10. Piper
TEN
PIPER
The walk back to the cabin feels different now.
Every step Boyd takes with me in his arms sends little aftershocks of pleasure through my body.
I can still feel the ghost of his fingers between my thighs, the way he touched me like I was something precious and filthy at the same time.
My face is warm, and not just from the sun.
I keep my head tucked against his neck, breathing in the clean scent of him—pine, soap, and something uniquely Boyd that makes my stomach flutter.
I want more.
I want his hands and his mouth all over me. I want him to lay me down in that big bed and show me exactly how much he wants me. The thought should scare me. Instead it makes heat pool low in my belly again, even though I just came harder than I ever have in my life.
But underneath the desire, doubt whispers loud and ugly.
How could a man like Boyd really want me forever?
I’m broken. Running. Carrying secrets that could destroy everything he’s built here. How long until he sees that and changes his mind? How long until the protective instinct fades and he realizes I’m more trouble than I’m worth?
I push the thoughts down as hard as I can. Right now I just want to feel. I want to believe, even if only for a little while, that this strong, quiet man could actually keep me.
Boyd carries me straight through the cabin and into the bathroom.
He sets me gently on the closed toilet lid and turns on the shower, adjusting the temperature until steam starts to rise.
Normally he leaves me to wash myself. He’s always respected my privacy, stepping out and closing the door. But today I don’t want privacy.
I catch his wrist before he can step back.
“Stay,” I whisper. “Help me. Please.”
His eyes darken. He studies my face for a long moment, like he’s making sure I mean it. Then he nods once.
He undresses me slowly, carefully peeling away the sweater and sweatpants.
His hands are gentle on my bruised skin, but his gaze is hungry.
When I’m completely bare, he strips off his own clothes.
I’ve seen him shirtless before, but never like this.
Never with intent. He’s all hard muscle and quiet strength, scars marking stories I haven’t heard yet.
His cock is thick and already hard, curving up toward his stomach. The sight makes my mouth go dry.
He helps me into the shower, holding most of my weight so I don’t slip on my cast, making sure not to get it wet.
The warm water feels heavenly on my skin.
Boyd keeps one arm around my waist and reaches for the soap with the other.
He washes me with slow, reverent strokes.
Starting at my shoulders, down my arms, across my back.
His hands glide over my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until they tighten.
I lean into him, letting my head fall back against his chest.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs against my ear. “Every inch of you. I’ve wanted to touch you like this for weeks. Wanted to take care of you. Wanted to make you feel good.”
His hand slides lower, between my legs again. I’m still sensitive from earlier, but I open for him anyway. Two thick fingers slide inside me easily. I moan, hips rocking against his hand.
“That’s it,” he says, voice low and rough. “Let me make you come again, baby girl. Daddy’s right here. I’m always going to be right here.”
“Daddy,” I moan out.
He curls his fingers, stroking that perfect spot inside me while his thumb circles my clit. The steam, the warm water, his hard body behind me. I come again with a broken cry, clenching around his fingers as pleasure rolls through me in deep waves.
Boyd holds me through it, kissing my neck, murmuring soft praise. When I stop shaking, he washes the rest of me gently, then washes himself. He turns off the water and wraps me in a big, fluffy towel before carrying me back to the bed.
He dries me carefully, then pulls one of his soft t-shirts over my head. It smells like him. I love it.
We move to the living room after that. Boyd settles me on the couch with pillows behind my back and my cast propped up. He starts cooking a late lunch that turns into an early dinner. Pasta. The domestic scene feels so normal it makes my chest ache in the best way.
While he cooks, I watch him. The way his muscles move under his shirt. The focused expression on his face. The quiet competence in everything he does.
“Boyd?” I ask softly.
He glances over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“What do you want for your life? I mean… after all of this. After the military and everything. What did you picture?”
He stirs the noodles for a moment, thinking.
“I didn’t picture much for a long time. Just quiet.
A place where I could breathe. Then I found Haven 7.
Now I picture more. A home. A woman who wants to build something real with me.
Kids someday. Teaching them how to track animals.
How to be still in the woods. How to protect what matters. ”
He plates the food and brings it over, sitting beside me on the couch. We eat together, shoulders brushing.
I swallow a bite and ask the question that’s been burning in me. “Was the war horrible? The things you saw?”
Boyd’s quiet for a long time. When he speaks, his voice is low.
“It was. Some days I still see it. The waiting. The shots you wish you never had to take. The friends you lose. But it taught me things too. Patience. How to see what most people miss. How to protect the ones who can’t protect themselves. ”
He looks at me then, really looks. “I don’t regret the man it made me. Because that man found you. And I’d go through all of it again if it meant keeping you safe.”
My eyes sting. I lean over and kiss him softly. He kisses me back, slow and deep, like he has all the time in the world. When we pull apart, I rest my head on his shoulder.
“I want that too,” I whisper. “A home. A family. Children. I never let myself dream about it before because it always felt impossible. But with you… it feels possible.”
Boyd sets our plates aside and pulls me closer. “Then we’ll make it possible. You and me. Here on this mountain. No more running, Piper. Not from anything.”
I believe him.
For the first time, I really believe him.
We spend the rest of the evening on the couch, talking quietly. He tells me more about the birds. I tell him about the silly dreams I had as a little girl—wanting a house with a big porch and a garden and laughter inside. He listens like every word matters. Like I matter.
When the sun starts to set, he carries me back to bed. He holds me close, one big hand resting protectively on my hip, and I fall asleep feeling safer than I have in years.
Tomorrow my cast comes off.
Tomorrow I’ll be able to stand on my own again.
And tomorrow, I think I might be brave enough to tell Boyd Walker that I’m falling in love with him.
That I want forever with him.
That I want the family, the home, the life he described.
With him.
Only him.