Chapter 4
Chapter Four
CADE
Three days since she kissed me and I can still feel her hands in my flannel.
Three days of fence work, cattle checks, normal routine. Not going over there uninvited because she said she can't do fast. So I'm doing my job, eating dinner alone, going to bed at nine.
Except now I can't sleep.
Thursday evening, a knock on my door. After seven. Already dark. Nobody knocks on my door.
Shelby is standing on my porch holding a foil-covered plate.
"I made dinner. Too much for one person." She holds it out. "Chicken. It's actually good. I can cook when there's a working stove."
Her hair is down. First time I've seen it out of that knot. Dark, past her shoulders, a little wavy from being tied up all day. She's wearing jeans that fit her hips in a way that makes my mouth dry. A sweater that falls off one shoulder, showing the strap of something underneath.
"Come in."
She steps past me. Pauses inside the door, looking around. My place is clean. Sparse. A couch, a table, the kitchen. Not much on the walls.
"It's tidy." She sounds surprised.
"I don't own enough stuff to make a mess."
She sets the plate on the table. I get two forks. We eat standing up in my kitchen because neither of us moves toward a chair. Chicken thighs with roasted peppers, rice on the side. She wasn't lying. It's good.
"You didn't have to bring this."
"You've been feeding me firewood for two weeks. Consider it payback." She leans against my counter, fork in hand. Comfortable in a way she wasn't a week ago. Still careful, still watching, but the edges have softened.
"I thought about you," she says. Direct. Eyes on mine. "The last three days. I tried not to, but I'm not great at lying to myself."
The fork goes still in my hand.
"And I keep trying to talk myself out of this because my track record with men is a disaster." She sets her fork on the counter. "But you're not what I'm used to. You don't talk unless you mean it. You fix things without making me feel broken for needing them fixed. And when you look at me..."
She stops. Swallows.
"When I look at you what?"
"You look at me like I'm worth being patient for."
My chest splits open. This woman who flinches when people show up unexpected, who sleeps with her doors locked, who bled her own pipes rather than ask for help. Standing in my kitchen telling me she's been thinking about me for three days.
The plate gets pushed aside. I'm across the kitchen in two steps. My hands find her waist, her hips filling my palms. She tips her head back. Those dark eyes are wide and certain.
"I'm gonna kiss you," I tell her. "And then I'm gonna take you to my bed. If that's not what you came here for, tell me now."
Her answer is her fingers hooking into my belt loops, pulling my hips against hers. "I came here for this."
I kiss her. Deep, unhurried, my hand cupping the back of her neck. She opens for me, tongue meeting mine, a sound in her throat that goes straight to my cock. My other hand slides under the hem of her sweater. Warm skin. The curve of her waist, the soft give of her belly, the lace edge of her bra.
She tugs my shirt up. I pull it over my head. Her palms go flat on my chest, fingers spreading across the muscle. She looks. Really looks. Drags one finger down the center of my stomach.
"Jesus, Cade."
"Your turn."
The sweater comes off. Black bra underneath, simple, pretty against her skin. She's flushed from her chest to her throat. I trace my thumb along the lace edge where it meets the swell of her breast. Her breath catches.
I reach behind her. Unhook the clasp. The bra drops. Full breasts, heavy, dark nipples already tight. Beautiful.
My mouth finds the curve of her neck. Her collarbone. The slope of her breast. When I close my lips over her nipple, she grabs the back of my head, fingers digging into my hair. A sharp inhale. I suck, tongue flat, then flick until she arches into me.
"Bed," she breathes. "Now."
The bedroom is ten steps down the hall. She walks backward, pulling me by the waistband of my jeans, and sits on the edge of the mattress. I drop to my knees on the hardwood floor.
Her eyes widen. "What are you doing?"
"Taking my time." My hands find the button of her jeans. She lifts her hips. I peel the denim down, taking the underwear with it. Black cotton, matching the bra.
She's naked on my bed. Curves for miles. Soft thighs, rounded belly, dark hair between her legs. My hands settle on her knees, easing them apart, and her breath goes shaky.
I press my mouth to the inside of her thigh. Slow. Trailing upward. She grabs the quilt beneath her. When my breath hits her pussy, her hips jerk.
The first stroke of my tongue is slow. Base to clit, flat, tasting her. She's wet. Her thighs tense against my palms.
"Cade. Oh God."
I take my time. Long, deliberate strokes. Working her with my tongue, learning what makes her hips roll. When I seal my lips around her clit and suck, she moans loud enough to echo off the bedroom walls. My cock is straining against my jeans. Doesn't matter. This is about her.
Two fingers press inside her, curling up. She's tight, hot, soaked. Her back arches off the mattress. I keep the rhythm steady. Tongue on her clit, fingers stroking that spot that makes her legs shake.
"Don't stop. Please don't stop."
I don't. Her hands are in my hair, pulling, and when she comes, her whole body locks. Thighs clamping around my head, voice cracking on my name, inner muscles gripping my fingers. I work her through it until the aftershocks fade, until her grip loosens, until she's breathing in ragged pulls.
I kiss her inner thigh. Stand. Unbuckle my jeans. She props herself on her elbows, watching me strip with eyes that are glazed, half-lidded, hungry. My cock springs free and her gaze drops.
"Condom," she says. "Please tell me you have a condom."
"Nightstand." I reach for the drawer. Roll it on while she watches. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip.
I climb over her. Brace on one forearm beside her head. My free hand runs down her side, over her hip, gripping the back of her thigh. Hitching her leg higher around my waist.
The head of my cock nudges against her entrance. Wet. Hot. I push in slow, watching her face. Her eyes flutter shut. Her mouth opens. Inch by inch until I'm buried and we're both still.
"Look at me."
Her eyes open. Dark. Full.
I pull back. Thrust in. Deep, slow, rolling my hips. She gasps. Wraps both legs around me, heels digging into my back. My forehead drops against hers. Every stroke deliberate, grinding against her clit at the bottom. She's so warm, so tight, her body pulling me deeper.
"Harder." Her nails rake down my back. "Cade, harder."
I grip her hip. Drive in faster. The headboard taps the wall. She moans, arching up to meet me, her breasts pressing against my chest. I bury my face in her neck and fuck her with everything. Deep, steady strokes that make the bed frame creak.
Her hand slides between us. Fingers finding her own clit, circling. The sight of it nearly breaks me. My rhythm falters for one beat before I lock it back in, angling my hips up, hitting her deeper.
"Come for me." My voice is rough against her ear. "Let go, Shelby."
She shatters. Clenching around me, pulling me in, her cry muffled against my shoulder. Two more thrusts and I follow, burying deep, groaning into her neck while my vision whites out.
We stay tangled. Breathing hard. Her legs still wrapped around me, fingers tracing lazy lines down my spine. My weight braced on my forearms to keep from crushing her.
I pull out carefully. Deal with the condom. Come back to bed. She rolls onto her side, one hand tucked under the pillow, watching me.
"Hi," she says.
"Hi."
A smile. A real one, unhurried, reaching her eyes for the first time since I've known her. My chest does something complicated.
I pull her against me. Her back to my chest, my arm heavy across her waist. She settles in, pressing back, fitting against me so naturally it doesn't make sense.
"Your cabin is warmer than mine," she murmurs.
"Insulation. The previous owner did it right."
"Mmm." Her fingers trace over my forearm where it rests on her belly. "I forgot what this feels like."
"What?"
"Safe." The word comes out quiet. "Being held by someone and feeling safe."
My arm tightens. Just slightly. Enough for her to feel it.
We lie there while the dark fills the windows. Her breathing slows. Her fingers still on my arm. She falls asleep in my bed, warm and solid against my chest, and for the first time in five years this cabin doesn't feel empty.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I reach for it without moving the arm that's around her.
Griffin:
Jasper says you've been scarce. Everything good?
Me:
Everything's good.
Griffin:
That's three words. From you that's a novel. Who is she?
I stare at the screen. Shelby's breathing is deep, even. Her hand is curled around my wrist in her sleep, holding on.
Me:
My neighbor.
Griffin:
The one who bought the old Jenkins cabin sight unseen? Mabel's been talking.
Me:
Mabel's always talking.
Griffin:
Be careful.
Me:
Too late for that.
I set the phone down. Press my mouth to the back of her head. Close my eyes.
Too late by about two weeks.