Chapter 21-Tank
Her place is small. Cozy. Smells like vanilla, coffee, and something just a little citrusy—like the lotion she keeps on her nightstand.
It’s cute.
Like her.
And it’s big enough.
For now.
But even as I park my bag inside her bedroom without asking, even as I move through her space like I belong here, I’m already making plans.
I’ll build us something—warm and wide open, with enough space for her to work, for us to grow.
Somewhere she’ll never have to feel like she’s taking up too much room.
She hasn’t said a word since we walked in.
Still speechless.
Still unsure of what to make of me strolling into her kitchen like I’ve got any right to be here.
My brother? He just gave me a shit-eating grin and drove off, looking way too pleased with himself.
Probably texting Finley that the big brute finally got the girl.
Whatever.
I ignore his dumb ass and open her fridge, scanning the contents.
“Want something to eat?” I ask, voice low and even as I glance over my shoulder at her. “That bacon sammie was small.”
She’s still standing by the door, purse dangling from her hand, eyes wide and uncertain.
Like she’s waiting for me to vanish.
Like I’m just a dream that followed her home from the mountains.
“Dani.” I close the fridge, step toward her, slow and careful. “You okay?”
Her throat bobs as she swallows. “You didn’t ask.”
“I didn’t think I had to.”
She looks up at me, eyes brimming with questions. With hope. With fear.
And I get it.
But I also don’t care.
I close the distance, take her hand, brush my thumb over her knuckles.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
She blinks fast.
“You live in a house with four other rugby players.”
Her voice is small. Testing.
Like she’s bracing herself for the reality of what this is—of what we are.
But I don’t hesitate. Not for a second.
“Correction,” I say, taking a step closer. “I used to live in a house with four other rugby players.”
Her brow furrows, lips parting, but I keep going.
“The second you kissed me? I started looking for something else. The second we got snowed-in? I knew it was you. I was always supposed to be with you.”
That gets her.
Her mouth opens. Closes. She blinks up at me like I just short-circuited her brain, and fuck, it’s adorable.
She’s processing, fighting it, analyzing like she always does when her heart’s ahead of her logic.
But I’m done waiting for her to catch up.
I lean in and drop a kiss on her forehead.
Soft. Steady.
Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Because it is.
“So,” I murmur, “food? Or should I just keep standing here until you kiss me again?”
Her breath catches—then escapes in a half-laugh, half-sigh.
And it’s the first real sound she’s made since we walked into her house. Her home.
Our home if I have anything to say about it.
Maybe this will be a slow build.
That’s okay.
I’m not going anywhere.
Because I already know how this ends.
With her.
And then she mutters it like a vow.
Like surrender.
“Oh, the hell with it.”
And grabs me by the collar.
Fast burn it is.
The second her mouth crashes into mine, I’m gone.
All my careful planning, my patience, my promises to let her set the pace? Out the window.
Because this? Us?
It’s wildfire.
She’s tugging my shirt up, her hands frantic, scratching down my back like she’s trying to memorize every inch.
I rip it over my head, breath heavy, heart pounding.
She fumbles with my jeans, and I swear my cock’s so hard it’s fighting her.
“Hang on,” I grit, trying not to lose it as I yank them down.
Her shirt’s bunched above her tits and she spins around, dropping her pants and planting her palms on the kitchen table.
Bent over. Waiting.
Goddamn.
Her arse is thrust out, smooth and round and shaking slightly with need.
“Hurry, Hudson. I need you,” she whimpers, voice breaking.
I almost come just from hearing that.
My jeans are halfway down one leg, and I kick them off like they’re on fire.
“I got you,” I promise, stepping up behind her, both hands steady on her hips.
“Hang on, Sweetheart. I got you.”
I line myself up, easing forward, and I pause.
“You sure you’re ready?”
Because I know I’m not small. I’m not easy. And I’d rather die than hurt her.
She looks back over her shoulder, eyes wild and full of emotion.
“Hudson,” she whimpers.
Then nods.
And I groan.
“Thank fuck.”
I push inside, slow at first—just the tip—and sweet hell, she’s hot. Soaked.
Tight and pulsing like her body’s calling to mine.
Her breath catches. Her back arches.
“More, Hudson,” she pants. “Gimme more.”
And, fuck me, I do.
I grip her hips, possessive, reverent, and I give her every inch.
Harder. Deeper.
I push every inch of me all the way until my balls are snug against her sweet arse.
Until she’s trembling around me, her moans echoing off the walls, her body quaking with every stroke.
Dani’s panting, gripping the table, knuckles white, head thrown back as her body tries to keep me inside her.
Like she doesn’t want to let go.
“Mine,” I growl, the word ripping from my chest.
Her name is a prayer on my lips.
Her pleasure? My mission.
Her everything? My purpose.
Her perfect pussy squeezes my cock, and our gazes crash into one another, just like our orgasms.
Simultaneous. Cataclysmic.
Earth shaking.
Fuck—it’s like the earth tilts off its axis.
She cries out my name, body convulsing, back arching, as I go with her.
It’s so hot. So perfect.
Just like her.
Just like us.
Oh, this one was different.
It was better. More. Meaningful.
And I know I want it every single fucking day for the rest of my life.
It’s not just release. It’s not just sex.
It’s home.
It’s us.
Perfect. Raw. Real.
I hold her there for a long moment, chest to her back, arms caging her in like I could protect her from everything.
Because I will.
Then I carefully pull out, wrapping her in my arms before she can drift too far.
I lift her off the ground and walk us both to the big bed, settling her first than me beside her on the soft mattress.
“No running,” I murmur against her hair. “Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”
And she doesn’t argue.
She just melts into me.
We curl up beside one another, bodies tangled beneath a blanket, lights glowing low.
Her head rests on my chest. Her breath soft. Steady.
And I swear I’ve never felt more whole.
Not in my whole goddamn life.