Chapter 13 Dane
DANE
Ifollow Sloan inside after the truce we've accomplished and my stomach is already growling. It's been forever since I had someone make dinner for me, so I'm not turning down her offer, though I know it'll have some kale slipped in somewhere before all is said and done.
It was generous of her to admit her fault and offer to bleach her hair, but deep down, I know she's right.
I've been hiding, and I don't want to force her to go into hiding like me.
It's not the right thing. Facing men like Maddox is the only way to prove we won't back down and that we'll stand our ground.
That's why I know I have to go head this off at its source in New York and hopefully, Jason can give me more intel and maybe a helping hand.
I move to the table and start clearing the dishes from earlier, stacking plates and gathering silverware.
Sloane moves around the kitchen with familiarity now, opening cabinets and pulling out ingredients.
She's making herself at home here, and I'm not sure how to feel about that.
Part of me wants to maintain distance, keep her at arm's length so it hurts less when she inevitably leaves.
But a larger part—the part that's been winning lately—wants to pull her closer and never let go.
"Can you grab the cast iron pan?" she asks over her shoulder.
"I don't know where you keep it." Her eyes briefly catch mine, and I nod at her and move toward the cupboard.
She's at the counter, hands busy slicing potatoes as I set the pan beside her, and we're suddenly close enough to touch. But I don’t back away because I feel magnetized to her side.
She's intoxicating, free-spirited and strong-willed but tender and compassionate.
No one has ever looked at me the way she does and no one has ever seen me for who I really am and not run away.
I mean, sure, there were women who came and went, bossy, loud-mouthed, arrogant women who never gave a rat's ass about me or who I really am.
And there's a reason none of them are here now.
And Sloane is special and somehow entirely different from the other women in my world.
I have no idea why she didn't take one look at me and scream for help.
She's had every opportunity to tell this whole town who I am, and I know it's not just because she's afraid and thinks I am her only protection.
I see it when she looks me in the eye… Like now.
She glances up at me, and neither of us moves.
"You're in my space," she says softly, but when she swallows hard and I watch that slender throat of hers work, I know she's not asking me to back away.
"I know."
"I, uh… I can't cook with you there." Her eyes flick to the pan I set down, then rise to meet mine again, and I notice her pupils are blown wide. "Why aren't you moving?"
My body is planted, uncooperative and stubborn as hell as I think how she's right. My stomach is growling and I need to eat to think straight, but she smells so good—like lavender and coffee. "I don't know."
Her hand sets the knife down. "You don't know?"
"Being close to you makes me feel calmer.
" I'm not a vulnerable man, so that admission is painful, but it makes her lips tick up at the corners.
"Which doesn't make sense because you're a complicated woman and sometimes, you're a pain in the ass…
" I pause, watching her smile broaden. "But when you're near me, my mind quiets down. "
Those long lashes drop then rise again, and she looks up at me through them. "I have that effect on people. It's why I became a nurse."
"It's not your nursing ability that makes me feel human." I reach out, tucking that same strand of hair behind her ear again. My fingers linger near her face, and she doesn't pull away. "It's you. Just you."
Her hazel eyes search mine, looking for the lie or the angle, but she won't find either. "Dane—"
"Can I kiss you?" I ask softly as my thumb traces the line of her cheekbone and my fingers curl around the back of her neck. I'm not used to doing this in a soft way, but something about Sloane makes me want to do everything I've never tried before, like asking for consent.
"Now why do you want to do that?" she asks, and her lashes beat down on her cheeks before fluttering back upward.
"Because you might be the most infuriating woman on the planet, but you got under my skin somehow and you're all I can think about.
So don't tell me no because if you do, I don't think I'll ever take a chance like this again.
" She licks her lips before I'm even done talking, and I feel her pulse racing under my touch, her jugular thrumming against my palm.
"Please kiss me," she whispers, so soft I have to read her lips to know what she's saying, but that's where my eyes are locked anyway.
I lean down, brushing my mouth across hers with the faintest physical contact, and the tension between us ratchets up so high, I think my heart will explode. I pull back slightly before leaning back in, this time kissing her harder and taking her breath away.
My hand pulls her in, fingers now tangled in her hair, and my other hand grips her hip bone, and she whimpers as her hands splay on my chest, but she doesn't push away.
"Dane," she mutters between kisses, but it's too late for me to back away now. Sloane is the only thing on my mind, the only thing I want, and I'm a foolish man for letting myself get carried away but for Christ's sake, I can't control myself anymore.
"I'm gonna need you to take your clothes off," I grumble, backing her until her body stops moving and I realize I'm pinning her to the counter.
"I'm gonna need you to promise me you'll come home from New York…"
Her words are a bit of a surprise. Hearing her admit that she worries I may not come back makes my attraction to her feel supercharged.
"I'll always come back, Sloane. You don't have to worry about that."
I drag my mouth from hers only long enough to grip the hem of her soft cotton tee and yank it over her head in one rough pull.
The fabric catches on her ponytail for half a second before it’s gone, tossed somewhere behind me.
Her bra is black lace, barely there, and the sight of it against her skin makes my cock throb so hard, I have to grind my teeth.
“Jesus, Sloane," I grunt, having to force myself not to grope her like an idiot.
Her fingers are already clawing at my belt, metal clinking, leather hissing free.
I shove her jeans down her hips, taking the lace panties with them, and she kicks them off along with her sneakers—bought at the thrift shop next to Ellie's diner.
Bare now except for that bra, she looks up at me with fire in her eyes and zero hesitation.
I lift her by the waist and plant her ass on the cold counter top. She gasps at the shock of it, thighs parting instantly, wrapping around my hips like she was made to lock me in place. My shirt’s gone next—buttons popping loose—and her nails rake down my chest hard enough to leave red trails.
“Dane,” she breathes, arching when I rip the bra down instead of bothering with the clasp. Her breasts spill free, nipples tight and begging. I close my mouth over one, sucking hard, teeth grazing just enough to make her cry out and fist my hair.
My hand slides between her legs with no teasing or gentle bullshit. She’s soaked, slick—coating my fingers the second I push two inside her. And she clenches around me like a fist and moans my name so filthy I almost come in my jeans.
“Hold on,” I growl against her throat, shoving the cast iron pan and cutting board aside with one sweep. Potatoes scatter across the floor, rolling under the table while I take a nipple in my mouth and suck, and Sloan hisses and thrusts her chest out at me farther.
I yank my zipper down, shove everything to my thighs, and fist my cock before stroking a few times and straightening.
Her eyes are wild, legs spread as she reaches for me eagerly, and when I settle between her thighs, she guides me home.
It's like sinking into velvet and champagne, gliding through her moisture as her breath hitches and her eyes roll back in her head.
"Oh, fuck," she grunts, and I bottom out and pull back again, building to a slow rhythm that tears another curse from her lips.
I’m not gentle. I can’t be. Not when she’s clawing at me like she’ll die if I stop. Not when she’s whispering, “Don’t you dare leave me,” between broken moans that sound a hell of a lot like mine.
I slam into her again, the counter's edge biting into my thighs but all I feel is her clenching around me like she’s trying to punish me for every second I ever thought about walking away.
Her head falls back, throat exposed, and I bite down on the soft spot beneath her jaw, marking her the way I’ve wanted to since the first time she looked at me without flinching.
“Tell me you're mine, Sloane," I snarl against her skin, hips snapping so deep the counter groans in protest. “Make my heart believe it…"
“Yours,” she gasps, nails carving half-moons into my rib cage. “God, Dane, I’m yours—don’t stop—”
I slide my hand down her sweat-slick stomach, thumb finding her clit, and start circling in tight, fast pulses.
She jerks like I’ve electrocuted her, a broken cry ripping out of her as her thighs quake around my waist. I can feel her fluttering, right there, so close, and I drive in so hard her whole body jolts up the counter.
Her back arches, tits pressed to my chest, and I swallow her scream with my mouth as she comes—shattering, pulsing around my cock so tight I see stars.
She convulses, twitching and bucking, and I swear I feel blood running down my sides, and all I can think about is the way her walls stroke me. It's incredible.
I’m right behind her. One more thrust and I bury myself deep, groaning, "Fuck, Sloane," into her neck as I spill inside her. I lock my knees to keep them from buckling and my arms cage her in, forehead pressed to hers while we both shake and gasp for air.
Minutes pass—or seconds, I can’t tell. Her fingers are in my hair now, gentle, stroking.
I’m still inside her, half-hard and throbbing every time she shifts.
Then her lips brush over mine and plead for attention, which I give freely, nipping and sucking her lower lip into my mouth.
I could stay like this forever, and I want to, but reality is sinking in, and no matter how perfect this moment seems, we still have life to face, enemies to fight before the happily ever after even has a chance of coming.
“Don’t go to New York,” she whispers against my lips, and her voice trembles. “Stay. Just stay.”
I kiss her slowly this time, tasting salt on her tongue. “I’ll come back, woman. I swear on my life.”
She nods, but her legs tighten around me like she’ll never let go. But then she says, "We should probably move," but makes no effort to unwrap herself from me.
"Probably," I say, but I only back away enough to pull out, then lean back in until her pelvis is tight against mine and my sex drains out of her onto my thighs.
She's flushed, hair mussed, lips swollen from kissing. She looks thoroughly ravaged, and satisfaction curls through my chest knowing I did that to her.
"So much for cooking dinner," she says, glancing at the abandoned potatoes.
"We can order something from Ellie later." I'm still not ready to let her go yet. "Or I can finish what you started."
"Order out…" she mumbles, lips finding mine again, and I indulge in yet another kiss. Who’d have thought four weeks ago that this strange woman I picked up half naked in the town square would worm her way into my life so deeply?
And who would ever guess that I'd put my life on the line for her instead of turning her out and running to a new city to hide out?
"When I go to the city…" I feel her tense in my arms because she just asked me to stay and I know I can't. "The reason I need you to stay is that I can't focus on taking down Cal if I'm worried about you getting caught in the crossfire."
"I can take care of myself." Her fingers trace the line of my chest piece and I capture her wrist, kiss her knuckles.
"I know you can. You're probably tougher than half the men I worked with. But Cal has resources I don't and if he gets his hands on you…" I can't finish the sentence because admitting aloud how badly it would thrash my heart if she got caught in the crossfire would hurt too much.
She pulls back enough to look at me. "Why do you care so much? Back in the truck, I told you I didn't care about your life and basically—"
I pinch her jaw to stop her. "Because I know you were lying." I brush my thumb across her cheek. "You wouldn't have brought me coffee if you didn't care. And we wouldn't be here like this right now if you could just walk out and never look back."
Sloane blinks slowly, eyes never leaving mine, and I see her mind processing, chewing on my words.
"We're in this together, whether we want it or not."
"I want…" She purses her lips and her eyes drift away, then back. "I want you, Dane."
"You're not scared of me?"
Her expression softens and she grins. "You think I should run?"
"Most people would."
"I'm not most people." She reaches up, tracing the tattoo above my collar. "And for the record, you're right. I care what happens to you. I was angry when I said those things, but they weren't true."
"Then you understand why I need you here. Safe. Where I know Cal can't touch you." I tighten my arms around her. "I can handle losing almost anything. But I can't handle losing you. Not when I'm just starting to—"
I cut myself off, but she hears what I don't say. Her eyes widen fractionally.
"Starting to what?" she presses.
"That L-word, I think… but don't go getting a big head." My hands tighten behind her and she bites my chest.
"So I should call you Daddy now or something?" she asks playfully, pinching one of my nipples.
"That's it, now you're gonna get it." My fingers find her sides and I commence tickling her until she's laughing, falling off the counter, and we're finding our way to the bedroom, me stumbling in my jeans still locked around my ankles and Sloane mocking me for my silvering hair.
But for a few precious moments, the war outside these walls—and even the one inside my own head—is quiet, and the only care I have in the world is whether I'm too old to keep up with a woman her age.
Because Sloane is definitely going to make me work for every second of this.