Chapter 39
HANNAH
My hands tremble as I scoop another dollop of batter into the muffin tin. Ron and Dottie’s son will be here any minute, and to say I’m anxious would be putting it lightly. I mean, Thomas and I have invaded his childhood home, and the cottage is where he typically stays when we come to visit.
Thomas is outside with Ron, helping him with some yard work while I help Dottie in the kitchen.
The beeping of the oven pre-heating pulls me out of my thoughts, and I finish scooping the last dollop of batter into the tin.
I put the muffins into the oven, setting the dial timer on the counter to twenty minutes.
“Hannah, dear,” Dottie calls from the kitchen sink. “Can you start a pot of coffee? He should be here any minute.”
“Sure thing,” I reply, wiping my hands on my apron.
The front door opens, and I hear the familiar tippy-taps of Arson’s footsteps into the house. He rushes over to me, rubbing his face across my thighs. “Hey buddy,” I greet. My hands still have some batter on them, so I don’t give him any pets yet.
He follows me as I step in beside Dottie, washing my hands and filling the pot with water from the sink.
Once the pot starts brewing, I squat down, taking Arson’s face between my palms and giving him some love.
He licks my face, surely finding some batter there.
“Where’s your dad?” I ask, not seeing Thomas near.
A moment later, I hear Thomas. “Right here,” he calls. “Our boots got all muddy, so we left them outside.”
“Thank you, sweetie,” Dottie responds with a laugh.
Thomas enters the kitchen, his face red with splotches of mud on it.
He strides over to me as soon as he spots me, a smile breaking out on his lips.
“Hey freckles,” he greets, taking my chin in his fingers and tilting so my lips are on his.
He kisses me short and sweet, pulling away before it intensifies.
My palm is on his chest, feeling his heart thump heavily beneath his skin. “Missed you.”
The butterflies swoop low in my belly. “It’s only been a few hours,” I reply before tugging on his shirt to pull him back to my lips. I don’t want to admit that I missed him too.
“You missed me, too,” he teases.
I shrug, trying to play nonchalant, but inside, I’m giddy.
Of course, all that giddiness disappears instantly when a new voice joins in.
“I’m home!” a deep male voice calls from the entryway.
“Fletch!” Dottie shrieks, wiping her soapy wet hands on her own apron.
Instantly, I’m glancing down at my messy apron, pulling it up and over my head, smoothing my hands over my light pink sundress.
I catch a quick glimpse of Fletcher, meeting his eyes briefly.
I start picking at the skin around my fingernails to distract me from the churning fear.
“Hannah, you look perfect,” Thomas says, grabbing my hands to stop me.
I look up at him, my anxiety brimming. He can see it, and instead of trying to calm me with words, he does what he knows works.
He kisses me senseless. I should be embarrassed that this is Ron and Dottie’s son’s first impression of us, but at this moment, I don’t care. He helps me in the way he knows works.
When he pulls away, I catch Fletcher’s eye. A sly grin takes over his face as he takes us in.
“Hannah and Thomas?” he asks, brown eyes lit up in happiness. “I’m Fletcher, but you can call me Fletch.”
He crosses the room, thrusting out his hand. We both shake it as Thomas formally introduces us.
“Hi,” Thomas greets, his dimpled smile flashing. “I’m Thomas, and this is my fiancée, Hannah. We’ve been staying here for a few weeks in the cottage out back, and this is our dog, Arson.”
Hearing him introduce me as his fiancée sends a thrill down my spine.
It’s not the first time he has, since he introduced me as it to Ron and Dottie, and we’ve been playing this part for a month now.
It doesn’t stop the feelings associated with it, though.
I love that a little part of me is his, even if it’s only temporary.
“It’s so nice to finally meet you two,” he says. “My parents have told me all about you, and selfishly, I was hoping you were still here when I came so I could meet you.”
Some of the tension in my body melts away at his words. He was excited to meet us?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Thomas says. Fletch heads to the kitchen table, sitting down and gesturing for us to sit too. Dottie pours us all a cup of coffee.
“So, you’re from Minnesota, too?” he asks, taking a sip of her coffee.
“Yeah, I’m not sure if we can tell you where, what with the circumstances of us being here, but I can tell you that much,” Thomas explains.
Fletcher waves a palm. “No worries. I know how it is when my parents have ‘friends that come to visit.’ I’m in a suburb outside of the Twin Cities.”
“We’re a little further North than the Twin Cities,” Thomas says ambiguously, reaching for the frame of my chair to scoot closer to him so he can wrap an arm around me. The simple touch helps me more than I realize. I was tensing up again and didn’t even know.
“Well, when you get home, if you ever want to meet up, let me know. I tend to have a busy schedule once fall starts, but we can work something out.”
I swallow thickly, mustering the confidence to join the conversation. “Your parents said you're playing for a hockey team?”
He nods. “Yep, I play for the MBH.”
Thomas asks, his eyes widening. “The Minnesota Blue Herons?” Thomas asks, his eyes widening.
His smile widens. “You guessed it.”
“Wow, that’s cool,” I respond. I’ve never been a huge hockey fan, but it’s clear Thomas is.
“You like hockey?” Fletcher asks.
Thomas nods, while I shake my head, saying, “It’s not that I dislike it. I just haven’t really watched it much.”
“I’m sure we can make a convert out of you,” Fletcher says, his brown eyes focused on me. His focus is so intense that it takes me by surprise.
“We will have to go to a game when we get home,” Thomas says, eyes locking on mine. His fingers trace a circle on my shoulder, distracting me from his statement.
I nod. PDA isn’t something I’m used to outside of the comfort of the cottage. Ron and Dottie have seen it a few times, but Thomas isn’t usually this touchy with me around them, and it makes me wonder what the difference is.
Fletch interjects. “I can get you guys tickets, any game you want, let me know.”
“Really?” I question. “We don’t want to get you in trouble or anything.”
He waves off my question. “No way. I can talk to my director. We all have access to tickets and suites, and honestly, the only one that uses them is my best friend.”
“I could take you out for a real date,” Thomas suggests, kissing my cheek and brushing my hair from my face.
I blush furiously, looking away.
“Fletch, have you talked to your brother lately?” Dottie asks, directing the conversation away from hockey and dates. Fletcher talks with his mom and dad while Thomas and I listen, enjoying their company and laughing at some of the stories they tell about Fletcher and his siblings' childhood.
Thomas never leaves my side, and most of all, he never stops touching me.
His touch is constant, from our hands being tangled together on top of the table, to a hand on my thigh, or around my shoulders.
He pulls me in for random kisses now and then, too.
Arson doesn’t leave my side either, his tail wrapped around my legs as he lies at my feet.
Both of my boys are at my side, and the constant hum of anxious thoughts in my head dims.
There’s less fear of him judging the way I look when I walk over to throw an apple core in the garbage an hour later, and no anxiety, only humor.
Even when I tell a story about my childhood, and the time Julia and I were being watched by some friends who lived on a farm, their son convinced us to swim in the mud pile that turned out to be manure.
All of that fizzles away until it’s a soft buzz, something that I can manage and not be overtaken by. This is what he does for me.
Many hours later when golden hour arrives and Fletcher yawns, Thomas stands from his chair, holding out a hand to me. “We should get going, freckles. Let’s leave them to themselves.”
Fletcher tries to protest, but Thomas shakes his head. “We’ve taken over your time with your parents, and I think Hannah and I are both tired.”
I agree, nodding. I really am exhausted. Perks of being an introvert, I suppose. Constantly exhausted after social interactions. However, I’ve noticed that doesn’t happen to me with Thomas. It’s like he’s exempt from that.
After one long Minnesota goodbye, Thomas and I are finally making our way to our temporary home. His arm is wrapped around my shoulders, one of my hands raised to twine our hands together as he pulls me into his body. We walk slowly.
“He was nice,” I say, kicking a rock at my feet.
“Mhm,” Thomas hums in agreement.
“Can I ask you something?” I ask, building up the courage.
“Hannah, you know you can ask me anything,” he replies, stopping us by the old truck that’s still in the area after the other night.
“Why were you extra touchy tonight?” Before he can reply, I blurt, “Not that I didn’t like it, I always like when you touch me.”
Thomas drops his arm from my shoulder, wrapping an arm around my torso and using the other to tilt my head up to look at him. “Oh, you like it when I touch you, do you, baby?” His voice drops an octave, and he nuzzles his face into my neck, kissing a line up to my jaw.
I suck in a gasp, my hands pressing against his chest as heat turns into embers in my core, waiting to burn. “Yes, but that’s not what I meant.” I lean away from his touch. “I mean, usually you’re not quite that touchy around Ron and Dottie. You are at the cottage, but this was different.”
“Because you’re mine, and I needed to make sure he knew that.”
“But… why?” I wonder.
“You clearly did not see the way he was looking at you, freckles. He wanted you.”
I scoff. “No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did. The minute he saw you, he was trying to think of ways he could sweep you off your feet. And, he’s a hockey player. They’re good at that. It’s what they’re known for.”
I look up at him, and I can tell he’s serious. He really thinks that Fletcher was interested in me.
“Thomas…” I take a deep breath. This is going to be hard to get out. “Even if he is interested in me—which there is no way—I am not interested in him.”
His blue eyes widen a little, and he turns me so we are face to face. “You’re not?”
I shake my head. “No. I have no reason to be.” I swallow hard. “Not when I have you.”
A slow smile spreads across his lips as he tilts my chin between his fingertips. “You have me.”
Nodding, I rise on my tip-toes to kiss him. His hands cup my cheeks instantly, drawing me into him. My chest presses against his, my hands sliding around the nape of his neck and gripping tightly.
Thomas leans against the old truck. We never brought it back where it was originally parked, so it’s still in the makeshift driveway at the cottage next to the car we drove here.
One of his hands glides down my body to my hips and squeezes at the flesh through my thin sundress.
He yanks the fabric up, his warm skin meeting mine, sending a wave of goosebumps over me.
I giggle, pulling away from him. “Thomas, we can’t do this out in the open.”
“We can’t?” he questions, nuzzling into my neck. “The only one who can see us is Arson, and he’s seen worse at this point. Besides, he’s over by the swings, ignoring us.”
I groan, my core heating as Thomas slides his fingers under the waistband of my panties, migrating toward my already wet pussy. “Thomas,” I plead, my voice unrecognizable in my lust. How is it that I’ve only had sex the one time, and already my body craves his touch this intensely?
His finger slides between my slit, and my head falls forward, my forehead resting on his chest as the jolt of pleasure floods my senses.
Fingers find my clit, circling and bringing me closer to a fast, heated orgasm.
“That’s it, baby, how does it feel?” Thomas coaxes, his words tingling under my skin.
I cry out, breathing heavily, no words actually leaving my lips. My palms grip his broad shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin as I crest, my climax making my body shudder and pulse as he strums my clit like an instrument.
Thomas withdraws his fingers from my panties, and I miss his touch instantly. “I’m not done with you yet,” he practically growls. I drag my heavy head from his chest, glancing up at him warily.
“You’re not?” I ask.
“No,” he says adamantly. Letting me go, he steps away from me, dropping the tailgate and grabbing one of the blankets out of the front seat where we left them last night.
Thomas lays one of the fluffy blankets out to cover the metal, and gestures to it. “Come here.” His voice is thick with lust and heat.
I take a step toward him, glancing at our surroundings to make sure Ron and Dottie haven’t appeared out of thin air, but it’s only us.
Thomas pulls me into his embrace, kissing me deeply, before turning me to face the back of the truck.
I’m pressed against him, my back to his front.
His dick is pressed against my ass, hard as stone and ready.
Thomas runs his hand up my belly, cupping my tits and squeezing. “Bend over,” he whispers in my ear.
“What?” I gasp, my brain not fully processing his words, too lost in the haze of his touch.
“Bend over.” His hand trails to the center of my back, pressing me down so I’m laid over the bed of the truck. My ass juts out on display for him, my feet on my very tip-toes as I try to find purchase on the ground.
I rest my arms out in front of me, gripping the blanket he laid out. My panties are pushed down my thighs, falling to the dirt below. Thomas’s hand glides over my ass cheeks, lifting my dress to reveal my bare pussy to him.
“Fucking gorgeous,” he groans. There’s a shuffling noise, then the fan of his warm breath on my slit. Goosebumps blaze over my skin in anticipation of more of his touch.
“Thomas,” I whimper, his name a plea. His tongue slides through my wetness in answer. Groaning, I rest my head forward onto my arm.