10. Cag
CAG
The raw pine scent of the cabin skeleton hits me the second I step onto the weathered floorboards.
Three winters and summers have silvered the wood, but the frame is still standing.
So is the ache I’ve carried since the day I walked away from it, and so is the one that hasn’t let up since I saw Juliette standing in the dust at that gas station in her shredded lace.
I don’t stop walking. I close my hand around her wrist, my thumb settling over her pulse as I lead her toward the cabin. The sun hangs low over the back pasture, spilling orange light across the grass and catching in Juliette’s chestnut hair.
She’s mine.
The thought is a rhythmic thrum in my blood, matching the heavy beat of my boots on the grass.
Black Aspen can send their surveyors. Her father can send his suits and his security details with their polished shoes and their hollow threats.
They can restrict the upstream flow and hide behind their filings, but they won’t take her.
And once the easement is authenticated, they won’t keep Pine Ridge’s water either.
“Cag,” she breathes.
The way she says my name—it’s a plea and a demand all at once. I don’t answer. I can’t. If I open my mouth, I’m going to roar. Possession burns beneath my skin, but underneath it is something steadier—the need to show her what bringing her here means.
We reach the cabin. It’s just a shell. Studs reaching up like ribs toward the darkening sky, the roof only half-shingled.
For three years, every exposed beam has reminded me of the life that stopped here.
Tonight, Juliette steps onto the unfinished porch beside me, and the place no longer belongs only to the past.
Her breath is hitching. I can hear it over the rustle of the dry grass and the distant lowing of the cattle near the drying wells. She’s looking at the raw timber, at the way the light filters through the gaps in the walls.
“You built this,” she says. It’s not a question.
“I started it,” I growl. My voice is a wreck, low and jagged. "Then I stopped, and for three years I couldn’t make myself walk out here. You brought me back yesterday. Tonight I came on my own."
I pull her into the center of the main room.
The floorboards creak under our weight. Dust motes dance in the last rays of light, gold and shimmering.
I turn her to face me, my hands moving from her wrist to her waist, pulling her flush against my heat.
I curve my larger body around hers as though the open frame was waiting to hold both of us.
Holding her makes facing this place possible.
“My father is coming,” she whispers, her brown eyes wide, searching mine. “The letter, Cag. He thinks he can just take me back. He thinks I’m a piece of paper he can sign away.”
“Let him try.” I lean down, my forehead dropping against hers. My pulse is hammering in my throat. “The easement gives us a claim. The law gives us a way to fight. And you chose to stand with me.”
The scent of her—that damn magnolia—is everywhere.
It fills my lungs, cutting through the smell of dry earth and weathered pine.
It’s the scent of my ruin and my salvation.
I slide one hand up her back, my fingers splayed, feeling the strength in her shoulders.
She’s not just a runaway bride. She walked away from a life designed to keep her obedient and chose where she wanted to stand.
“Show me,” she whispers, her hands fumbling with the buttons of my denim shirt. “Show me that I’m yours, Cag. Make me forget his name. Make me forget everything but this.”
I don’t need a second invitation. I’m a starving man and she’s the only feast I’ll ever want.
I growl, a low, guttural sound that vibrates from my toes to my scalp, and I claim her mouth.
The kiss is rough at first, but beneath the urgency is the promise I brought her here to make.
I taste her—sweet and frantic—and I kiss her like I’ve spent three years refusing to admit how badly I needed a future.
My tongue sweeps past her teeth, demanding entry, and she gives it, her own tongue meeting mine with a fire that matches my own.
She’s clawing at my shirt now, ripping the buttons free.
They hit the floorboards with soft thuds, but I don’t care.
I need to feel her. I need the friction of her skin against mine.
I shove the denim off my shoulders, letting it fall into the dust. When her palms hit my bare chest, I nearly lose it.
Her skin is cool, but where she touches me, I’m burning.
I reach for the hem of that dress—the simple, sturdy one Linda gave her, not the lace monstrosity she arrived in—and I bunch the fabric in my fists.
I hike it up, my calloused fingers dragging over the silk of her thighs.
She moans into my mouth, a high, needy sound that sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to my cock.
I’m hard, straining against the denim of my jeans, aching to be inside her. I’ve never wanted anything like this. Wanting her has gone past hunger. It feels necessary, as basic as breath. If I don't get inside her right now, I’m going to shatter into a thousand pieces.
I lift her, her legs instantly wrapping around my waist. She’s so tight, so perfectly fitted to me. I carry her back toward the far wall, where the studs are thickest, and I pin her there. The solid center post braces her back while my body holds her against it.
“Juliette,” I rasp against her neck. I’m biting now, marking the pale column of her throat, leaving a trail of heat and ownership. “Tell me. Tell me who you belong to.”
“You,” she gasps, her head tossing back, exposing more of that delicious skin. “I’m yours, Cag. Only yours. Forever.”
The word forever hits me like a freight train. I’ve spent three years terrified of that word. Now, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
I let her slide down my body, the friction making my head spin.
I don’t wait. I can’t. I reach for the buckle of my belt, my fingers clumsy with the sheer force of my arousal.
I rip the leather through the loops, my eyes locked on hers.
She’s watching me, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, her chest heaving.
The freckles on her shoulders are dark in the fading light.
I kick my boots off, then my socks, then I’m shoving my jeans and boxers down. I kick them away, standing before her completely raw. I see her eyes drop, see the way her pupils dilate until her eyes are almost entirely black.
“Cag,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
I reach out, my hand trembling too, and I cup her face. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I’m going to make sure you never forget that you were made for me.”
I find the fastenings at the back of the dress and work them loose, forcing myself to slow down long enough not to destroy another thing that belongs to her. I just need her naked. I need to see her.
The dress falls away, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lace panties that make my vision go red.
Her breasts are perfect—heavy and tipped with dark, aching peaks.
The soft swell of her belly. The wide flare of her hips, generous, real, the kind of shape a man could rest his whole weight against and not break.
She’s strong beneath every soft curve, nothing delicate about the way she holds my gaze.
I don't wait for permission. I drop my head and take one into my mouth, dragging my tongue across the nipple before I suck her deep.
She screams, her fingers twisting into my hair, pulling me closer. I’m greedy. I move to the other one, my hand reaching down to find the heat between her legs. I cup her through the lace, feeling the incredible wetness already soaking the fabric.
“You’re so wet for me,” I growl against her skin. “So fucking slick.”
I hook my fingers into the lace and rip it away.
Now there’s nothing between us. Just the cooling air of the pasture and the heat of our bodies.
I reach down, my fingers finding her clit, and I start to work her.
She’s drenching. My fingers slide through her slickness, and I realize she’s even more ready than I am.
“Please,” she whimpers. “Now, Cag. I need you now.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I grab her hips, my thumbs digging into the soft flesh, and I lift her again. I guide my cock to her entrance, the tip of me brushing against her swollen heat. A bead of precum smears against her, and I nearly come right then.
I look at her. I want her to see this. I want her to see me taking her.
"Show me, princess. Don’t hide a damn thing from me."
She opens her eyes, her gaze blurry with lust and love.
“You’re mine,” I say, the words a vow.
Then I thrust.
I bury myself in her in one long, agonizingly perfect stroke. She’s tight. So fucking tight. Her walls wrap around me like a glove, clenching and welcoming me all at once. I groan, my eyes rolling back in my head as I bottom out, my balls flush against her ass.
She’s gasping, her mouth hanging open, her body trembling with the shock of being filled. I stay still for a moment, letting her adjust, letting my own brain catch up to the fact that I’m finally home.
“You’re so full,” she whispers, her hands gripping my biceps so hard her nails sink in. “You’re so big, Cag.”
“I’m exactly where I belong,” I growl.
I start to move. Slow at first, pulling out until I’m almost clear, then slamming back in. The sound of our bodies colliding—the wet, slapping rhythm—fills the empty cabin. It’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. Every movement drives the promise of this place deeper into me.