Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
Beck
Freedom tastes like possibility. Like breathing without looking over my shoulder.
Like waking up without fear tightening my chest. It's been two days since Gray came home with the papers showing my bounty rescinded, two days of adjusting to the idea that I can walk down a street without scanning for threats.
I could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone.
I could reclaim my old life or start a new one in any city of my choosing.
But the truth is, I don't want to go anywhere.
The only place I want to be is right here, in this cabin with its taciturn owner who stalked me, claimed me, and somehow, impossibly, made me fall in love with him.
Tonight, I'm celebrating my freedom—our freedom—by cooking the most elaborate meal I can manage with the supplies Gray keeps stocked.
Steaks marinating in whiskey and herbs. Potatoes roasting with rosemary.
A chocolate dessert chilling in the refrigerator.
I've even found candles in a drawer and set them on the rustic wooden table that's usually covered with Gray's weapons-cleaning supplies or paperwork.
The domesticity of it all should feel strange after weeks of fear and hiding. Instead, it feels right. Like I'm finally becoming who I was always meant to be—not the scared girl running from town to town, but a woman creating a home. Creating a life.
I hear Gray's truck rumble up the dirt drive.
He's been out checking the property's security perimeter—a habit he's unlikely to break even with the bounty gone.
Some part of him will always be the hunter, the protector.
I've made peace with that part of him, just as he's made peace with the softness in me he once might have seen as weakness.
The door opens and he fills the frame, all broad shoulders and dangerous grace. His eyes find me immediately, tracking my movements in the kitchen with that predatory focus that used to terrify me. Now it just makes heat pool low in my belly.
"What's all this?" he asks, shrugging off his jacket, revealing the gun holstered under his arm. Some things never change.
"Celebration dinner," I explain, turning back to the stove to flip the steaks. "Thought we deserved something special."
His arms wrap around me from behind, pulling me against the solid wall of his chest. "Already have something special," he murmurs against my ear, beard tickling my skin.
I lean into him, savoring the strength and heat of him. "Smooth talker."
His chuckle vibrates through me. "Only for you, baby girl."
We eat at the table, the candles casting dancing shadows across his harsh features, softening them just enough that I can see glimpses of the man beneath the hunter. He devours the steak with obvious appreciation, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Good?" I ask, taking a sip of the red wine he'd produced from some hidden stash.
"Perfect." His foot finds mine under the table, his larger one covering mine completely. Even that small point of contact feels possessive. "Like you."
I roll my eyes, but can't stop the pleased flush that rises to my cheeks. "Definitely getting smoother."
He grins, a flash of teeth in his beard that still makes my heart stutter. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"What happens next? Now that you're free." His tone is casual, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the slight tightening around his eyes. He's still afraid I'll leave, despite everything.
I set down my fork, meeting his gaze directly. "I stay. Here. With you."
The tension eases from his frame. "You sure? Could go anywhere now. Start fresh."
"I am starting fresh." I reach across the table, placing my hand over his much larger one. "Right here. With you."
Something flickers in his eyes—relief, maybe. Possession, certainly. He turns his hand over, engulfing mine. "Mine," he says quietly.
"Yours," I confirm. "By choice now. Not necessity."
He stands abruptly, tugging me to my feet and around the table until I'm pressed against him, his hardness evident against my stomach. "Say it again," he demands, hand threading through my hair.
"I'm yours." I rise on tiptoes, brushing my lips against his. "By choice."
The kiss starts gentle but quickly turns hungry, his tongue demanding entrance which I gladly grant. His hands roam my body possessively, hiking up the sundress I'm wearing until he can cup my ass. I gasp when I feel his fingers discover I'm not wearing panties.
"Naughty girl," he growls against my mouth. "Were you planning this?"
"Maybe," I admit with a smile. "Is it working?"
In answer, he lifts me onto the table, shoving our plates aside with one sweep of his arm. The crash of breaking dishes should alarm me, but all I can focus on is the heat in his eyes as he pushes my thighs apart, stepping between them.
"Look at you," he says, voice rough with desire. “Tempting Daddy with no panties. Getting his cock all hard and aching.”
His words send warmth flooding through me that has nothing to do with physical arousal. No one has ever looked at me the way Gray does—like I'm precious, necessary, worth burning the world for.
He pushes my dress up around my waist, exposing me completely to his hungry gaze. One large finger traces through my folds, finding me already slick and ready.
"Always so wet for me," he murmurs approvingly. "For Daddy."
"Only for you," I confirm, spreading my legs wider in silent invitation.
He takes his time, though, teasing me with those skilled fingers until I'm writhing on the table, desperate for more. Only when I'm begging does he finally free his cock from his jeans, the thick length springing forth already flushed and hard.
"Please," I whimper, reaching for him. "Need you inside me."
"Such a perfect little girl for Daddy," he praises, guiding the head of his cock to my entrance. "So sweet. So eager."
He pushes in slowly, giving me time to adjust to his size even after all these weeks of regular claiming. The stretch is delicious, the fullness exactly what I need. When he's buried to the hilt, he pauses, one hand coming up to cup my face.
"Mine," he says simply.
"Yours," I agree, wrapping my legs around his waist to draw him deeper.
He sets a steady rhythm, not the frantic claiming of yesterday against the wall, but something more deliberate. More meaningful. His eyes never leave mine as he moves within me, his gaze so intense I couldn't look away if I tried.
"Such a perfect baby girl," he murmurs, one hand sliding beneath me to tilt my hips, hitting a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "Taking Daddy so well."
I clutch at his shoulders, anchoring myself against the mounting pleasure. "Yes, yes—"
"Gonna fill you up," he promises, his pace increasing slightly. "Gonna pump you full tonight."
The filthy promise sends heat spiraling through me. "Please, Daddy," I beg, rocking against him to meet each thrust. "Fill me up. Make me yours."
His control slips at my words, his thrusts becoming more forceful, the table creaking beneath us with each powerful drive of his hips. One hand finds my clit, circling roughly.
"Come for me," he demands, his voice a rough growl. "Let me feel this sweet pussy squeeze Daddy's cock."
The combination of his words, his touch, and the fullness of him inside me sends me hurtling over the edge. I cry out his name as pleasure crashes through me in waves, my inner walls clenching rhythmically around his length.
He follows immediately, driving deep one final time with a groan of satisfaction. I feel each pulse as he empties himself inside me, his seed hot and claiming.
We stay joined as our breathing slows, his forehead pressed to mine, our bodies connected in the most intimate way. When he finally slips from me, his release trickles onto the table beneath me—a testament to his claim, his possession.
He lifts me gently, carrying me to the couch where he settles with me in his lap, my head tucked under his chin. His hand strokes idle patterns on my back as our heart rates return to normal.
"I never thought I'd have this," I admit quietly. "Someone who wants me. Chooses me. Sees me."
His arms tighten around me. "Been seeing you since the first moment," he says gruffly. "Even before I found you. Knew you were mine from that first picture."
I smile against his chest, no longer disturbed by the intensity of his fixation. "Most people would find that creepy."
"You're not most people."
"No," I agree, looking up at him. "I'm yours."
The possessive satisfaction in his eyes warms me from the inside out.
Maybe our beginning was unconventional—stalking, kidnapping, claiming.
Maybe in another world, another life, I would have run screaming from a man like Gray.
But here, now, in this cabin in the mountains, I've found something I never thought possible.
Safety. Love.
And I'm never letting it go.