Chapter 5
five
. . .
Butch
Morning comes but the storm doesn't break.
Rain still hammers against the windows, wind howling like a living thing.
The roads are flooded, power still out across most of town according to the emergency radio.
We're not going anywhere, and that suits me just fucking fine.
More time with Julia in this bubble, away from the world trying to take what's mine.
She slept in my arms last night, curled against my chest in the armchair.
I stayed awake, watching her, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the flutter of her eyelashes, the small sounds she made in sleep.
My cock stayed hard the entire night, but I didn't touch her beyond holding her close.
Not yet. When I take her, I want her eyes open.
Want her fully aware of who's claiming her.
Now she's moving around the store, checking for damage, straightening books knocked loose by the storm's vibrations.
I watch her from where I'm checking the security system, making sure the backup batteries are still functioning.
Every movement she makes pulls at something in my chest. Something I thought died years ago.
"The landline's working," she calls from the front counter, holding up the store phone. "Cell service is still down, though."
I grunt in acknowledgment. Don't need a phone. Don't need anyone interrupting this time with her.
The phone rings suddenly, startling both of us. Julia answers, her voice professional despite her rumpled clothes and sleep-mussed hair.
"Pages & Petals, this is Julia…Yes, we're okay, just trapped by the flooding…No, I don't think we'll be open today..."
Her laugh carries across the store—light, musical. Something in me tightens, alert like a predator sensing movement.
"That's very sweet of you to check on me, Derek…Yes, I remember you from last week's poetry reading..."
Derek? Who the fuck is this Derek? My hands clench on the tools I'm holding. Some fucking poetry boy, concerned about my Julia. Checking on her.
"Oh, I'm not alone…The security installer was here when the storm hit..." Her eyes flick to me, then away quickly. "No, that's really not necessary..."
I set down my tools and move toward her, each step deliberate. She's still talking, still smiling that sweet smile into the receiver. Still letting this Derek think he has a right to her time, her attention.
"That's kind, but I'm sure once the roads clear…No, I don't need you to bring anything..."
I'm behind her now. Close enough to hear the tinny voice on the other end of the line.
"I could wade through a little water for you, Julia. Anything for my favorite bookstore owner. Maybe once I get there, we could have that coffee you promised..."
She never promised him shit. I know it in my bones. But this asshole is making claims, trying to stake territory that's already marked.
Mine!
My hand closes over hers on the receiver, pressing the disconnect button. Her eyes widen as she turns to face me.
"Butch, what are you—"
I back her against the counter, caging her between my arms. "Who the fuck is Derek?"
She blinks, confusion crossing her features. "Just a customer. He comes to the poetry readings and—"
"And wants in your pants." My voice is a growl, barely human.
Pink floods her cheeks. "No, it's not like that. He's just being nice—"
"Men aren't nice to beautiful women without wanting something in return." My face lowers toward hers, our breaths mingling. "He wants what's mine."
Her lips part in surprise. "Yours? I'm not—"
I cut her off, capturing her mouth with mine. Nothing gentle about it. Nothing sweet. This is claiming, pure and raw. My tongue pushes past her lips, tasting her, marking her. My hands slide down to grip her hips, lifting her onto the counter without breaking the kiss.
For one heartbeat, she's frozen. Then she melts against me, a small whimper escaping her throat as her arms wind around my neck. Her response ignites something primal in me, something that wants to tear and claim and possess.
I pull back just enough to look at her—lips swollen from my kiss, eyes dazed, chest rising and falling rapidly. Beautiful. Mine.
"No more Derek," I growl. "No more anyone. You understand me? You're mine now."
She should protest. Should tell me I'm crazy, that I have no right. Instead, she nods, those innocent eyes wide with something that looks like wonder.
"Say it," I demand, one hand moving to tangle in her hair, tilting her head back. "Say you're mine."
"I'm yours," she whispers, the words sending a jolt straight to my cock.
"Fucking right you are." I attack her neck, teeth scraping against her pulse point, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. She gasps, her body arching into mine. "Every inch of you. Mine to protect. Mine to pleasure. Mine to breed."
The word makes her tremble against me. I can feel it, the way her thighs clench together at the word.
"You like that idea?" My hand slides up her side, thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her cardigan. "Having my baby growing in here?" I move to press my palm against her flat stomach. "Getting round and full with what I put in you?"
"Butch," she gasps, her hands clutching at my shoulders. "You can't say things like that."
"I can say whatever the fuck I want." I nip at her earlobe, relishing her shiver. "Especially when it makes you wet. Does it, Julia? Does thinking about me filling you with my cum, putting a baby in you, make you wet?"
Her face flames red, but she doesn't deny it. Christ. This innocent little bookworm has depths I'm dying to explore.
Outside, thunder cracks so loudly the windows rattle. The storm's getting worse, not better. Like the need building inside me with every second I hold her.
"I saw you the moment I walked into this store," I tell her, my voice rough with desire. "And I knew. Knew you were made for me. Knew I'd do anything to have you."
"You don't even know me," she protests weakly.
"I know everything I need to." My hand moves from her stomach to cup her face, thumb tracing her lower lip. "Know you're kind. Know you're smart. Know you need someone to take care of you, protect you, keep you safe from the world. A daddy.”
Her eyes glaze over that last word before they search mine, looking for something—sincerity, maybe. Or madness.
"Why me?" she asks, voice small.
The question hits me in the chest. Because it's honest. Because she genuinely doesn't understand her own value, her own appeal.
"Because you're everything I'm not," I tell her, the most truth I've spoken in years. "Pure. Good. Beautiful."
"I'm just a bookstore owner."
"You're everything, baby.” My forehead presses against hers, our breaths mingling. "And I'm going to spend every day proving it to you."
The power flickers, emergency lights casting strange shadows across her face. For a moment, she looks otherworldly, like something from one of her storybooks. Something too good for a scarred, broken man like me.
But I don't care. I've never deserved good things, but I take them anyway. And Julia Carter is the best thing I've ever seen.
"When this storm breaks," I tell her, my voice dropping to a rumble, "when we leave this place, nothing changes. You're still mine. I'm still yours. The world can try to come between us, but they'll have to kill me first."
Her breath catches. "This is crazy. We barely know each other."
“You’re going to have to stop saying that, baby. You’re starting to sound like a broken record. And some things you just know." My lips brush hers, gentler now. "Some things are written in your bones."
The storm rages outside, wind and rain battering the small bookstore. But inside, something else is building—something just as powerful, just as inevitable.
I lift her from the counter, her legs instinctively wrapping around my waist. The feeling of her pressed against me, soft where I'm hard, sweet where I'm bitter, nearly breaks my control.
"Derek," I growl against her mouth, "or any other man tries to take what's mine, I'll destroy them. You understand me?"
She nods, those innocent eyes wide. She should be terrified of me. Should be running for the door. Instead, she clings tighter, like I'm her anchor in the storm.
"No one else," she whispers. "Just you."
Just me. Just her. Just us, while the world drowns outside.
I carry her toward the back of the store, toward the small office with its couch and privacy. Toward the place where I'm going to show her exactly what it means to be mine.