Chapter 10
The drive up the mountain was slow but manageable. Slade’s truck handled it easily, plowing through snow that would have stopped most vehicles. Beside him, Mia was quiet. Trusting him to get them there safely.
His cabin appeared through the snow, lights on from the timer, smoke rising from the chimney from the fire he’d set before leaving. It looked like something from a Christmas card. Warm and inviting against the white landscape.
“This is incredible,” Mia breathed.
“This is home.” He pulled up close to the door, minimizing how far they’d have to walk in the storm. “Come on.”
He came around to help her out, his hands spanning her waist as he lifted her down. She slid against his body, and even through their coats he felt the heat of her.
Inside, the cabin was warm. Wood floors, exposed beams, furniture he’d made himself. Simple but solid. Comfortable.
“Let me get your coat.” He helped her out of it, hung it by the door. Took off his own.
The silence stretched between them. Charged. Aware. They were finally alone. Finally here. Finally able to act on everything that had been building between them.
“Mia—” he started.
“This isn’t fake for me,” she interrupted, her eyes meeting his. “I need you to know that. This stopped being fake the moment you touched me. Maybe it was never fake at all.”
His chest tightened. “It’s never been fake for me. I’ve wanted you for two years. This is real. It’s always been real.”
She stepped closer. “You said you’re possessive. That when you claim something, you don’t let go.”
“I am. I don’t.”
“Good.” Her hands came up to his chest. “Because I don’t want you to let go. I want to be kept.”
Something fierce and primal roared through him. “Baby, you need to be sure. Because once I have you, I’m keeping you. Forever.”
“I’m sure.” Her eyes were clear, certain. “I choose you, Slade. I choose this.”
He was done holding back. Done being careful. She was his, and he was going to show her exactly what that meant. He pulled her into his body with one hand on her hip. He used his other hand to cup her neck, pulling her in for a kiss that quickly turned hot and desperate.
He kissed her like a man who’d been starving for years and had finally been handed the only meal he’d ever wanted.
Mouth hard, tongue demanding. His teeth scraped her bottom lip until she opened on a gasp.
Slade groaned at the taste of her before he pulled back.
He picked her up and carried her to the bedroom.
He let her down and then he backed her toward the bed, one hand fisted in her curls, the other already dragging the zipper of her dress down her spine.
Fabric pooled at her feet. She stood in nothing but emerald lace panties and the flush riding her brown skin.
Slade stepped back just far enough to look—really look—his gaze dragging over every curve like he was memorizing her.
“Two years,” he rasped. “Two fucking years I imagined you exactly like this. Mine.”
He shrugged out of his shirt, letting it fall. He prowled forward, lifted her, and laid her in the center of his bed like she was something sacred and breakable and his all at once.
“Tell me yes,” he growled against her throat, teeth grazing the pulse that hammered there. “Tell me you want this as bad as I do.”
“Yes.” It came out a desperate whimper. “Please, Slade—”
That was all it took.
He ripped the lace from her hips, spread her thighs wide, and put his mouth on her. No teasing, no gentle licks—just hunger. Tongue stroking hard, lips sucking, one thick finger sliding inside her and curling until she arched off the bed with a broken cry.
She came fast and hard, fingers twisted in his hair, thighs shaking around his ears. He didn’t stop—kept licking her through it, gentler now, drawing the aftershocks out until she was sobbing his name.
Then he was over her, shoving his slacks down just enough, the blunt head of his cock finding her center. “Mine,” he snarled, pushing in slow, relentless inches. “Say it while I’m inside you.”
“Yours,” she gasped, nails raking down his back. “I’m yours—oh God—”
He bottomed out with a guttural sound and stilled, forehead pressed to hers, both of them trembling.
“Look at me.” His voice cracked with the effort of holding back.
She opened her eyes. His were blazing.
“I love you,” he said, raw and reverent. “Have for two damn years. Never letting you go.”
Then he moved—deep, punishing strokes that slammed the headboard against the wall, one hand pinning both of hers above her head, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. Every thrust dragged a cry from her throat, every drag back made him curse.
She came again, clenching around him so tightly that his rhythm stuttered.
He followed her over with a roar, burying himself to the hilt, pulsing hot inside her, her name a prayer and a claim on his lips.
Afterward, he stayed inside her, arms shaking, pressing open-mouthed kisses to her shoulder, her neck, the corner of her mouth.
“Mine,” he whispered again, softer this time, like a vow. “All mine.”
Afterward, they lay tangled together in his bed, the storm raging outside, the fire crackling in the bedroom fireplace. His hand was possessive on her hip, keeping her close even in the aftermath.
She was quiet, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice rough.
“I don’t want to go back down the mountain.” The confession was soft.
He tightened his hold on her. “Then don’t.”
“I have my job. My students. My life in town.”
“I know.” He’d thought about this. “So we figure it out. Weekends, holidays, summers. You keep your place in town for during the week. You come here when you can. We build toward something permanent.”
“That’s a lot of driving.”
“I don’t care.” He tilted her face up to look at him. “I’ll drive down to you. You drive up to me. Whatever it takes. But you’re mine now, Mia. We’re taking our time with the logistics, but you’re already mine.”
Her eyes searched his face. “You really want this? Want me?”
“I want everything.” His hand slid into her hair. “I want weekends in this bed. I want you helping Jamie with his homework. I want to come home from the tree lot and find you in my kitchen. I want all of it.”
“What if it’s too fast? What if—”
“It’s not too fast. Not for me. I’ve been waiting two years for you.” His thumb traced her jaw. “But we can go at whatever pace you need. As long as you know you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she whispered.
“Say it again.”
“I’m yours, Slade.”
Satisfaction rolled through him. “Good. Don’t forget it.”
She smiled, soft and certain. “I won’t.”
Outside, the storm continued. But in his cabin, in his bed, with this woman in his arms, Slade felt nothing but peace.
He’d found her. Claimed her. And he was never letting go.