Chapter 32 Sawyer
SAWYER
I haven’t felt this kind of adrenaline in years. My heart crashes against my ribcage at a sprint, I can barely catch my slippery breath, and my skin is vibrating with the need to make sure Brie is alright.
I’m pressed up against her, my body folded over hers against the wall, shielding her. I feel her rapid breaths as her chest rises and falls in quick succession against mine. Her entire body trembles from the rush, teeth chattering.
My hands cup her face, and I press a kiss onto her forehead. “You’re okay.” My voice is rough.
I’m pretty sure a tree just took out part of my cabin. One look over my shoulder confirms it.
“Everything’s fine,” I tell her. “We didn’t even need to move, we would’ve been fine.”
“You saved me.” Her big brown eyes look up at me, shock, fear, and . . . wonder? “You keep saving me.”
Don’t, I tell myself. Don’t do it.
For one heavy moment, we stare at each other, my eyes bouncing between hers.
Don’t fucking do it.
Her chin tips up the slightest bit.
“Fuck it.” I cover her lips with mine.
My hands cover her perfect rear, lifting while she snakes her legs around my hips.
Her hands are in my hair as she grinds into me, meeting my hungry thrusts.
I bring one hand between us and slip it under her sweater, palming her breast as I knead her ass with my other hand.
She lets out a soft little sigh that has my cock hard in my jeans. I rock it against her.
“Mm-hm,” she hums urgently as she kisses my throat.
“There?” I ask, rubbing against the same spot.
She hums again, and I keep with it, hungry for her breathy sounds.
“Brie.” I say, and she looks at me beneath hooded lids. Then I say it again, just because I can. “Brie. Fuck, look at the sight of you.” Her lips are plump from kissing, cheeks flushed, eyes ablaze with need.
When we find a rhythm, her head begins to loll back.
I catch it before it knocks against the wall.
Watching her eyes roll to the back of her head is like a drug.
I love watching her like this, knowing I’m the one doing it to her.
I dive for the sensitive spot on her neck, grazing my teeth along the curve.
“I want to feel you,” I pant into her neck. “I want to taste you.” I suck the spot right beneath her ear, and she moans. “But you’re too close for that already, aren’t you?”
She lets out an unintelligible grunt, clutching me tightly. My hand tightens around her hair, and her eyes flick open. She nods, her movements frantic against me now. Her eyes glaze over, and her body tightens around mine. She’s going to come for me. Because of me.
“Jesus, Brie. You’re going to make me spill in my pants. You’re too pretty.”
Her mouth opens in a silent gasp, and her entire body shudders in my arms. Knowing I’m the source of her pleasure is enough.
I pump against her once, twice, and on the third time, I jerk hard against her, coming in my pants for the second time in twenty-four hours.
My face is buried in her neck, and we’re both breathing hard, but not from fight-or-flight anymore.
My knees are weak, so I lean into the wall, flattening her to me. I nuzzle my face into her neck, taking a deep breath. She’s so warm and perfect.
A hard wind blows snow against my back. It takes a few seconds for reality to wink back into existence.
Right. A tree fell on my cabin, destroying some of my hard work.
Keeping my forehead pressed into Brie’s shoulder, I roll my head enough to look back at the damage.
All in all, it could have been so much worse.
At least two of the floor-to-ceiling windows are partially shattered at the back of the house, tree branches sticking through them like welcoming arms letting in the snow.
Through the intact windows, I can see the huge oak sitting precisely where the brand new covered porch was about half an hour ago.
In the back of my mind, I wonder about damage to the cabin roof, but I’m not sure I really care right now with Brie still clutching to me.
“Nuh-uh,” I grunt when she starts to unwrap her legs.
I hold tight, keeping her where she is for as long as she’ll let me.
It could be the last time. I don’t know what she was going to say before the tree fell.
All she said was okay. That could mean anything.
Okay, but I never want to see you again.
Okay, but your sorry excuses make me hate you more.
Or okay, but I’m leaving town when the roads are cleared.
She tightens her hold on me, squeezing me back, and I breathe her in. It’s enough to make a grown man cry. With happiness. With hope. With desperation.
Another whistle, another cold gust against my back, and I know we can’t stay like this. I step back, and she gingerly drops her feet to the ground. We still have unfinished business to discuss, but there’s a gaping hole in my cabin and temperatures are only going to plummet.
Aaaand the evidence of my climax is trapped in my underwear, sticking uncomfortably as I move. This is . . . kind of gross.
“Listen,” I say. “You’re not going to try and walk out on me again, are you?”
She drags her teeth over her pillowy bottom lip, her cheekbones high. “Not tonight.”
I let out a relieved breath. “Okay. I—I just need a minute in the bathroom. But I’ve gotta take care of this.” I point my thumb at the giant hole in my house. “It’s going to be dark soon.”
“Got it. No problem. Go.”
After a quick clean-up, I come out to Brie sweeping up the glass, and my heart squeezes tight. It’s so domestic, like she’s right where she belongs. With me.
This is a fucking emergency, Sawyer, don’t read too much into it.
She turns to me. “What do we do?”
“Keep doing that while I use a chainsaw to cut down the closest branches. Then I’ll cover the windows with plywood.” She nods dutifully, and my heart squeezes again. “Thanks.”
It takes thirty minutes to get the worst branches out of the way.
I have to do it at awkward angles, holding the chainsaw over my head at times, being extra careful of kickback and where the branches fall.
Sawdust and mulch rain down on me, splattering against my safety glasses, but I’m in too much of a hurry to be tidy about it.
When I have enough of a clearing, I take a ladder to assess any damage to the roof over the main cabin. Luckily, it’s in decent shape.
“Alright,” I call to Brie through the opening.
She’s nearly done sweeping up the extra mess I caused.
“I’m going to cover this up,” I tell her.
It’s fortunate that I’ve been lazy about returning extra materials, wanting to do it all at once rather than stand at customer service multiple times at the big box hardware store in Ridgedale.
I’m hefting a sheet of plywood onto the ruined porch when Brie appears. Without a word, she takes one side and helps me angle it over the window frame. She holds up one side while I hold my end with one hand and screw the corners in with the other, making quicker work than if I were alone.
She watches as I take my nailgun to secure the edges—a quick fix for an emergency. I haven’t installed the floodlights out here yet, and it’s getting too dark to see well. The town’s streetlights are distant winks from where we stand.
I keep my eyes on the gun, heart in my throat, and say, “You were going to say something before the tree interrupted us . . .” and I dry humped you to completion.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her shift.
“I’d like to know what you were going to say,” I press.
She sucks in a breath. “I’m not going to get over everything that happened between us from one conversation.”
My heart plummets. It’s what I should have expected.
“But I think” —she seems to be weighing her words— “maybe we could, like, work through it.”
I force myself to temper my reaction even as my heart soars to heights I didn’t know existed.
She goes on. “It’s going to be hard for me. Especially right away. My instinct is to not trust you.”
My heart is on a brutal rollercoaster.
“We can go slow,” I say, voice gruff, and I’m not sure what I even mean by it. The truth is, I mean whatever she’ll give me.
Going slow toward friendship? I’d be happy to have it, even if I’ll always want more.
Going slow toward a relationship? I’m already hers.
Going slow toward forgiveness? The dream.
I pick up the second sheet of plywood. She’s there in an instant, helping me place it just right, then holding it steady.
She picks up where we left off. “Going slow sounds like it could work.”
Clearing my throat, I say, “It’s okay if you want to be just friends, but . . .”
I don’t have to look over to know her attention is fully on me. But that’s great. I want her to hear this. No more beating around the bush. Direct communication.
“I want to date you,” I say. “If you’ll let me, I want to take you out. It doesn’t have to be now, or next week. Just, when you’re ready.” Now that she’s in Blue Ridge, I have nothing but time.
I finish the last screw and chance looking at her, but it’s too dark to see her expression. I can’t read her silence out here, and I start to panic, thinking I already blew my promise to go slow just by asking.
“I might let you,” she says finally, and I think I detect a small smile in her voice.
My shoulders relax. Thank fuck. Then I’m grateful for the dark, because it means she can’t see the goofy grin on my face.
She picks up the nailgun. “Can I try?”
“Definitely.”
I show her how to use it and tell her about the kickback. She goes crazy with it, nailing along the edge with glee. I hold the ladder for her to reach higher.
“All this time,” she says, “I was impressed with your craftsmanship. But, really, it’s just a ton of fun.”
A laugh booms out of me. “It can get monotonous and tedious. But yeah, it’s fun, too.”
When we’re done, I send her inside while I put away the tools. Then head in as high as I’ve ever been. Brie might let me take her out on a date. That’s good enough for now.
Stepping into the cabin, I realize it is really fucking cold in here. I start a fire, trying not to imagine all the ways Brie and I could keep each other warm tonight.
We’re going slow, I chastise as I go to take my third shower of the day.