13. Piper
Piper
The sting of a backhand wasn’t new—my mom always did favor that move.
But the way Travis’s hand snapped out, just like hers, dragged up old memories I’d buried deep.
For a split second, I could almost see the faded wallpaper of my childhood home and smell the coppery tang of blood that got tangled in my hair.
But I refuse to let anyone make me feel like that small and powerless little girl ever again.
Not Travis.
Not Lorraine.
Nobody.
My face is swollen and tender to the touch, and I don’t need a mirror to know it looks bad. But hell, Travis must look worse. The memory of his nose crunching under my fist shouldn’t feel as rewarding as it does, but karma’s a bitch, and sometimes she throws a hell of a right hook.
Motherfucker—I hope he stays ugly for the rest of his life.
The past few days have brought more drama than my entire life combined, and that’s saying something, considering I grew up with a parent who treated warning labels as suggestions. But breaking Travis’s nose? That’s a whole new level of complicated .
Jesus. I broke his son’s nose.
A laugh bubbles up before I can stop it because watching Travis’s head snap back like that was so worth it.
No regrets here.
But then there’s the reminder that he’s Christian’s son. He’ll never choose me over his kid. I’m not naive enough to believe that, and I wouldn’t want him to either, but god, the way he makes me feel… it’s consuming me.
They say when something only intensifies with time, it’s the universe telling you to follow your heart, and right now, my heart is leading me straight to him.
My bags are still by the kitchen door where I left them yesterday, before everything went to hell. Before Travis showed his true colors, and before Christian looked at me like he wanted to tear the world apart to keep me safe.
That look is branded into me now.
I can’t walk away from here tonight without doing something for that cowboy—not after everything he’s done for me.
That’s why, first thing this morning, I went hunting for Preston.
I found him in the barn, tending to the horses, and before I could even get the whole plan out of my mouth, he was already nodding and eager to help.
But the second his gaze landed on my face, his playful demeanor vanished.
He saw the mark—the one I’d tried desperately to hide with three layers of concealer and failed miserably at—and his whole body went rigid.
Without a word, he closed the space between us, wrapping one strong arm around my shoulder, and then, with a voice that was deadly calm, he muttered, “Whoever did this to you, I’ll tear his goddamn balls off. ”
But he already knew who did it without me saying a word.
Neither of us said anything else about it because Preston trusts Christian. He knows the kind of man he is and that he’ll take care of his business. And deep down, I know it too.
We snuck the fir inside while Christian was out in the fields chopping down trees for the families.
Today was so busy he didn’t have a moment to spare—not for me, not for anything except the demands of keeping this place running, and Lord help me, I couldn’t stop watching him work. Even from a distance, he was magnetic.
The way his muscles flexed with each swing of the axe made it look like he was built to ruin women the way he splits wood.
Sweat rolled down his neck, soaking through the fabric of his shirt until it clung to his back like a second skin despite the December chill.
It was straight-up smut—the kind of thing you read with your thighs clenched, then circle back to later with the lights off and your hand buried between your legs.
I had never wanted to be an axe so damn bad in my life. Not until I stood there, blatantly staring—a full-grown woman shamelessly ogling a cowboy, mouth practically watering, like a thirsty heroine in a five-star, absolutely depraved filth-fest.
That axe was living my best life, cradled in those large hands, and I wasn’t even ashamed of my jealousy.
I know Christian said he doesn’t do Christmas decorations, but after everything he’s done for me—the way he’s protected me, sheltered me, and treated me like I matter—I needed to leave something behind. Something that says I was here, that I saw him, and that he’s worth celebrating.
Savannah had been more than happy to play accomplice, bringing over twinkle lights from her coffee van, her big blue eyes bright with mischief, like she hadn’t done something this exciting in years.
When she caught sight of the mark on my face, she didn’t ask questions. She just reached for me, wrapping her hands around mine and holding on tight, grounding me in a way only someone who truly gets it can.
Preston contributed a dusty box of forgotten decorations from the farm’s storage, acting all casual about it but grinning like a kid the entire time.
I arranged everything just so, setting the tree beside Christian’s favorite armchair, right by the window where he surveys his kingdom and can see it while watching over everything else he loves.
Now I’ve been standing at that window for what feels like forever, my packed bags still sitting by the door. But I need to see his face when he sees this. I need one last memory to take with me before I walk away .
The sky has deepened into that rich winter purple when I finally spot him.
His silhouette cuts through the fading light like something wild and untamed—worn jeans, work boots, a flannel under that heavy coat, and that damn cowboy hat that does things to my insides.
I swallow hard, turn from the window, and position myself by the tree.
My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s rattling my ribs as I clench my sweater in my fists, trying to look casual, like I didn’t just spend hours touching every branch, hanging every ornament, and pouring every bit of myself into creating Christmas magic for a man I have no business wanting this badly.
“Piper?” His voice rolls through the house, followed by the heavy tread of his boots.
“In here.”
He rounds the corner, and my breath catches when his gaze lands on the tree. For a split second, panic flares in my chest—maybe I overstepped—but then his fingers graze along the stubble on his jaw, and his lips pull into the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.
“So this is why I haven’t seen you today, huh?”
“I had to do it. I couldn’t leave knowing you didn’t at least have a tree. It didn’t feel right.”
“You know, I think it’s taken seeing one in here to realize that you’re probably right.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah, Piper. I like it.” He takes a small step forward, and I tilt my chin up, meeting his eyes.They’re deep brown with hints of caramel at the edges, warming to liquid gold where the tree lights hit them. It makes him look almost softer. Almost .
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I push the words past the tightness in my throat, forcing my body to move before I do something stupid. I step past him, reaching for my coat, when his hand catches my wrist.
“Stay.” He’s looking at the tree, chin tucked down, hat tipped forward like he’s trying to hide whatever’s written across his face. “Please stay.”
Finally, his gaze drops to where his thumb is pressed against my wrist, the rough pad brushing against my pulse .
“Why?” I ask, and his grip tightens just enough to make my pulse skip.
“Can’t answer that, but I do know I’m not ready for you to leave.” He releases my wrist, only to find my cheek, his fingers ghosting over the bruised skin there.
“If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. But I won’t keep lying about what I want.” I swallow hard, my chest rising and falling with the truth of it. “So if you can’t handle that, you need to let me go.”
“And what is it you want, darlin’?”
“I want you to stop looking at me like I’m your son’s girl.”
Something primal sweeps across his face, swallowing the last shred of restraint he’s been clinging to.
His hand shoots up, thumb hooking beneath my chin, forcing my head back until I’m right there with him.
The breath I was about to take gets trapped somewhere between my chest and my throat because I see the exact moment I stop being Travis’s girlfriend and transform into something else entirely.
His breathing turns ragged, his chest rising and falling like he’s waging a war inside himself and losing. Everything about him screams power and dominance, an undeniable reminder that I’m standing in front of a man, not a boy. And fuck, it does dark, needy things to me.
“I’ve been fighting this since the day my brother hired you—since the day my whole fucking world turned into a living hell because my son took you first and claimed what I should’ve never had to share.”
This is what’s been simmering beneath every stolen glance and every moment we pretended not to feel the weight of our attraction. This is what’s been owning him just as much as it’s owned me.
“Then stop fighting.”
Please. Fucking please.
Those midnight eyes catch mine before falling to my lips.
“Open,” he growls.
When I part my lips for him, he slides two fingers inside, dragging them slowly across my tongue. He watches me like he’s already inside me, like this is just foreplay for how thoroughly he plans to wreck me.
I’m a goddamn mess, sucking on his fingers like my life depends on it, cheeks hollowing out as I swallow them down. His eyes go black, jaw ticking as he watches me like a predator drinking in the sight of his prey.
“Fuck,” he exhales, his voice wrecked. “I can just imagine you on your knees looking up at me while I fuck that pretty mouth. You’d take my cock so good, wouldn’t you, darlin’?”
He slides his fingers deeper, pressing down on my tongue until I gag, and then he fucking smiles. When he pulls his fingers out, he drags them down my chin before sucking them into his mouth, and in my delusional, romance-poisoned brain, it feels almost like a kiss.
He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. “Can’t touch you while that mark is on your face. But when it fades…”
He doesn’t say another word. He just brushes past me like he didn’t burn those words into my skin, grabs my bags, and disappears up the stairs without a backward glance.
Ruined without a single fucking kiss.
The sound of the shower starting just a moment after the door slams shut does nothing to calm the fire in my blood. If anything, it makes it worse, knowing he’s in there, naked and wet, probably trying to get himself under control.
I head to my room on unsteady legs, finding my bags beside the bed.
I can hear the water and see the image behind my eyelids like a cruel tease—Christian, those broad shoulders, standing under the spray, steam clinging to his golden skin, water trailing down the ridges and valleys of muscle carved by years of hard farm work.
His hands raking through dark, damp hair.
His jaw clenched tight, his body wound with the same overwhelming frustration that’s making it impossible for me to fucking breathe.
I drop onto the bed, legs spread, the door still wide open. My gaze is fixed on the bathroom door, and I’m almost willing the walls to dissolve to give me even a glimpse of what I know is just beyond.
The ache simmering low in my belly is unbearable, but I already know I won’t find the relief it’s crying out for because the stubborn bitch between my legs isn’t interested in a consolation prize.
She doesn’t want my hands or battery-operated stand-ins.
She’s developed expensive taste and only wants Christian, and the demanding diva is making it crystal clear that nothing else will do .
My hand slides beneath the waistband of my leggings, fingers finding the evidence of just how far gone I am.
I draw tight, slow circles against my clit, my breath catching, my body arching into my own touch like it’s not enough—because it isn’t.
It isn’t his fingers, his mouth, or his cock stretching me wide and filling me the way I need.
It takes seconds—barely a whisper of pleasure—before my thighs snap together, my lips part, and his name tumbles past them in a breathless moan. But even as the aftershocks pulse through me, I keep going. I keep rubbing and teasing because the need hasn’t left me.
The shower cuts off, and panic slams into me.
I yank my hand away from my leggings, my chest heaving as I remain sprawled against the headboard.
Suddenly, the bathroom door swings open, and a moment later, Christian is standing in the doorway of my room, fresh from the shower.
Steam curls behind him like a storm rolling in while water drips from his skin, lazily tracking over every defined muscle before slipping lower and disappearing beneath the towel hanging too low on his hips.
He doesn’t ask what I was doing.
He doesn’t have to.
The flushed skin, the way my breathing is still uneven, the way I’m just lying here, staring at him, looking thoroughly fucked even though I haven’t had him yet.
I watch his brain tick over, watch him connect the dots, and then his mouth curves into that smile that says, Oh, darlin’, I know exactly what you were doing in here.
I shift slightly, pushing up onto my elbows, trying to make this look less suspicious, but there’s really no good way to explain why I’m lying here, looking like I wasn’t just desperately trying to fuck myself into submission with my own hand.
He steps close, and my eyes trace the planes of his chest, drinking in the dark scatter of hair that makes him so unapologetically male. But it’s that tempting trail leading south, that taunting path of hair that disappears beneath the towel, that has my body thrumming.
He plants one knee on the mattress, and the bed dips beneath his weight as he leans in, crowding my space.
He’s so close that if I just reached out, that towel would fall, leaving him bare, exposed, and mine to take.
Before I can move, his hand wraps around my wrist, dragging my fingers toward his face.
When I realize what he’s about to do, it’s already too late to stop him—not that I would.
His eyes burn into mine as he inhales deeply.
His lashes flutter slightly, and Jesus fucking Christ, I feel the moment it hits him.
His grip tightens, and I watch as he pulls the scent of my arousal into his lungs like it’s his next breath.
“Good girl.”
Kink unlocked.
Core wrecked.
Soul left the chat.
“Now do it again.”
Then, just like that, he releases me and stands back up like he didn’t just fundamentally alter my brain chemistry. He reaches for the door without looking back and disappears, leaving me here like the mess I am.
Yeah, there’s no way I’m leaving this farm without knowing how he feels inside me.
I’ll make him mine.
Or I’ll break him trying.