27. Hank
Chapter 27
Hank
I t’s been a long damn day. My back aches, my hands are raw from fixing fence posts, and my stomach’s been grumbling since noon. But none of that bothers me as much as the nagging thought in the back of my mind—Ivy’s been at the house all day. Alone.
Not that she can’t handle herself. She’s got more grit than she lets on. But she’s not used to this kind of quiet, this kind of isolation. City girl like her, stuck in a cabin with no cell service? No Wi-Fi? I bet she’s climbing the damn walls by now.
The porch is empty when we get back. No sign of her. My chest tightens, though I tell myself I’m being ridiculous. She’s fine. She’s probably curled up by the fire, nose in a book, or messing around in the kitchen, hopefully not borderline burning the place down.
I just need to see her. Make sure. Without making it obvious that’s what I’m doing.
The smell of fresh popcorn greets us, but it’s not the only surprise waiting. Ivy kneels on the floor, surrounded by a tangle of tiny bodies.
Kittens. There are kittens. Gremlin is nursing a litter of newborns, their soft mews barely audible, Wyatt and Holt come to a standstill beside me, eyes wide with shock.
“Hey, you’re back,” Ivy says, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face with her wrist. “Look what we’ve got here.”
Wyatt crouches next to her, poking at one of the kittens with a gentle finger. “A regular cat factory,” he says. “Think we should start naming them?”
“Don’t get attached,” Holt warns, plopping down on the couch with a thud. “Although, maybe you should. Hank does have a track record with strays.”
“Very funny,” I say, though my voice sounds distant, even to me. I’m caught by the way Ivy looks, exhaustion and calm wrapped in one stunning package. There’s a softness to her that I haven’t let myself see until now.
Ivy shifts, making sure every kitten is settled. Her fingers brush over Gremlin’s fur, and I see the dimples in her cheeks as she smiles. It hits me like a punch to the gut. I’ve been telling myself to keep my distance, that getting close would only lead to trouble. She’s hiding something and she’s surely going back to her real life once the winter is over. But seeing her like this, I feel something shift inside me.
She’s beautiful in a way that’s raw and real, and I can’t deny the pull I feel toward her.
I should step back before I let myself get any more tangled up in this. But damn if it isn’t getting harder to ignore. She is getting harder to ignore.
She glances up at me then, and for a second, it’s like I can’t breathe. There’s no teasing smirk, no guarded expression—just Ivy, looking at me like I’m something steady in a world that’s never given her solid ground. And hell if that doesn’t shake me worse than anything else.
I clear my throat, dragging a hand through my hair. “They doing okay?”
She nods, stroking Gremlin’s fur. “Yeah. I think she’s got it handled, but I want to keep an eye on them tonight. Just in case.”
Of course she does. Because Ivy might not have planned for this, but she sure as hell isn’t the type to walk away when someone needs her.
I force my feet to move, stepping back toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab some water and clean up. You should try to get some sleep, too.”
She hums a soft agreement, but I know better.
Holt and Wyatt turned in hours ago, but Ivy’s still fussing over Gremlin and her little kittens. I should be in bed, too. I intended to do just that, but my feet found their way back here without my permission.
So, here I am, lingering like a creep in the doorway, watching her.
She looks different in the dim glow of the firelight. Softer. She’s barefoot and wrapped in one of my old sweatshirts she must’ve found in the laundry basket. It’s too big on her, sleeves hanging past her wrists, the hem brushing her mid-thigh.
I swallow hard and lean against the frame, clearing my throat just enough to catch her attention. She turns, blinking sleepily at me. “Couldn’t sleep?”
That’s it. That soft, innocent question is the last goddamn straw.
I’ve spent weeks shoving this feeling down, trying to be the reasonable one, the steady one. But I can’t keep pretending. Not when she’s sitting there in my sweatshirt, looking like she belongs in my home, my space—like she belongs to me.
Fuck it.
I’ve had enough of pretending, enough of keeping my distance.
I push off the doorframe, closing the space between us in a few long strides. Her eyes widen, surprise flickering across her face, but she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t look away.
“Ivy.” Her name comes out rough, more of a growl than a word.
She barely has time to breathe before I wrap a hand around the soft curve of her throat, tilting her chin up, forcing her to see everything I’ve been holding back.
And then I kiss her.
Hard. Desperate. Every pent-up emotion I’ve been shoving down, every stolen glance, every late-night thought—I pour it all into her. She melts into me, fingers gripping my shirt, pulling me closer like she’s been waiting just as long for this.
I don’t remember carrying her to my room, but I sure as hell remember the way she gasped when her back hit my mattress, the way her legs wrapped around me when I covered her body with mine. She feels like she belongs here.
Maybe she does. Maybe I’ve been fighting the inevitable.
I brace myself above her, my forehead resting against hers, trying to catch my breath. She deserves a second to stop this before I lose every ounce of control I have left.
But Ivy doesn’t stop me.
She lifts her hips, pressing up against me and my vision goes dark around the edges. “Hank,” she whispers, her voice wrecked, pleading.
That’s all it takes.
I groan, deep and guttural, as the last thread of restraint snaps. My mouth crashes against hers, and she takes everything I give her—every ounce of need, every unspoken word. My fingers dig into her hips, pinning her beneath me, feeling the way she arches into my touch.
I tear my shirt over my head, barely breaking the kiss before I’m pulling hers off, too. My palms find her bare skin, warm and smooth, her body trembling under my touch. She’s so damn beautiful it almost hurts to look at her.
I drag my lips down her neck, tasting the delicate skin, biting just hard enough to make her gasp. Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging, urging me closer, and fuck, I’m already gone for her.
“Tell me you want this,” I murmur against her collarbone, my voice wrecked.
Her breath shudders. “I want this.” Her hands skim down my back, nails biting into my skin, and then she adds, “I want you.”
Thank fuck.
I make quick work of the rest of our clothes, watching the way she shivers beneath me, eyes wide, lips swollen.
I take my time, sliding my hands over every inch of her, memorizing the way her body reacts to mine, the way she gasps when I kiss my way down her stomach and the noise she makes when I nip at the inside of her thigh. I love the way she writhes when I finally give her what she needs, tasting her, dragging her closer until she’s falling apart beneath me.
And that sound—her breathless little whimper when she shatters—I’ll never forget it.
I press a kiss to her hip, then move back up, catching her mouth in a slow, deep kiss. Her fingers trace down my chest, over the hard lines of muscle, and when she wraps her legs around me again, pulling me closer, I nearly lose my damn mind.
No more waiting. No more distance.
I shift between her legs, lining myself up, but the second my tip presses against her slick heat, she tenses. Her breath hitches, fingers digging into my shoulders.
I freeze. “Ivy?”
She swallows hard, her cheeks flushed. “It’s just…I mean, you’re—” She flicks her gaze down between us, then back up, looking both nervous and wrecked with want.
I huff a quiet laugh, pressing my forehead to hers. “You’ve seen me before. First time we met, if I recall correctly.”
“Yeah, and I wondered how the hell that’s supposed to fit inside a person.” Her voice is half teasing, half serious, her thighs squeezing instinctively around my hips. “You’re…big isn’t even the right word for it. That thing is a monster. There’s no way that’ll fit.”
I drag my mouth along her jaw, nipping at her skin. “You can take me, baby,” I murmur. “But we’ll go slow.”
I slide my fingers between her legs, finding her soaked and ready, but I don’t rush it. I stroke her gently, working her open, teasing those breathless little whimpers from her lips. When I push one finger inside, then two, her body tightens around me, but she’s already melting, rocking into my touch.
“Feel good?” I ask, my voice rough.
She nods frantically, arching into me, her nails leaving little crescent moons on my shoulders. “More,” she whispers, and fuck if that doesn’t make me harder.
I take my time, making sure she’s ready, savoring every sound she makes. I need her desperate, need her mindless with it. And when she finally starts begging— Hank, please —I know she is.
I pull my fingers away, guiding myself back to her entrance. “Breathe for me, sweetheart.”
She exhales as I push inside, slow at first, savoring the way she stretches around me, the way she gasps and clings to me like she never wants to let go.
Neither do I.
I start to move, slow and deep, setting a rhythm that has her gasping my name over and over. Her nails rake down my back, her body lifting to meet every thrust, and I can’t hold back anymore. I grip her wrists, pinning them above her head, claiming her in every way a man can claim a woman.
She’s everything I didn’t know I needed.
I drive into her harder, deeper, chasing the edge until I feel her tighten around me, her body shaking as she comes apart. The sound of my name on her lips, breathless and broken, sends me right over with her.
Afterward, I don’t move. I stay right where I am, my forehead resting against hers, our breaths mingling, our bodies still tangled together.
I should pull away.
But I don’t.
I just hold her tighter, knowing damn well I’ll never be able to let her go.