Chapter 5 Good Girl
Good Girl
Mac’s mouth crashes to mine, ruthless and claiming.
Bruising and hot, while the storm rages outside, forgotten.
Nothing exists now but this—our bodies drawn tight with need, the press of his chest, the taste of his mouth, the certainty that we’re both standing at the edge of something we can’t take back.
He spins me, chest to wall, and pins me there—hard. His palm fisting in my hair, jerking my head back so his lips graze my ear.
"I'm gonna fuck you," he rasps. "It's going to be messy. Angry. And Hard. The way you've been begging for it since the second you ran into me."
"You ran into me," I snap, but my voice betrays me—breathless, shaking.
"No," he snarls. "You ran into me."
His hand yanks at the waistband of my pants, dragging them down rough and fast, panties with them, baring me in seconds. The cool air hits my skin, and I gasp—but then his fingers are there, sliding between my thighs, and all I can do is moan.
"Look at that," he mutters. "Soaked. You've been fighting me with your mouth, but begging with your body."
I want to deny it. Should. But I can't.
I hear the hurried sound of his zipper, the rustle of fabric as he frees himself. Then I feel him, thick and hot, nudging against my entrance.
"I’m going to give you exactly what you've been asking for, unless you say stop," he growls.
"Oh my god, just fuck me already."
His eyes flare when I say the words—just fuck me already—like I’ve finally surrendered the truth we’ve both known since the moment we collided.
“Finally,” he growls, voice gone guttural. “I know what you need. Hard. Fast. Dirty. Raw. You need to be fucked, not coddled.”
And then he gives it to me.
He slams into me with a single, brutal thrust that knocks the air from my lungs. I cry out—sharp, startled, wrecked—as he buries himself to the hilt.
“God—” It’s not a prayer. It’s a curse. A plea. A confession. "You feel good."
He thrusts and I scream—not from pain, but from the sheer shock of how good it feels to finally let go.
His grip is relentless—one hand on my hip, the other wrapped tight around my wrists behind my back, pinning me, holding me there while he pounds into me like he owns every inch.
“You like this,” he snarls against my neck, voice shredded and breathless. “Need to be fucked until you forget how to fight me.”
I moan, a raw, helpless sound. My body bucks into his thrusts, instinct overriding everything else—logic, shame, pride—none of it matters now.
“You pretend you don’t want it. Act like you’re in control.” His hand slides up my spine, fingers tangling in my hair to yank my head back. “But your body tells the truth.”
He moves like he's angry. Like he owns me. Slamming into me over and over, breath hot on my neck, mouth dragging over my skin with growls and curses and promises I'm too far gone to process.
He bites down on my shoulder, not hard enough to break skin—but enough to mark. Enough to brand.
"You think I don't see it?" he pants. "You think I haven't noticed? You think I don’t know what you need?"
My only answer is a broken cry as my body clenches around him.
He kisses me then, messy, consuming, biting at my lower lip as I fall apart beneath him.
My climax tears through me like a live wire. Blinding. Violent. My vision goes white, knees buckling, mouth open on a silent scream as I shatter in his grip.
He groans, curses, drives into me once, twice more—then stills, buried deep as he jerks with his release, growling into my neck like a man possessed.
His shudder rocks us both.
For a moment, we're still, pressed together, panting, and ruined. Then he leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear.
And all I can think is—God help me, I’d let him do it all over again.
“I’ve thought about this since the second you ran into me,” he breathes, voice thick and gravel-laced. “I wanted to fuck you then. All that attitude. All that bite. You don’t know what you do to me, Josephine.”
The name punches straight through my fog.
“My name is Jo,” I mutter, breath still shaky.
His hand drags slowly along my ribs, thumb brushing under my breast with quiet ownership.
“Not for me. I’ve been inside of you, Josephine, and I’ll call you what I damn well please,” he growls, rough and close. “What I’ve earned. When you hear your name on my lips, you’re going to remember this moment. The moment I claimed you.”
His mouth finds the curve of my neck again, open and hot. “You fight like you want to be tamed. You come like you want to be wrecked. I’m going to do all of that and more, and Josephine…."
"Yes?"
"I’m just getting started.”
Reality seeps back slowly. I become aware of Scout watching us with canine confusion, the dying fire in the stove, the fact that my pants are around my ankles, and Mac is still inside me, his breathing gradually returning to normal against my neck.
Carefully, reluctantly, we disentangle. I pull my pants up with trembling fingers, tug my shirt down with hands that won’t stop shaking. The air feels colder without him.
Too quiet. Too real.
And I can’t meet his eyes.
"We should check the weather." The words scrape from my throat, brittle and false.
His laughter catches me off guard—low, rough, almost amused. But there’s nothing soft about it.
"You think we're going to check the fucking weather?" He reaches for my hand, his fingers warm as they intertwine with mine. "After sex like that?"
He tugs me toward him—gently, but there’s no mistaking the intent. He spins me, makes me face him. And God, his eyes… all the fury and fire is still there, but now it’s laced with something worse. Something better. Something dangerous.
"Mac—"
“Yes, Josephine.” My name leaves his lips like a vow. His hands cradle my face, tender but unyielding, thumbs grazing my cheekbones like I’m something holy and breakable. Like I’m his.
I try to laugh, try to brush it off, back away—but the walls press close, the storm howls outside, and I’ve got nowhere left to run.
“That was a mistake. Just heat and adrenaline. It didn’t mean—”
“Don’t." His voice is a snarl, low and vibrating with control he’s barely holding. "You don’t get to dismiss this.” His eyes darken. His grip tightens. Not enough to hurt—just enough to hold.
“Don’t pretend what happened was accidental. Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie to yourself just because you came so hard you forgot your own damn name.” His grip tightens. Just enough to anchor. Not to hurt.
My stomach flips. My knees go soft.
“You came apart around me like you’d been waiting your whole fucking life for it.
If you want to talk about mistakes? That wasn’t one.
You’re not above needing what I gave you?
I know the truth. I felt it in the way your pussy clenched around my cock.
Heard it in the way you begged under your breath. ”
He leans in, lips brushing mine without kissing.
“You don’t get to run from this.” His fingers tighten just enough to halt me, thumb brushing across my cheekbone like a promise. “I don’t regret a goddamn thing,” he says, voice low and steady. “And I don’t regret taking you hard, the way you need it."
He leans in, lips brushing the corner of mine, not quite a kiss—more like a claim. His voice is low, steady. Dangerously calm.
I try to step back, but there’s nowhere to go. Just walls. Just him. Just us.
His fingers trail up my side, slow and certain, slipping beneath my shirt, rough palms grazing bare skin. Not tentative—testing. Measuring what I’ll take. How far I’ll let him go.
“I see you, Josephine.” His words rasp against my throat. “I see the part of you that doesn’t want soft or careful. You need to be handled. You need to be fucked like it matters. Like it consumes. You need a man who won’t hold back.”
His breath drags against my cheek, heat and promise. His lips brush the corner of mine, his voice low and certain, like a vow made in shadows.
“And I will. I’ll show you what it means to be wanted without apology. Fucked like it’s survival. Like I’ve waited my whole life for the permission your body gave me the second you stopped pretending you didn’t crave this.”
My breath catches, but I don’t pull away.
“You want to be touched like a storm. Felt in the aftermath. You want to be shaken down to your bones and held there, right at the edge.”
His other hand catches the back of my neck, fisting just enough to make me tilt my head, forcing my gaze to his.
“I’ll take you there,” he growls, eyes burning into mine. “Again and again. Until you can’t look at me without remembering how it felt to let go. To let me take control. This isn’t about lust. It’s possession. And baby—” he leans in, voice a threat and a promise “—you’re mine now.”
His thumb brushes my lower lip. My knees nearly buckle. His other hand catches the back of my neck, fisting gently, tilting my head so our eyes meet—nowhere to run, no way to hide.
“And you’ll let me because you need it. Because your body’s already made the decision your pride’s still arguing with.” He drags his mouth down the line of my jaw, lips parting just enough for his teeth to scrape skin—deliberate, claiming.
“You can’t outrun this. Not in this cabin.
Not in this storm. And not from me. We’re just beginning.
I’m going to fuck you again. And again. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t look at me without remembering how it felt to surrender.
To beg.” His thumb brushes my lip, slow and taunting.
“And don’t pretend you’re not going to beg. "
His hand slides lower, palm flattening across my stomach, fingers dipping under the waistband of my pants.
“I’m not interested in weather updates. Or polite conversations. Not when I could be fucking you in every position this twelve-foot box will allow. On the table. Against the wall. With your legs over my shoulders or your face in the mattress—doesn’t matter.”
My knees tremble, but he’s already there—holding, steadying, anchoring me in place like he knew I’d fall.