26. Cala
Oliver spends a lot of time with his nieces and nephews, teaching them how to ride with the same patience he once had with me.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this happy.
His brothers are everywhere, exploring different corners of the property like it’s some kind of family retreat.
Killian, for instance, runs every morning. And yes, not looking at him is nearly impossible. The man’s a walking billboard for bad decisions—his torso is completely tattooed, and his muscles look like they were carved by an Italian sculptor.
Silas is usually sprawled out on one of the outdoor couches—which, by the way, Eliza had to dust off because no one ever used them. His wife lounges beside him, though she always has her laptop open, multitasking like a pro.
Luca is the first one I see most mornings.
I’ve discovered he’s much more talkative when it’s just the two of us in the kitchen.
We even bonded over a book he was reading; it turned out I’d read it a few years ago.
When I mentioned I used to work as a journalist, he bombarded me with questions until I had to escape to get back to work.
His wife, Emma, is an incredible artist. Every sunset, I find her on the balcony, painting the view of the ranch. She promised the finished piece would be a gift for me, and honestly, that made my entire week.
I was never the kind of girl who had a lot of close friends, but the Green sisters treat me like we’ve known each other forever—and I absolutely love it.
This morning, while I was feeding the cows, Lauren told me that she and Emma went to the same high school as the Walker brothers—and that Silas used to be her bully.
I stared at her with my jaw practically on the ground as she told me how much he used to drive her crazy. But then she said she eventually realized that he actually loved her.
And honestly, I believe it. You can see it in his eyes every time she walks into the room. I just can’t picture him ever being hostile toward her now.
Emma’s story is a little more tragic. It involved years of bad timing and even worse communication, but they found their way back to each other a few years ago. And now they’re so happy it’s almost ridiculous.
So here I am, getting the full Walker family backstory, and I’m absolutely fascinated.
My father hates every second I spend with the Walkers.
Ever since I chose to go with Oliver instead of staying with them at the rehab center, he’s barely spoken to me. Now, he only acknowledges my existence when he wants to give me an order or to remind me how much he disapproves.
I try to ignore it. I really do.
But I can’t shake the ache that comes from knowing my own father wants to box me into a world where women keep their heads down, where I’m supposed to believe that someone like Oliver—wealthy, educated, from a different world—doesn’t belong beside me.
That’s what hurts the most.
He and my mother raised me to look at the world with an open mind, so I don’t understand why, now that life has stripped us down to what’s real, he can’t be happy for me, for us.
Oliver is the loneliest man I’ve ever met, someone who needed help and, if I’m being honest, someone I needed too.
In a sea of gray days and quiet monotony, Oliver gave me something no one else ever did.
Pure love. Grateful love. New love.
Dinner stretched late into the evening, each moment overflowing with laughter and heartfelt stories shared by the Walkers and their wives.
The warmth and liveliness at the table made me feel more at home than I had in a long time.
When the last dish was cleared and the conversation finally faded, I slipped away to my room—my new space in the house.
I chose this room so that Mila could fully appreciate the beautiful one Oliver created just for her.
As soon as I slide my feet under the sheets, I hear that familiar knock on the door, the one that tells me Oliver’s coming because he needs me, because he wants to be near me.
“Come in,” I whisper.
His head appears first, scanning the room until his eyes find me.
“Can I?” he murmurs.
I nod and shift to make room for him. He lies beside me, pulling me into his arms.
His broad chest presses against me, radiating warmth that seeps into my skin and makes me feel safe.
The familiar scent of him, strong and undeniably masculine, fills my lungs with every breath.
I savor it, drawing him in as if he were an addiction I cannot give up.
In these quiet moments, surrounded by the feeling of him close, I realize how deeply I crave the comfort and connection he gives me.
“I want you to sleep in my bed from now on,” he says, his lips pressed against my forehead. He kisses me softly and holds me tighter. “I know it’s scary, but once everyone’s gone, I’m going to talk to your father and—”
“Oliver…” I start, but he cuts me off with the next words that leave his mouth.
“I love you, Cala. And I know you feel something for me too.”
I sit up, my eyes wide.
“You love me?”
His hand traces the stars inked along my arm until he finds my fingers. Then he pulls me onto his lap, my knees straddling his hips.
“I do,” he whispers. “And don’t feel pressured; you don’t have to say it back unless you’re ready.”
I cup his face in both hands and kiss him, slow and certain.
“I love you too,” I murmur against his lips.
Oliver pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes burning with a hunger that makes my chest ache.
In the next second, his mouth crashes against mine, and my head starts spinning from how wild he’s become, just because of those words.
Words that should’ve been obvious to anyone.
Of course I love him.
But hearing them out loud has him undone, and he shows it with a kiss that’s both fierce and impossibly tender.
Without letting go of me, he rolls me onto the bed and leaves me lying on my back before hurriedly pulling off my pajamas.
He gently caresses my breasts with his hands and sucks my nipples. “You’re mine, Cala.” His voice is possessive, focused on my skin.
One of his hands travels down my waist and teases me with two fingers.
My moans increase as he penetrates me mercilessly with his fingers while caressing my clitoris in circles with his thumb, igniting the fire that consumes me and taking me to the edge.
“Oliver...” I gasp. “I need you inside of me.”
Inside me.
On top of me.
Anywhere.
“I am,” he whispers, his tongue tracing my jaw and sending shivers down my spine.
My orgasm builds and explodes, ripping me apart. Oliver silences my moans with a passionate kiss, our tongues caressing each other erotically.
I gently wrap my right hand around his cock and, this time, there are no spasms in his muscles. I guide him to the center of my body, and he teases my entrance before slowly penetrating me. I try to pull my hand away, but he holds it in place.
“No, I want to feel you while I fuck you. I want your hand close by.”
I nod, my eyes burning with desire. I’m so turned on that I’m willing to say yes to anything he wants.
Oliver begins to thrust until he fills me completely. We both pant in unison until my body adapts to his size. The thrusts become frantic and Oliver’s eyes focus only on me, on my face and my pleasure, with absolute devotion.
He lowers his head and kisses me amidst the wild thrusts without breaking contact with my body. Our breathing synchronizes, our foreheads are covered in sweat, and our moans are low so that no one can hear us.
In and out.
With each thrust, I experience more pleasure and sensitivity between my legs, until one thrust sends an electric wave through my body, opening me up and making me scream.
“God, Oliver!”
“I know, I know,” he pants, his lips pressed together. I know he’s about to climax because he speeds up, causing our bodies to collide violently.
Oliver relishes having his tense body buried inside me and I dig my nails into his back.
When we wake up from the most mind-blowing orgasm I’ve ever experienced, our eyes meet, filled with gratitude and love.
“God, I love you so much, intruder,” he says, caressing my flushed cheeks until we melt into an embrace and sleep all night, glued to each other.