Chapter 23
In the hearth, a small fire crackles, casting a happy glow over the sitting room of the cabin, tucked in the trees on the back half of Tabitha’s property.
I stand close to the flames, relishing the warmth after spending the morning outside in the brisk fall air.
The smoke mixes pleasantly with the scent I’ve come to associate with Parker —a clean, musky, and spicy fragrance that I can never seem to get enough of.
If I could, I would bury my face in it and never resurface.
I stand awkwardly as Parker busies himself in the basic kitchenette, taking in my surroundings.
The cabin is exactly as it has always looked.
No photos on the wall, the same quilt and sheets on the bed that have always been there.
The furniture hasn’t even been rearranged to his preference.
The only evidence he’s even here is a stack of books on his nightstand, a spare pair of boots on the mat at the door, and the edge of a military duffel bag that I can see poking out from under the bed.
There’s nothing personal because every spare dollar this man earns is shared willingly with the people in his life who need it, whether they deserve it or not.
And from the sounds of it, that’s nothing new.
“I have an idea, and I want you to hear me out without getting mad, okay?” I say.
He grunts from across the room, and I shift on my feet as I steel myself to voice the idea I came up with earlier, when I was trying to think of anything that would keep me from jumping on Parker in the middle of the barn in broad daylight. I talk to his back as he moves around the kitchen.
“What about doing a Halloween event here at Salem Stables this week for Tabitha’s last farmers’ market of the season?
There’s more than enough space in the front field for all the vendors, plus tables for pumpkin carving.
The kids can put on a costume fashion show on the porch.
I could set up a photo opportunity by the barn, and you can take the kids for a walk around on one of the horses.
Not Zeke, obviously,” I add quickly. I’m speaking to his back, which shows no reaction.
“We’ll have hot apple cider, and people can roast marshmallows at the fire like they did last night, and we can even let people pick apples from the little orchard.
And we’ll sell pumpkins, of course. Whatever money we raise, we’ll use to cover what Ray asked for. ”
Parker, who has been still this whole time, slowly turns to face me, a blank, unreadable expression on his face.
But I don’t let that scare me. I know he might be screaming at me internally to stop talking, to leave this alone, but like it or not, he needs my help, or somebody is going to get hurt.
I don’t want that to be his dad, but I’d hate it even more if it turns out to be Parker.
Knowing what I know now about the selfless, strong, brooding man in front of me, he would take a beating if it meant protecting someone he cares about.
His dad might not be perfect, and he certainly doesn’t deserve his son’s protection, but if Parker cares about him, then that means something to me.
And whether he wants me to or not, if he’s stepping up to protect someone else, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than by his side while he does it.
I’m not about to let him handle anything like this alone ever again—not if I have anything to say about it.
“I know you don’t want my money,” I press on, keeping my shoulders square and my voice steady as he walks towards me slowly, eyes locked on mine.
“Think of it as a job. If we pull this off, the market gets to go out with a bang, and you earn the money you need to help your dad before Ray comes back with a baseball bat. Everybody wins.”
He’s quiet as he closes the distance between us, stopping within arm’s reach.
“If you won’t do it for me, at least do it to make sure Mason and Cass don’t get pulled into this mess too.”
We stare at each other for a long moment.
“Here.” He hands me a steaming mug. “Sit. Drink.”
I let him place the mug in my hands, but I don’t sit. Not yet. I won’t let him change the subject so easily, not before we finish this conversation. “You’re reverting to your caveman speech patterns,” I murmur, hoping he’s in the right headspace for a joke right now.
The fact that he hasn’t immediately changed the subject is progress, so instead of pushing, I leave him enough space to think about it without me backing down. I tip my head to sniff the cup, my nose wrinkling.
“What is this anyway?”
“Peppermint tea.”
I cut my eyes back to him, unimpressed. “I’ve been awake practically all night and you’re offering me peppermint tea?”
He chuckles softly, then walks away. “Yes. I’ve seen you caffeinated.”
I follow him into the tiny kitchen, my heart swelling with hope at the sound of his laugh. “So?” I venture, my heart thudding in my throat. “What do you think?”
“I think … you’re amazing,” he murmurs, his voice smooth and low. “I can’t believe you’d do that for me.”
I’d do anything for you.
The words echo inside my head, but I don’t voice them.
It’s way too soon for that, but that doesn’t stop it from being a truth that runs deeper than I ever expected.
His hand ghosts down my arm, his grazing fingertips sending an electric current running through my body.
I swallow, trying to stay focused as he eases closer, his eyes darkening with the same hot want that’s brewing in my belly.
“Stop changing the subject,” I whisper.
“Who said I’m changing the subject?”
His hand threads loosely through my hair, and a dull pulse stirs between my legs.
He tugs me closer, turning us so my body is pinned between him and the counter.
With the distance between us effectively obliterated, I can feel his hard length through his jeans, and he holds my gaze as he presses into me, making no attempt to hide it.
My heart hammers in my chest, my throat going dry with the lust I can feel overtaking me.
I do nothing to resist when he grips my chin gently between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, tipping my face up to look at him.
His other hand is still tangled in my hair, the pads of his fingers massaging as he alternates between tightening and loosening his hold on me.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
His voice is thick gravel in my ear as he says, “I’d rather do this.
” Dropping his head towards me, his tongue trails over the curve of my ear once, twice, before he bends his knees to work his mouth over my throat.
With a whimper, I tip my head back to give him better access, but instead of giving me more of what I want, he draws back, dragging his nose over my jaw, up my cheek until our foreheads are pressed together, and the only sounds are our breathing and my heavy heartbeat.
“I brought you here because I want you, Sloan. Not because I want something from you.”
The words play back on a loop as I let them soak in. He wants me. He wants me.
This time, when he reaches for me, there’s nothing slow about it.
Our lips crash together frantically, our hands everywhere.
I whimper against his tongue, and he grabs the back of my neck, holding me there while he continues to devour me.
My fingers tear at the buttons of his shirt, stopping only to tug my own over my head.
His lips reconnect with mine in an instant.
But I need more.
My hands around his neck, I let him dip enough to grab my legs and lift me against him, pressing my chest against his torso. Every part of me is touching him. And it’s still not enough.
His lips drag down my throat and I feel his teeth nip at my bare shoulder while his hands work the other way, slowly pressing up my waist, my ribs, fingers splayed against my burning skin.
He stops at the cotton band of my bra and I arch into his touch.
Another moan escapes me as his mouth trails lower still, pausing on the curve of my breast, rising and falling with my heavy breathing to lick and suck.
My head is spinning. It’s too much. But it’s not enough.
The frantic energy between us from all the near-kisses and failed starts has reached a breaking point.
I know it's not just me—we didn’t trust what this connection was between us before, but we do now.
I can feel it in the way he touches me now without restraint, the way I ask him for exactly what I need.
“Parker,” I pant, head tilted back as he sucks and bites at my breast. “Please.”
It’s all the permission he needs. He carries me easily across the small room to the bed and lowers me to the mattress.
My legs, still locked around him, drag him down with me.
I relish in the feel of his weight on top of me, the ripple of his shoulders beneath my fingertips as he moves.
I arch my hips toward him, desperate. He responds with a groan, a deep, throaty sound, as he rocks against me. Hard.
Oh my god.
We’re both panting now. Hands clinging, desperate, frantic, pleading. I never want to stop kissing this man.
But he’s not a multitasker. His lips stop moving when I reach for him, feeling him through his jeans. His forehead drops to my shoulder, like he can’t even hold himself up anymore. I fumble with the button and hear him swallow hard when my palm makes contact with him.
“Fuck,” he breathes.
Raking my fingers through his hair, I tug him roughly to my lips, desperate to taste him again.
My hand keeps working and I roll my hips, telling him what I want.
I stop kissing to look at him, begging him to listen.
The heady look in his eyes tells me what I need to know: message received. Loud and clear.
He rolls off me, rummaging around in his bedside table while I wrestle off my jeans. Foil rips, and I smile.
“I guess you do live here after all,” I say to his back, propping myself on my elbow.
“What?” he asks, panting.
“Just saying, Tabitha never kept the place stocked with condoms when I stayed here.”
He rolls me onto my back again, placing his hands on either side of my head. “Can we please not talk about Tibby right now?”
“Right, sorry.” My fingers drift up to cover my lips, as if to keep them closed.
His hand closes around my wrist, gently pulling them away. “I think we’re going to need that,” he mutters, in what’s possibly the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.
I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, feeling suddenly shy now that he’s looking at me, acutely aware of how naked I am. He leans in closer, trailing a series of sensual kisses up my jawline in slow, purposeful movements.
“Do you have any idea how badly I want you?” His growl tickles my ear.
I squirm in anticipation beneath him before I murmur my answer. “Show me.”
Another curse falls off his lips and he settles himself between my legs.
His mouth is on mine when he presses against me, but he pauses.
Through my barely coherent thoughts, I wonder if he’s waiting to see if I’ll change my mind.
I tilt my hips up, wrapping my knees around his waist to pull him into me, dispelling all doubt.
He eases inside me in one slow, steady motion.
His forehead falls against my shoulder and he lets out a guttural groan.
The pressure of him lets something loose inside me and I pull him deeper, fingers grasping at his skin.
He’s everywhere, it seems, his hands, his tongue, his teeth, filling my body and soul.
I don’t think I’ve ever known pleasure before this moment.
Not like this. When he pulls back and slides slowly into me again, I see stars.
“You feel incredible,” he mumbles, his teeth chasing his words against the shell of my ear. “So much better than I imagined.”
“Daydreaming about this, were we?”
“Every day. All fucking day.”
There’s no hint of teasing in his voice, only brutal honesty. His hand finds my hip and his fingers dig into me as he repositions my angle. I gasp at the contact it gives us.
I can feel him holding back, his body coiled like a spring that’s about to release.
He’s deliberate and slow, but after a few minutes, I can barely take it anymore.
My hips are moving on their own, and I’m squirming beneath him for more friction.
I drag my fingernails along his back, causing his hips to buck with more force this time, making me practically whine.
“Yes. Parker, please. I need more,” I whisper.
He grunts but gets his movements back under control and I’m losing my mind.
“Sloan, baby, I can’t.” He sounds pained. “Not yet. I want to get you there.”
The strain in his voice is clear. I don’t want this to be over either, but this slow, tender touch is torture after all the thoughts I’ve had about this moment, about him moving over me like this. He thinks if he picks up the pace, he’ll come. What he doesn’t know is that I will, too.
“Trust me, you will,” I promise. Or maybe beg. At this point, they sound the same. I drag my hands up the smooth plane of his muscular back, gripping his shoulders.
He swallows and for a second, I’m afraid he won’t listen.
I’m wrong. Propping himself up on one elbow, he pulls back enough to look at me.
Chest heaving, I go still. His eyes burn with an intensity I’ve never seen before, and when they darken, lighting my insides on fire, I know he’s made his decision.
Reaching above us, he braces one hand on the headboard and rocks into me. Hard. My mouth falls open, and a string of unintelligible words comes tumbling out, all of them some form of encouragement or praise. Pressure builds inside me with each thrust. His body tightens and I know he’s holding back.
I’m so close.
I don’t know if I say it out loud or not, but a few more and I’m there, like I promised. I can’t be held responsible for the sounds I make. All I know is that I’m glad the nearest neighbor is half a mile away.