Chapter Twenty-One – Meryl
Mates. Spencer’s confession that he’d kept this from her so she could make her own choices without obligation shouldn’t come as a surprise. He’d always given her so much. Helped her so much.
Together, they had transformed Pine Cottage from a wreck into a home.
For them.
The thought startled her. When had she started thinking of Pine Cottage as theirs?
“I wasn’t planning to stay,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “When I came here, that was never my intention.”
“I know.” Spencer’s expression didn’t change. “You don’t have to now.”
But that was just it, wasn’t it? She didn’t have to stay. But she wanted to.
“I’ve spent my entire life leaving,” she said finally, taking a step toward him. “My mother never stayed anywhere long enough for roots to take hold. Always another town, another apartment, another school. I learned not to get attached.” She paused, gathering her courage. “I got very good at it.”
Spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving her face.
“But then I came here.” She gestured to the cottage.
“And I told myself it was temporary. Just another place to fix up and leave behind.” A small, shaky laugh escaped her.
“Except it didn’t feel temporary. Not when we were finding those brass fixtures at the salvage yard.
Not when we were rebuilding this porch.”
She took another step closer.
“Not when you were here,” she finished softly.
Something shifted in Spencer’s expression, revealing a cautious hope that made her heart ache.
“Meryl…”
“I love you,” she said, knowing it was the honest truth she could no longer deny. “I wasn’t looking for this. I wasn’t looking for you. But I love you. And I love this place. And I don’t want to leave.”
The simplicity of it stole her breath. After all the weeks of fighting against attachment, of trying to keep her distance, the truth was suddenly plain.
She loved him. She loved Pine Cottage. And she was tired of moving on.
Spencer stayed very still, as if afraid any movement might break the moment. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough.
“Yes,” she said, taking the final step that brought her directly in front of him. “I’m sure.”
She reached up and cupped his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight rasp of stubble beneath her fingers. His eyes closed briefly at her touch, and she felt him tremble.
“I love you,” she said again, because she wanted him to hear it properly. “And I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you.”
Spencer’s arms came around her then, hesitant at first, then tightening as if he couldn’t bear any space between them. She felt the shudder that went through him as he buried his face in her hair.
“I love you,” he murmured against her temple. “I have from the beginning. But I needed it to be real. I needed you to choose.”
“I choose you,” she whispered. “I choose us.”
When he kissed her, it was different from the heated, desperate kisses they had shared before. This was slower, deeper, a sealing of promises. Meryl sank into it, letting herself feel the solid warmth of him against her, the night air cool on her skin, the distant call of an owl.
Spencer drew back just enough to look at her, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Come,” he whispered.
Hand in hand, they walked back into Pine Cottage.
Meryl was acutely aware of crossing the threshold, of the solidity of the floorboards beneath her feet, of the familiar creaks and settling sounds of the house around them.
It felt different now — not a project to be completed, but a place that had become part of her.
In the sitting room, Spencer lit the lamp, casting a warm glow over the space they had rebuilt together. The brass fixtures gleamed on the windows. The hearth, cleared and cleaned, waited for a fire. The old sofa they had uncovered and cleaned faced it all, inviting and comfortable.
“This place,” Meryl said, her voice soft with wonder. “I can’t believe how much it feels like home already.”
Spencer’s fingers tightened around hers. “It was always meant to be yours.”
“Ours,” she corrected, and was rewarded with a smile that made her heart skip.
She turned to face him fully, her hands on his chest. Under her palm, his heart beat strong and steady. “I’m not afraid anymore,” she told him. “I want this. I want you. I want to stay.”
Spencer’s hands came up to frame her face, his touch infinitely gentle. “I’ve been waiting to hear that since the day I met you.”
“Take me to bed.”
He did not need to be asked twice and scooped her up in his arms, carrying her upstairs.
The bedroom seemed different now, bathed in moonlight streaming through the windows. This wasn’t just another night in Pine Cottage. This was the first night of staying. Of belonging.
Meryl’s heart thudded against her ribs as Spencer set her down beside the bed. The enormity of her decision washed over her—not just to stay, but to claim this place, this man, this life as her own. A delicious certainty settled in her bones.
She placed her hands on his broad chest and pushed him gently backward until his legs hit the edge of the mattress. “Sit,” she whispered, her voice husky with intent.
Spencer’s eyes darkened as he obeyed, lowering himself to the bed. His gaze never left her face, watching with such intensity that heat pooled low in her belly.
“Your turn to watch me,” she said.
Standing before him in the silvery light, Meryl crossed her arms and grasped the hem of her sweater. She pulled it upward with deliberate slowness, revealing inch by inch of her skin. The cool air pebbled her flesh as she lifted the garment over her head and let it fall to the floor.
Spencer’s sharp intake of breath sent a thrill through her. The power she felt in this moment was intoxicating—to be wanted so completely, to be the sole focus of his attention.
Her fingers moved to the button of her jeans, popping it open with a flick of her wrist. The zipper made a soft, sensual sound as she lowered it.
She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and pushed the denim down her hips, shimmying slightly to work them over her curves.
The jeans joined her sweater on the floor.
Standing now in only her bra and underwear, Meryl savored the raw hunger in Spencer’s expression. His hands gripped the edge of the mattress, knuckles white with restraint.
“You’re killing me,” he murmured.
“I’m just getting started,” she replied, reaching behind to unclasp her bra.
The straps slid down her shoulders as she freed herself from the garment. Her breasts felt heavy, sensitive to the air and Spencer’s gaze. His eyes devoured her, and she felt beautiful, powerful, desired.
With her thumbs hooked in the elastic of her underwear, she paused, enjoying the anticipation crackling between them. Then she slid the fabric down, stepping out of it with a grace she didn’t know she possessed.
Completely bare before him, Meryl felt no shyness, only a burning need to be closer. To feel his skin against hers. To claim him as thoroughly as she was claiming this moment.
She moved toward the bed, placing one knee on the mattress beside his thigh. Then the other. Her hands found his shoulders as she settled into his lap, straddling him.
“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” she whispered against his ear.
Spencer’s hands came up to her waist, his touch reverent. “I can remedy that.”
“No,” she said, pushing him back until he lay flat on the bed. “Let me.”
She made quick work of his shirt buttons, pushing the fabric aside to reveal the broad expanse of his chest. Her fingers traced the contours of muscle, the light dusting of hair that narrowed down his abdomen. She bent to press her lips to his sternum, feeling his heart hammer beneath her mouth.
His belt and jeans followed, and then they were skin to skin, her thighs around his hips, her hands splayed across his chest.
Meryl could feel him hard against her, and she shifted, lifting herself slightly. Reaching between them, she took him in hand, guiding him to her entrance. Their eyes locked as she began to sink down, taking him in slowly, savoring the exquisite stretch as he filled her.
“Meryl,” he breathed, his voice strained.
She didn’t rush, allowing her body to adjust to each inch until he was fully seated within her. The feeling of completeness stole her breath away. This was right. This was where she belonged.
Spencer sat up suddenly, his arms wrapping around her, changing the angle and driving him deeper. A gasp escaped her lips at the sensation.
His mouth found her breast, hot and demanding. The wet heat of his tongue circled her nipple before he drew it between his lips. At the same time, his fingers found her other breast, rolling the sensitive peak between thumb and forefinger.
The dual sensations sent lightning through her body. Her inner muscles clamped around him in response, pulling a groan from deep in his chest.
“God, Spencer,” she moaned, her head falling back as pleasure coursed through her.
She began to move, rocking her hips in a rhythm that built the tension coiling inside her. His mouth continued its sweet torture on her breasts, alternating between them, licking and sucking and driving her wild.
Meryl found her pace, circling her hips, rising and falling on him with increasing confidence. She watched his face, the way his eyes darkened with each movement, the way his lips parted as his breathing grew more ragged.
This was what she wanted—to be in control, to take her pleasure and give him his. To make this choice, this moment, entirely hers.
Spencer’s hands slid down to cup her bottom, his strong fingers kneading the flesh there. Suddenly, he lifted his hips off the bed, thrusting up to meet her downward motion. The new angle sent sparks of pleasure radiating outward from her core.
“Yes,” she hissed, her fingers digging into his shoulders.
Her body knew what it wanted now, and she rode him harder, chasing the building pressure. She could feel her climax approaching, that telltale tightening low in her belly.
Spencer threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her face down to his. Their lips met in a kiss that matched the rhythm of their bodies—deep, hungry, desperate. His tongue slid against hers, mimicking the movement of their joined bodies.
The coil of pleasure wound tighter, her movements growing more frantic.
Spencer’s body tensed beneath her, his rhythm faltering.
She felt him swell inside her, and then he was pulsing, his release triggering her own.
As he filled her with his seed, his fingers found the sensitive bundle of nerves between her thighs, pinching gently.
The sensation pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm crashed through her in waves, her inner muscles clenching around him as she cried out his name. Stars exploded behind her eyelids as pleasure consumed her, more intense than anything she’d ever felt.
She continued to rock against him, drawing out the sensations as aftershocks rippled through her body. Eventually, her movements slowed, her breathing gradually returning to normal.
With the last of her energy spent, Meryl collapsed onto Spencer’s chest. His arms came around her immediately, holding her close, his heart beating steadily beneath her ear.
“I love you,” he murmured into her hair.
“I love you too,” she whispered against his skin, meaning it with every fiber of her being.
They lay like that for long moments, their bodies still joined, neither willing to break the connection. Outside, an owl called, and the cottage creaked and settled around them. For the first time in her life, Meryl felt completely at home.
Not just in Pine Cottage, but in her own skin. In her own choice.
“Stay with me,” she whispered as he held her close.
“Always,” he promised.
As they lay wrapped in each other’s arms in the moonlit room, the house gave its familiar creak somewhere below, the sound oddly comforting now.
She had spent years teaching herself how to leave before anything could matter too much.
Tonight, for the first time, she let herself stay.