Chapter Five
Juniper
By late afternoon, the trim in Wren’s room is dry, and I’ve moved on to the baseboards in the room that’s supposed to be ours. It smells like cedar and fresh. I didn’t ask Elias before claiming the space. We both know Wren will need her own room, and the cabin’s layout doesn’t offer many choices.
Besides, someone has to make this house feel like a home.
I sing softly to myself as I work, a mindless little tune my mom used to hum while scrubbing dishes. When the sun starts to dip behind the trees, my arms ache and my back protests. The sense of pride I feel as I look around the nearly finished space dulls the pain.
I’m covered in sweat, paint, and stubborn feelings for a man who grunts more than he speaks.
Which is why I strip off my flannel, tug off my paint-flecked jeans, and slip into the outdoor tub behind the cabin. The water’s lukewarm, fed by a spring tank Elias rigged up a few months ago. It isn’t fancy. It isn’t private. I couldn’t care less.
The moment I sink into the water, I sigh. The sky is streaked pink and orange. Crickets chirp. The breeze lifts my damp hair.
I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Of course, that’s when I hear his boots on the deck.
“You always bathe in the open like that?”
I crack one eye open. “Only when I want company.”
His gaze flicks from my wet hair to my bare shoulders. His throat works.
“You’re staring,” I say lightly.
“You’re half-naked on my porch.”
“I’m your wife.”
His jaw ticks. “Don’t remind me.” He turns to leave.
“Elias.”
He pauses.
“I’m tired of pretending you don’t want me.”
He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just watches as I rise slowly from the tub, water cascading down my skin. His gaze snaps back to me and holds. For a beat, all I hear is his breathing and the hammering of my own heart.
“You should go inside,” he says roughly.
I take a step toward him, still dripping wet. “Make me.”
That does it. He crosses the porch in two long strides, fists clenched. “You don’t get it. If I touch you…”
I stop him with a hand to his chest. His heart thunders under my palm. “Then touch me.”
His hands are on me in an instant, gripping my waist, dragging me against him. His mouth claims mine, hot and consuming. I melt, kissing him back with everything I’ve held inside. His hands roam, fingers digging into my hips as if anchoring himself to reality.
He lifts me, wet and gasping, and lays me down on the bench like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched. The blanket he throws beneath me is rough against my back, but all I feel is the heat in his eyes.
“Tell me to stop,” he growls again.
I shake my head. “Don’t you dare.”
His mouth trails fire down my neck, across my chest. He hesitates at the waistband of my panties.
“Juniper,” he murmurs, voice strained. “Have you ever—”
“No,” I whisper. “You’ll be my first.”
His eyes darken, and something reverent passes across his face. “Fuck, baby. You’re gonna wreck me.”
He kneels, spreading me open gently, reverently. “Let me take care of you. Let me show you what you’ve been missing.”
He moves slowly at first, his mouth worshiping every inch of skin. He kisses down my stomach, then parts my thighs with his rough hands and lowers his mouth to me.
The first stroke of his tongue shatters me.
I arch up, gasping. “Oh my God—Elias!”
“Sweet girl,” he murmurs against me, “you taste like sin. So soft and so fucking sweet.”
He eats me like a man starved, like he’s been dreaming of this for years. His tongue flicks and circles, teasing, then plunging deep. One hand holds my hip, the other slips beneath to rub tight circles over my clit. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. Every time I cry out, he groans like it’s a reward.
My body trembles. My thighs shake. I reach down and tangle my fingers in his hair.
“Elias, I—”
He lifts his head just enough to growl, “Come for me, Juniper. Let me hear you fall apart.”
I do. It crashes over me like a wave, violent and consuming. I scream his name as I shatter, hips rocking, stars behind my eyes.
When I finally stop shaking, he rises over me, mouth glistening, eyes burning.
“You’re fucking perfect,” he mutters. “Every inch of you.”
When he finally settles between my thighs again, hard and ready, he braces his forehead to mine.
“This might hurt.”
I nod, breathless. “I trust you.”
He kisses me then, deep and slow, as he pushes inside. I wince, tightening around him, but his hand strokes my thigh, his lips murmuring comfort.
“Jesus, Juniper,” he rasps. “You feel like heaven, so fucking tight. So wet. You’re squeezing me like you were made for me.”
The sting fades. The fullness doesn’t. He starts to move, slow at first, letting me adjust. Letting me feel every thick inch of him. Then faster when I meet him, pulse for pulse. My name is a prayer on his lips. His name becomes a chant on mine.
“You’re mine now,” he groans, hips snapping. “Say it.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. “Only yours.”
“Good girl. So fucking good.”
He thrusts harder, deeper, angling to hit something inside that makes me cry out again. His thumb finds my clit, and the second orgasm rips through me, fierce and blinding.
I sob into his mouth. “Elias—oh God—”
He groans as he follows me over the edge, buried deep, spilling inside me with a low, broken moan.
When it’s over, we’re tangled and shaking. He wraps me in the flannel blanket, pulls me onto his lap, and holds me against his chest like he never wants to let go.
I rest my cheek against his heart, listening to it thunder beneath my ear.
Neither of us speaks. Eventually, I drift off in his arms, but just before I fall completely asleep, one thought anchors itself in my mind: What happens now?