Chapter 9
Lucy
The week goes by in a blissful blur. I spend my morning sipping coffee on the back porch, watching the sun rise over the mountains.
I spend my days with Fern, playing with ponies, running in the fields, and giggling until my stomach hurts.
Whenever I see Tate, our eyes always catch each other’s, sharing a silent smile or a smirk or a wink.
If we happen to be alone, he’ll wrap me up in his arms, pressing kisses to my temple, my forehead, my lips.
And at night, after Fern’s asleep, we’ll lay cuddled on the couch together watching movies, playing games, or simply talking.
It's like my life has turned into some dream overnight. The kind of life I always wanted but never had.
Even the text messages have stopped. The ones from unknown numbers, the ones that were peppering me multiple times a day, then daily, and now …
not at all. I guess he’s given up. And while I worry that he’ll try again some other way, I try to push that worry to the back of my mind—keep it locked up somewhere safe and just accept my new life.
Because I deserve it. After years of a living hell, I deserve this.
“Can I have a Rice Krispie treat?” Fern asks, tugging at my jeans.
I glance at the clock on the wall, squinting. “I don’t know, honey, it’s a bit late. It’s going to be dinnertime soon.”
Fern puts on the poutiest of pouty faces. “Grandma lets me!” she declares.
I pop an eyebrow, placing my hands on my hips, staring down at her. “Does she?” I ask and try not to laugh when Fern immediately caves.
“No,” she gives in, staring at the floor.
I bite back a giggle. “Let’s go play ponies until dinner,” I suggest, holding out a hand. She takes me up on the offer, and we end up in her room until the telltale sign of the door slamming and Tate’s boots across the entryway have Fern scrambling up and careening out into the main room.
I follow after her, the smells of Theresa cooking dinner in the kitchen greeting me along with the sight of Tate with little Fern wrapped in his arms.
She grabs the cowboy hat from his head, placing it on her own and then giggling when it falls over her eyes and she can’t see.
Tate glances over her head at me, shooting me a smile that sends fire igniting low in my belly. I smile back, feeling that familiar blush creeping over my cheeks. God, I need to get myself together around this man.
Theresa pokes her head around the corner from the kitchen, breaking our momentary stare. “Dinner’s ready!” she singsongs, glancing between us with what looks to be a smirk on her face.
The evening unfolds the way most of our evenings have this past week. The four of us—Theresa, Tate, Fern, and I—have dinner, followed by some TV time for Fern, and once she’s asleep, Tate and I end up snuggled up on the couch together.
We’re lying sideways on the couch, me nestled between Tate’s legs, my back pressed against his chest while he aimlessly plays with my hair.
“You like my hair?” I tease playfully, angling my head up even though I still can’t see him.
He leans down to press a quick kiss to my temple. “I like you,” he replies.
I giggle. “I like you back.”
He hums, and it sends the butterflies in my stomach wild. “What could you possibly like about me?” he scoffs.
It’s a joke, but I still feel the need to answer it. “You make me feel safe,” I blurt out, and as the words settle around us, they settle inside of me too. Like I hadn’t fully realized their truth until this moment.
Tate’s hands halt in my hair, as if sensing the gravity of my words. And I suddenly wish I could take them back. As if uttering them has opened a window into my soul that I’m not yet ready to crack.
His arms move to wrap around me, pulling me tighter against his chest. “I’m glad I make you feel safe,” he says softly. And then after a few heartbeats, “Have you not always felt like that?”
A sudden wave of emotion washes over me, and I’m glad I’m facing away from him so he can’t see the tears welling in my eyes. I have just enough time to pull them back, to gather myself. “No,” I finally whisper.
Tate continues to hold me tight, the silence stretching around us. I know he wants more of an answer. And I wish I could give it to him. Maybe I’ll be able to one day, but not now.
Tate gives me another tight squeeze, accepting my silence and respecting it. I swivel, turning so that I’m facing him, nuzzling my head against his chest and hugging him back. He presses a kiss to the top of my head, and then I look up, pressing my lips to his.
Like all our kisses, it starts out soft. Sweet and slow. But in this moment, I don’t really want sweet or slow. I want something to chase away the nightmares, to turn my mind to mush. I press against him, pushing the kiss further, parting his lips and tangling my tongue with his.
He responds with a surprised growl, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my sides.
My lips still locked on his, I sit up, maneuvering myself so that I’m straddling him.
My arms wrap around his neck, my fingers playing with the hair at the base of his skull.
He grips my waist, one hand traveling lower to cup my ass, squeezing it through the thin fabric of my joggers.
Up until now, he’s been nothing but respectful, keeping his hands in only the most acceptable of places. But I don’t want to be treated carefully tonight.
I break the kiss and stare down at him, panting quietly. “Bedroom,” I say. It’s a suggestion, and plea, a request.
Fire lights in those eyes of his, and he raises an eyebrow. His grip on my sides tightens, and it only sends more heat pooling in my core. “Are you sure?” he murmurs, barely above a whisper.
“Yes,” I say emphatically.
Capturing my mouth in his, he sits up, guiding my legs around his torso, gripping the undersides of my thighs, and then standing. I let out a surprised squeak, but he devours that too, continuing to work his tongue over mine as he carries me to his bedroom.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he can so easily scoop me up into his arms—he’s a god damn cowboy, after all.
I’m vaguely aware of the sound of his bedroom door closing, and then the feel of the mattress beneath me as Tate gently sets me down and climbs over top of me. He trails soft kisses down my neck, down my collarbone, to the very tops of my breasts where the first button of my blouse is waiting.
His eyes flick up to meet mine, and even in the darkness, I can still see the question there. He’s asking again, making sure.
I nod.
He undoes the top button, then the next, and the next, until my bra and stomach are bared before him. Squeezing my sides with his rough hands, he leans down to press kiss after kiss along my stomach, eliciting a soft moan from my lips.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathes against my skin, only it hits differently than the way any other man has said those words to me. It’s not flattery, not even simple observation. It’s as if the words pain him leaving his lips. Like he’s a starving man having just come across a meal.
He sits up to remove his shirt, and I take the opportunity to shimmy out of my blouse and work on slipping out of my jeans. Tate’s eyes are glued to me the entire time until we’re both in just our underwear.
He slowly moves back onto the bed, positioning himself between my legs, but still sitting up, staring down at me. He runs his hands along my arms, along my stomach, over my bra.
My breath hitches in my throat, my breasts aching to be held in his rough hands.
As if reading my mind, he urges me to arch my back and reaches under me, unclasping my bra. My breasts spill free, and he takes a moment to simply gaze down at them as they rise and fall, our breaths the only sound in the room.
He moves to gently cup them, running his thumbs over my nipples a few times before leaning down to suck one slowly into his mouth.
I whimper quietly, arching my back, pressing into him.
“God, look at you,” he whispers as he moves to my other breast, sucking and licking until I’m writhing under him.
“From the moment I first saw you, I’ve fantasized about what you would look like naked underneath me,” he admits, flicking his gaze up to meet mine.
He runs his tongue slowly, languidly over my breast, and my jaw practically unhinges.
“I know that makes me a terrible man, lusting after my child’s nanny.
A terrible, terrible man,” he repeats, and his fingers dig into the flesh of my waist so hard it almost hurts.
“But fuck, Lucy, nothing could have prepared me for this. You look better than any goddamn fantasy I could have cooked up.”
I whimper, and he clenches his jaw at the sound.
“I would have sold my soul a thousand times over just to hear those goddamn noises you’re making.”
And I swear to god, if this man doesn’t fuck me soon, I’m going to burst.
I reach for his underwear, and he gets the hint, standing briefly to swiftly discard them. Hooking his fingers under the hem of my panties, he deftly slides them down my legs, leaving me utterly naked on his bed.
Tate Thatcher’s bed.
Where I’m pretty sure I’m about to have the railing of a lifetime.
He moves to his nightstand, grabbing something I quickly recognize as a condom and slipping it on.
He climbs back over top of me, settling between my thighs.
I feel the tip of him at my entrance, and I instinctively tense, but not before Tate covers my mouth with his in a long, passionate kiss.
I’m melting into the bed again, lost in him.
But when he breaks away, I stare up at him, searching his eyes.
“Tate, I—sometimes, I …”
His eyebrows draw together in concern. “Do you want to stop?” he asks quickly.
“No, no.” I’m shaking my head. “It’s just sometimes, I …
sometimes it can take a while for me to …
come. With somebody else,” I admit. In fact, I’d gotten into the habit of faking it quite a few times.
Only I don’t want to fake it with him. But I also don’t want to burden him with expectations.
Unrealistic ones, at that. “So don’t worry if I don’t—”
But he cuts me off by slowly swiping a thumb over my lips, staring down at me.
“Let me take care of you, Lucy,” he says, and somehow it sounds simultaneously like an order and a plea.
He presses his lips to my ear before whispering the next part.
“Just lie there,” he breathes, pressing a kiss to my earlobe.
“And moan.” A kiss to my neck. “And whimper.” A kiss lower.
“And squirm.” Lower. “And scream to god for all I care.” His tongue is dancing along my skin now.
“And let this cowboy break you in, okay?”
A surprised gasp escapes me at his words, but it’s immediately replaced by a cry of utter pleasure as he sinks inside of me. His hand immediately moves to cover my mouth, and I widen my eyes, horrified at how loud I’d just been.
“Shhhh,” he admonishes in my ear.
I nod, moaning quietly, but the presence of his hand over my mouth while his cock fills me up, slowly seating the length of him inside of me, is only making me wetter.
He removes his hand, and as soon as he does, his name leaves my mouth in a quiet whimper.
“Tate,” I practically sob, the feeling of him filling me up, stretching my walls, almost more than I can bear.
I hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the dark, but by the feel of him, he’s much bigger than anyone I’ve ever slept with.
He goes to work kissing my neck again, and my body immediately responds, relaxing around him. “You okay?” he breathes against me.
I nod.
“You feel good?”
I nod again with a small whimper.
“You feel safe?” This time he leans back far enough to look me in the eyes, and the sincerity I see there almost makes me want to cry.
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes.”
He kisses me softly and then slowly starts thrusting in and out of me.
I gasp, squeezing my eyes tight and rolling my head back in ecstasy. He picks up the pace, pumping into me in a steady rhythm.
“What do you like, Lucy?” Tate’s words pull my eyes back open.
“What?” I stammer.
“Tell me what you like. What gets you off,” he orders.
“I … I …” I’m not sure I even know the answer to that. I mean, I know what gets me off when I’m alone. But saying it now? Here? And would it even work with another person in the mix?
“I’m assuming you like this,” he murmurs, moving his hand lower to find my clit while he momentarily slows his thrusts.
I open my mouth with a soft moan as he gently rolls my bud.
“Yeah,” he says, his voice low. “Is this a good spot, or is there somewhere better?” he asks.
“I … left. A little,” I say.
A grin spreads across his face as he moves his finger ever so slightly to the left, and stars dance in front of my eyes, as I arch my back, biting back the moan bursting out of me.
“There’s my girl,” he praises, and it just about sends me over the cliff. His free hand goes to my breast, gently rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger. “How about this? Do you like this?”
I nod, whimpering quietly.
“More?” he presses. “Or the same?”
“More,” I manage.
Tate pinches my nipple, and I gasp, pleasure coursing through my entire body.
He continues his languid thrusts, his attention on my clit, and his fondling of my breast, slowly working me up, up, up until I’m doing all those things he’d just told me to.
Moaning, whimpering, squirming—and not exactly screaming to god, but I definitely would be if we were the only ones in this house.
As the minutes go by, I realize—much to my own shock—that I’m inching closer and closer to the edge. And in record time, I might add. How on earth did Tate Thatcher manage to pull this off?
As if he can read the shock on my face, Tate interjects, “Breathe, Lucy.” His deep voice sends another shot of arousal through me, coiling in my center, heating up. “Breathe,” he commands.
My mind is going blank, a strange, blissful cloud descending over me.
“Let me have this, sweet girl,” he says.
And I shatter around him. I’m gasping for air, clutching at the bed sheets as my limbs shake and Tate thrusts into me, chasing his own climax. He stills, finishing inside of me and then collapsing on top of me.
We lie like that for a few moments, catching our breath, our sweaty, naked bodies pressed together in an intimacy I haven’t felt in a long, long time.
A thousand thoughts swirl through my head, ranging from elation to worry. What if this was all a mistake? What if he doesn’t actually feel anything for me? What if this changes everything? What if all he wanted was this and now that he’s gotten it, he’ll forget about me?
But those thoughts are chased away when Tate turns to press a soft kiss to my forehead and asks, “Stay the night with me? Please?”
My heart about bursts, and a smile spreads across my face. “Whatever you say, cowboy.”