“I’m practically twenty-one.”
“I don’t care,” I tell her, not bothering to explain that she won’t be drinking from now on, no matter how old she is.
A tiny pout twists across her lips, but she doesn’t argue, even though I can tell she wants to. Instead of opening the beer I pulled out for myself, I put it back in the refrigerator and take a bottle of water instead, opening it and taking a deep drink while she watches.
Following suit, she brings her bottle to her lips and drinks, mimicking me. The moment the first swallow hits her throat, she drinks thirstily, finishing almost half the bottle without taking a breath.
Her cheeks start to turn pink when she notices me watching her, but instead of speaking, I nod approvingly, then reach up and open a cabinet, pulling out a bag of Swedish Fish candy.
Verity’s eyes light up at the sight of the candy, and I remind myself to add more bags to the list of groceries I need to order.
Until recently, we haven’t been able to get deliveries this far up the mountain, but an industrious kid who recently started working at Granny Annie’s diner realized that there was a gap in the market and started acting as Rockhead Peak’s version of DoorDash.
But instead of using an app, he set up a cell phone number, where you text him what you want and from where, then send him the money on Venmo, and he collects it and delivers it up the mountain.
According to Knight’s wife, Octy, the kid is making an absolute killing and is so busy he’s reduced his hours at the diner to lunchtime only so he can keep his regular daily gig taking lunch orders and getting the crazy big tip Knight pays him daily to make sure his and Octy’s lunch arrives promptly at one p.m. each day.
Tearing open the packet of Swedish Fish, I take one out, then lift it to Verity’s lips.
When she reaches out to take it, I pull it back, offering it to her lips again the moment she lowers her hands.
Eyeing me warily, she parts her lips, and I place the candy on her tongue, watching as she closes her mouth around it and starts to chew.
Truthfully, I know I shouldn’t be coming on this strong yet, but I can’t help it. The instinctual desire to care for her is pushing my actions, and as long as I don’t cross a line, I’m hoping she won’t freak out and try to run from me.
If she does, I’ll have to cross that bridge when it happens, but tonight she’s all mine. Pulling out a fish, I pretend to offer it to her, then eat it myself, chuckling when her expression turns scandalized.
Picking another candy from the bag, I bring it to her lips and watch as she easily opens for me to place the treat on her tongue. An errant thought fills my mind. Can I make her open this easily for my cock too?