Chapter 10 Rhett
TEN
RHETT
It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this.
Like my chest isn’t a locked box. Like the air isn’t too thin. Like the past doesn’t have both hands on my throat.
I didn’t plan to talk about Iraq. I never do. It usually lives in that locked box with the lid nailed shut and a warning label no one gets to read.
But Ivy isn’t just anyone.
She sat there on my couch, listening like what I said mattered. No flinching. No pity. No cheap “thank you for your service” to wrap it up in a nice bow. Just those big, soft eyes and that quiet, steady presence that somehow made the story less jagged coming out.
Now she’s half in my lap and my hands are on her, and I don’t know at what point the world tilted this far—but I’m not interested in tilting it back.
Her mouth moves under mine, hot and eager, and every nerve I thought had gone numb years ago is firing like it just got the memo that I’m still alive. She makes this small sound in the back of her throat—part laugh, part sigh—and I swear I feel it in places battle didn’t touch.
“Ivy,” I murmur against her lips, because I need to say her name or I’m going to forget the concept of language altogether.
“Mhm?” she breathes, fingers curling in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll vanish if she lets go.
“As strategies go,” I say, kissing the corner of her mouth, “this is highly distracting.”
“Good,” she whispers, smiling against my skin. “I’m going for full disruption.”
I huff a laugh that turns into a groan when she shifts, swinging one leg fully over my lap to straddle me. The quilt slips, pooling around her hips. She’s warm and soft and impossibly close, and suddenly the storm outside is nothing compared to what’s happening in my ribcage.
My hands find her waist—just to steady her, that’s the lie I tell myself—but then she settles, and my grip tightens on reflex. Her breath stutters. Mine does too.
“It’s okay,” she says, eyes searching mine, all that sparkle focused and fierce now. “You can touch me.”
I don’t deserve that kind of trust. I take it anyway and promise myself I’ll be worthy of it.
Slow. I go slow.
My palms slide up her sides over the thick knit of her sweater, feeling the heat of her body beneath.
She shivers like my hands are a match and she’s dry kindling.
I trace the curve of her waist, the line of her back, memorizing every curve.
Everything in me is hungry, but the hunger is wrapped in something bigger. Deeper.
I like her.
Not just the way she tastes or feels or looks perched over me in my old cabin with the fire painting her in gold.
I like the way she talks about her work like it’s art.
The way she laughs with everyone in town.
The way she asked about the seniors first and the sponsor second.
The way she looked at me when I said We missed the signs and didn’t try to fix it.
I’m in serious trouble.
She dips her head, kissing me again, and this time there’s nothing tentative about it. Her hands slide up my chest, fingers brushing my throat, then into my hair like she’s been thinking about doing that since she fell into my sleigh.
My brain fries.
I tilt my head, deepening the kiss, and she opens for me. Heat punches straight through me. It’s been a long time since I’ve kissed anyone like this—longer since I wanted to. I’d half convinced myself that part of me dried up in the dust and noise overseas.
Apparently not.
I move one hand to her lower back, pulling her closer, and she presses into me with a quiet gasp that I catch with my mouth. The other hand finds the nape of her neck, thumb stroking along her jaw.
“Rhett,” she whispers, breaking the kiss for half a second, pupils blown. “You okay?”
Am I okay?
I’m a bonfire in human form and she’s sitting smack in the middle of the flames, smiling.
“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “More than.”
“Good,” she says, and kisses me again like she believes that, like she wants to make sure it stays true.
She tastes like tea and sugar and something sweet that might be trust. The combination goes straight to my head. My hand slips under the hem of her sweater just far enough to find warm skin at the small of her back. She shivers hard, nails grazing my scalp.
“Sorry,” I murmur, starting to retreat.
“Don’t you dare,” she breathes, pressing herself closer, and whatever restraint I’ve been clinging to rearranges itself into something that looks a lot like we’ll stop if she says stop and not a second before.
I drag my mouth from hers, trail a line of kisses along her jaw, down to the spot just below her ear. Her head tips back on instinct, throat bared, a soft pulse fluttering there. I feel something fierce and primal uncurl in my chest at the sight of it—of her trusting me with that vulnerable line.
“You’re killing me,” she sighs, fingers tightening in my hair.
“Pretty sure it’s mutual,” I say, words muffled against her skin.
She laughs, breathless, and the sound crashes into my ribcage and stays there.
I nip gently at her earlobe, then soothe the spot with my tongue, and she makes a low sound that has my hands tightening on her hips. She starts to rock against me—small, unconscious movements that make my vision flicker at the edges.
I shut my eyes for a second, fighting for control.
Careful. Don’t rush.
“Ivy,” I say again, pulling back just enough to see her face. Her lips are swollen, cheeks flushed, hair a wild halo around her head. She looks wrecked and beautiful and… happy. “We keep going, we’re going to cross the line into something I don’t half-ass.”
Her chest rises and falls, breath catching. “Is that your way of saying you’re not a casual kind of guy?”
“That’s my way of saying…” I swallow, because the words feel big in my mouth. “I don’t want this to be just a snowed-in thing we pretend didn’t happen when you go back to Saint Pierce.”
Her eyes soften in a way that does more damage than any blast ever did. “Me either.”
Something in me that’s been clamped tight for years loosens another notch.
“I’m feeling things I haven’t in a long time,” I admit, because if I’m going to risk this, I’m going to do it honestly. “And I’m not planning on letting you just… disappear down the mountain when the roads open.”
Her fingers cup my face, gentle, like she’s committing the angles to memory. “Good,” she whispers. “Because I was already trying to figure out how I can convince my boss to let me work remotely.”
A laugh punches out of me, surprised and raw. “You’re thinking about logistics in the middle of this?”
“I’m a planner,” she says, unapologetic. “Also, I like you. Like, really like you. It’s annoying.”
“Yeah?” I ask, heartbeat doing something weird and hopeful.
“Yeah,” she says. “So maybe you should kiss me again before I start using words like ‘emotional attachment’ and scare us both.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” I murmur.
I kiss her again.
This time I let myself sink into it. No holding back, no second-guessing. Just the press of her mouth, the slide of her hands, the slow, intoxicating way she responds—matching me, meeting me, trusting me.
Her sweater rides up a little as she shifts, and my fingers find bare skin again, warm and smooth under my calloused palms. She arches into my touch, breath catching, and I take my time, mapping the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the little shiver that runs through her when I trace up along her ribs and back down.
The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks up behind the grate. The room feels small and infinite at the same time.
I tug at her sweater, and she helps me pull it over her head. I toss the sweater to the floor and my breath hitches at the sight of her in my arms. “You’re so beautiful, Ivy.”
Her rosy cheeks brighten. “So are you.”
I stand her up, undoing her pants so I can slip them down her legs. It’s reverent how I worship her. “I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”
She sucks in a breath. “Me either.”
She stands before me in nothing but a white lacy bra and panties. I’m realizing right now that I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet. Seriously.
I drag her closer, letting my lips land on her torso and I run my lips over her soft skin. “I definitely won’t be able to let you go when I’m done with you tonight.” I glance up at her, meeting her eyes.
“I won’t let you.”
I smile against her skin, and dig my fingers into the skin at her hips. I breathe her in. I trail kisses over her belly, and hook my thumbs into the waistband of her panties. I pull them down her legs, and she steps out of them for me.
And then I sit back and let my eyes get their fill of her. “Take your bra off for me,” I tell her, and she does as I request.
I’m in a daze—a complete fucking daze—as I stare at her. She’s just so beautiful, and best part is… she doesn’t even know it.
I take my time with her tits, feeling, massaging and squeezing. I tilt her closer so I can get my mouth over one of them, and knead the other with my hand.
“Oh god, Rhett.” She leans her head back and her hair tumbles down her back in waves.
I kiss her, moving her body back to where she’s straddling my lap once more. My body’s a raging inferno. If I’m not careful I might just confess my undying love for her right here and now. That would be silly.
I’ve never been in love in my life. And I don’t think I’m a man capable of it, but if I ever were… it would be now. By the fire with her in my arms.
My cock’s hard as she grinds her hips. “You’re so what I need right now,” I grumble, and she laughs lightly.
She stands back up, eyes meeting mine. Then she does something unexpected. She helps me stand, and tugs at my sweatpants. She drags them down my legs. She lowers herself to the ground and kneels before me.
I stroke a finger across her cheek. “What are you doing?” I choke on the words.
She tugs my boxer-briefs down, and my cock springs free. Her eyes widen, and she gasps.
“Oh, ‘tis the season to be… uh, huge.” Ivy’s eyes meet mine and there’s a sparkle of something hidden in the depths. It makes me smile, and my hips thrust forward just a bit.
My cock needs attention, and she wraps her hand around the base. She licks her lips and I nearly go nuclear at the sight. I place a hand on her head, guiding her mouth over my dick. She sucks me deep down her throat and I squeeze my eyes shut.
Perfection.
She continues to suck as my mind explodes with possibilities of the future. When my body builds toward its release, I stop her.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, eyes gleaming up at me.
“I want to be inside you when I get off.” I help her settle back on my lap, and kiss her.
I line myself up, and push the tip into her tightness. “Ah, fuck, Ivy.”
She tilts her hips forward, positioning herself just right. It feels so fucking good.
“Ride me, baby,” I tell her, punching my hips up, letting my cock dive deeper inside her.
Her hands land on my shoulders, and I grip her waist with both hands, controlling the speed.
I take it slow at first, letting her get acclimated to my size.
Then, when I can’t take it anymore and the feel of her wrapped tightly around me becomes too overwhelming, I spin her around.
She’s lying flat on her back on the couch, and I hover above her, one foot on the ground.
I slam into her, my emotions and pure rugged heat taking over.
I barely recognize myself. It’s this pure primal attraction. I keep moving inside her, letting her moans and cries of ecstacy fill me up. I’ve never been this turned on in my life.
I’ve never been this… in the moment.
I gaze into her eyes, and she smiles back up at me. I slide a finger up her throat, across her jaw, and over her lips. “You’re so fucking pretty,” I tell her. She’s prettier than anyone I’ve ever seen.
She closes her eyes as I push even deeper inside her. I keep thrusting my hips, my body building and building toward that release I need so badly.
I grip her shoulder, pushing up into her as I suck along her neck, close to her ear. “You’re everything. And you feel so damn good.” I keep fucking, screwing her right here on the couch. “What are you doing to me?”
She wraps her legs around my waist and grips onto me tighter. “Oh, please. I’m almost there, Rhett.”
It’s like music to my ears. Her words egg me on, as if I’d ever stop. I’m so close it hurts. I keep ravaging her as she comes all over me.
“Fuck, yes. Ivy, don’t stop,” I tell her, and she keeps moaning.
My own orgasm crashes through me, and I crumple into it, letting the emotions wash over me. I keep pumping, keep feeling as my world tilts on its axis. It’s all-consuming. It’s all powerful.
She doesn’t let go as her breathing returns to normal. I don’t let go either. I want to live in this moment. Never leave it.
She smiles, soft and wide and a little wobbly, then settles against my chest, tucking herself under my arm like she was made to fit there. My hand finds her hair, stroking slow, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel…free.
Not from the past. That’ll always be there. Not from the scars or the noise.
Free to want something beyond survival.
Free to imagine a future that has more in it than horses and snow and ghosts.
Free to hold this woman on my couch in my storm-wrapped cabin and think, I’m not letting her go without a fight.
She drifts, breaths evening out, fingers twisted in my shirt like she’s anchoring herself to me in sleep.
I stare into the fire and make myself a quiet promise:
When the roads open, I’ll drive her back to Saint Pierce if that’s where she needs to go.
But I’m damn well going to give her a reason to come back up the mountain.