7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Lucy
The fire crackles in the stone hearth, casting flickering shadows across the log walls of Tank’s cabin. It’s exactly what I imagined—warm, lived-in, smelling of pine, earth, and something distinctly him.
His paintings hang in quiet corners, rough-hewn shelves lined with books, and a massive leather couch sits positioned near the fire, looking as worn and comfortable as the man himself. The space is a reflection of him. Rugged, strong, but undeniably inviting.
And tonight, I get to be part of it.
I stand in the center of the room, my heart pounding as Tank watches me.
He hasn’t touched me yet. Not since we stepped through the door. But the weight of his gaze is enough to make me shiver, enough to send a slow, aching pulse of heat curling low in my belly.
His blue eyes darken as he steps closer, his fingers reaching for the hem of my shirt.
"Lucy," he murmurs, voice rough, reverent. "Tell me this is real."
I swallow hard, pressing my palm to his chest. Beneath my fingertips, his heart beats strong and steady, though the tension in his body tells me he’s barely holding himself back.
Is it real?
The truth is, I don’t really know him. Not in the way that matters on paper. I don’t know his past, the details of his life before he came to Hawks Roost.
But I do know him.
I know the essence of him. The way he moves through the world, steady and unshaken. The way he looks at me, like I’m something worth holding onto. I know he’s a good man, and that he’d never hurt me. Not in a million years.
My fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. "It’s real, Tank."
That’s all it takes.
His mouth crashes against mine in a deep, soul-stealing kiss. His hands wrap around me, strong and sure, pulling me flush against his body. I melt into him, my fingers tracing the ridges of muscle beneath his shirt, feeling the power in his frame.
He lifts me effortlessly, as if I weigh nothing, carrying me toward his massive bed—solid wood, hand-carved, covered in soft blankets that smell of cedar and warmth.
He lays me down gently, as if I’m something precious, something he intends to cherish.
His hands trail slowly up my sides, his fingertips leaving a path of fire in their wake. When his lips brush against the sensitive skin just below my ear, I shudder.
“I don’t do anything halfway,” he murmurs, his voice a promise against my skin.
"Me either," I breathe, my fingers threading into his hair, pulling him closer.
Tank takes his time, his lips trailing down my body in reverence. He undresses me with the patience of a man who wants to savor every inch of what’s in front of him. And he does.
Oh, God. He does.
His mouth explores, his hands mapping out every dip and curve, his touch sending shivers down my spine. He worships me—not just with his body, but with his eyes, his words, the way he whispers my name like it’s something sacred.
“Lucy,” he murmurs, pushing my knees apart so he can admire the view of my most intimate place. “You’re fucking prefect.”
He licks his lips, and my clit throbs with desperate need.
“Take me,” I beg.
“Not yet, beautiful,” he murmurs. “First, I need to taste you.”
He lowers his face to my wet pussy, slowly teasing my clit with his tongue. I whimper, dying to be devoured. “More. Please, Tank. More…”
I grip his hair in my hands, grinding against his face. He chuckles, and I feel the vibration in every nerve ending in my body. I’m so close… so close to shattering into a million pieces. He laps up my juices before pressing a finger to my swollen clit.
The sudden touch… the sudden pressure… it’s enough. I slide over the precipice, coming harder than I ever have in my life.
Before I’ve even stopped shaking, Tank has moved over, pressing the tip of his rock-hard cock against my slick folds. “Mine,” he growls.
“Yours,” I gasp. “Please…”
He plunges into me, taking what’s his. Claiming me.
He’s motionless for a moment, letting my walls adjust to the size of him. Then we move together, and it’s slow and deep. Every stroke, every touch, unraveling me in ways I never thought possible. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, and it’s fucking glorious.
He’s taking what’s his, but he’s also giving what’s mine .
And when pleasure crashes over me a fraction of a second before he spills into me, it’s not just physical—it’s something more.
For the first time in my life, I understand why it’s called lovemaking.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in the dim glow of the fire. My head rests against his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breath lulling me into a blissful haze.
His fingers trace lazy patterns along my spine, a silent kind of devotion in his fingertips.
He presses a soft kiss to my hair. "Let me know when you’re ready for more.”
“More?”
Tank grins at me. “I promised to make you come again and again and again, didn’t I? I owe you at least one more orgasm by the end of the night.”