Chapter 5 Good Girl #2
Outside, thunder crashes. The wind shrieks like it wants in. The storm doesn’t terrify me—it’s the way Mac sees me.
The way he knows.
God help me, he knows.
His palm flattens against my stomach, sliding lower, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of my pants again—slow this time, torturous, possessive.
“You can tell me to stop,” he murmurs at my throat, lips grazing my pulse. “But if you don’t—if you let me keep touching you—I’m going to fuck you again.”
My breath catches.
My thighs part.
I don’t say stop.
And he doesn’t.
Not even close.
Because once isn’t enough. Not after the way I came for him. Not after the way I broke open.
This next kiss is nothing like the first. Where that was fury and fire, this is slow, deliberate heat. His lips move against mine with intention, coaxing rather than claiming. My hands find his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath my palms.
I take my time exploring newly revealed skin with curious fingers and appreciative murmurs.
What follows is a revelation—hours of discovery and pleasure that melt the remaining ice between us. The storm outside fades to nothing as we create our own weather system of sighs, whispers, and breathless pleas.
My vision blurs. My body pulses with aftershocks, twitching beneath him as he groans low, dark, and satisfied—before following me into that same abyss.
“From the second you glared up at me on that sidewalk, I imagined this,” he growls. “Shoving my cock so deep you forget your own name. Making you beg like you’re doing now.”
His mouth finds the back of my neck, breath hot against sweat-damp skin.
Neither of us moves for a long moment. Thunder rolls outside, but it’s a distant thing now—muted by the sound of our shared silence.
Hours blur together.
At one point, he pulls me into his lap and wraps his arms around me. His lips trail reverent kisses across my shoulder. He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the inside of my wrist. I shiver—not from cold, but from the gentleness threading through the aftermath.
Later—much later—we lie tangled on our discarded clothes, my head on his chest, my leg thrown over his, skin slick with sweat, marked by teeth and bruising grip.
The fire has dimmed to embers, but he hasn’t let me go—not for a second.
His fingers drag slow patterns across my shoulder, like he’s tracing something only he can see.
“So,” he murmurs, voice rough, lips brushing my temple. “About those evacuation routes…”
A breathless laugh escapes me—unexpected, too light after the storm we just unleashed. “Are you seriously thinking about maps right now?”
“No.” His arm tightens around me. “I’m thinking about all the places I haven’t fucked you yet.”
Heat curls in my stomach. I shift against him, pulse quickening as his hand trails lower, skimming my waist.
“We’ll need to explore,” he adds, voice darker now. “Thoroughly. Every trail. Every overlook. Maybe somewhere quiet and secluded. Somewhere I can make you come loud enough, it echoes through the mountains.”
My breath hitches. He notices—of course he does.
“Something just lit up behind your eyes.” His voice is darker now, amused. “What was that thought, Josephine?”
“Nothing,” I murmur.
“That wasn’t nothing.” His mouth hovers at my jaw, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You got quiet. Your thighs tightened. What did you imagine just now?”
I bite my lip.
He doesn’t let it go. One hand slides between my legs, not stroking, just there—heat and threat and promise.
My throat tightens. I swallow, but it doesn’t go away.
“You’re going to tell me.”
He shifts, rolling us so I’m beneath him again, his body all heat and weight and restraint. One hand cradles the side of my face, thumb brushing my cheek like a benediction. His gaze doesn’t waver.
"Tell me." His tone is silk and steel. “Or I’ll make you come and then make you confess. Your choice.”
My voice breaks on the first word. “It’s stupid.”
“I like stupid,” he growls. “Especially when it ends with you on your knees.”
I shiver. His fingers flex.
“There it is,” he whispers. “That little tremble. Shame and hunger, wrapped up tight. You on your knees? Is that what it is?”
I close my eyes. “That first day. The sidewalk.”
He stills.
“You grabbed my arm. Got in my face. And I couldn’t stop imagining you—”
“Say it.”
“—shoving me down. Making me open my mouth and take you. Rough. Angry. No questions. Just—control.”
“Fuck.” His breath hisses between his teeth. “You’ve thought about me using you,” he finishes, voice like gravel.
"Yes."
“No asking. Just gripping your hair, unzipping my pants, and shoving my cock past your lips.”
"Yes." My thighs part without thinking.
“Jesus, Josephine,” he growls. “You could’ve told me.”
“I couldn’t.”
"Why?" He leans down, dragging his teeth along my jaw. “Afraid I wouldn’t want it?”
“Afraid you’d think less of me.”
He grabs my chin, forces my eyes to his.
“I’ve seen you from day one. You want it hard. Dirty. Forced without force. You want to kneel. To serve.”
I swallow, but it’s useless. My body’s already answered.
“You’ll get that,” he says, deadly soft. “Out there. On the trail. You’ll hike ahead, and I’ll follow. When I decide it’s time, I’ll put you on your knees and fuck that filthy little fantasy into your throat.”
His hand slides lower, cupping between my legs.
He smiles, slow and wicked. “Start praying for clear skies, sweetheart. Because once the storm breaks, I’m taking you outside and making that mouth mine.”
God help me, I want every filthy piece of it.
Reality seeps back slowly. I become aware of Scout watching us with resigned acceptance from her corner, the dying fire in the stove, the fact that we're completely naked and entwined on a narrow cot in Jackson Hart's emergency shelter.
Eventually, reluctantly, we dress. Every movement feels charged, meaningful in ways it wasn't before. I catch him watching me when he thinks I'm not looking, his expression a mix of wonder and something more profound I'm not ready to name.
Once the rain stops, we step outside. Sunlight breaks through dissipating clouds, turning raindrops on pine needles into diamonds. The fresh-washed mountain air fills my lungs, but does nothing to clear the fog in my brain.
We walk back in silence, the usual comfortable banter impossible after what just happened. The trail seems both longer and shorter than before, time stretching strangely in the aftermath of that kiss.
At the trailhead, Mac unlocks the SUV, holding the door for Scout, who jumps in with subdued energy, tail low but alert, sensing the shift between us like a storm about to break.
Mac doesn’t look at me as he circles to the driver’s side. Doesn’t ask if I’m ready, okay, or if I need a minute. He just gets behind the wheel, starts the engine, and waits—expecting me to fall in line.
I do.
The drive back to my cabin passes in silence, but the air between us hums. Every nerve in my body is aware of him—his hand steady on the gearshift, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the low rumble of his breath syncing with the hum of the engine.
He doesn’t fidget. Doesn’t glance over. He simply exists with complete focus, radiating calm, coiled control.
And God help me, it stirs something low in my belly I thought I’d buried years ago.
What do you say after kissing someone like the world was ending? After letting him take you apart like it was his right?
When we reach my cabin, he puts the vehicle in park and kills the engine without a word.
Silence stretches. Tension thickens.
Then he speaks. One word.
“Josephine.”
The way he says it—low, sure, already claiming me—sends a tremor through my chest. Not a question. A summons.
“What?” I turn my head slowly.
His gaze meets mine, dark and steady. He doesn’t blink.
“Ask me to come inside.”
Not Can I come in? Not Do you want me to stay? A command, disguised as a request. Softened at the edges, but still a command.
I should say no.
I should tell him this was a mistake, draw the boundary I already bulldozed.
Instead, I swallow hard, pulse fluttering at my throat. “Please come in.”
His smile is slow. Dangerous.
“Good girl.”
Two words. That’s all. But they land like a brand, low and deep and molten.
I follow him into the cabin without another word.