Chapter 8 Dove #2
"We'll visit Mia and Bentley," I say suddenly. "The Ashfords want to maintain contact. The kids want us in their lives."
"Every chance we get," he promises, pulling me into his arms. "They're part of our story."
"And we'll have our own children someday?"
"As many as you want," he says, kissing me softly. "Though I'm hoping they inherit your courage instead of my tendency to overthink everything."
I laugh, feeling lighter than I have in months. "I love you, Mountain Man."
"I love you too," he says. "And I promise you – I will never stop fighting for us again."
As he carries me toward the bedroom, I catch sight of Mia's angel ornament on the mantelpiece, and I send up a silent prayer of gratitude.
For second chances and the courage to take them.
For love that's strong enough to survive fear and doubt.
For finding our way back to each other despite our own worst instincts.
My heart hammers as Tannon carries me to the bed. He sets me down so gently, like I might break, and just looks at me with such intensity it steals my breath.
"I can't believe you're here," he says, his voice rough. "I kept thinking that I'd dreamed the whole thing."
"I'm real." I take his hand, press it to my racing heart. "I'm here."
His hands shake as he reaches for my sweater. "Let me see you. I need to see you. I've been going crazy imagining this."
"God, Dove." His fingers trail over my collarbone, down to the swell of my breasts still covered by my bra. "I thought about you every single day. Wondered if I'd ever get to touch you again."
"You have me now," I whisper.
"So perfect," he breathes. "I remembered, but somehow you're even more beautiful than my memories."
He lowers his head, pressing kisses to the valley between my breasts, across the swell of each one, everywhere except where I need him most. When his mouth finally closes around my nipple, the sensation shoots straight between my legs.
"Tannon," I gasp, arching into him.
"I missed these sounds," he murmurs against my skin. "Missed the way you say my name when I touch you. Spent two months replaying every sound you made in my head."
He works my jeans open, sliding them down my legs along with my panties, and then I'm completely bare before him. He steps back, still fully clothed, just looking at me.
"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." His voice is thick with emotion. "And because I almost lost you. Because I was too scared to fight for you at Christmas, and I've regretted it every day since."
"You're fighting for me now."
"I'm going to spend the rest of my life making up for those lost months." He finally strips off his own clothes, and the sight of him, broad and powerful and hard for me, makes me clench with need.
He lays me back on the bed, settling between my thighs but not touching me where I need him most. Instead, he kisses me slow, deep, pouring everything he can't say into the connection of our mouths.
"Tell me what you need," he says against my lips.
"You. I need you."
"And I’ll give it to you." His hand trails down my stomach, so close to where I'm aching. "But I'm going to take my time with you. I'm going to worship every inch of this body I've been dreaming about."
His mouth follows the path of his hands, taking his time with each breast until I'm squirming beneath him. He kisses down my ribs, my stomach, the curve of my hip.
"Tannon, please," I beg.
"Please what?" His breath ghosts over my inner thigh. "Tell me what you want, baby."
"I want your mouth on me. I need to feel your tongue on my pussy."
He groans like I've wounded him. "I've been dreaming about this. About tasting you again, making you come on my tongue."
When his mouth finally makes contact, I cry out at the perfect pressure. He eats me slowly, thoroughly, like he has all the time in the world and wants to savor every second.
"You taste so good," he groans against me. "Even better than I remembered. I could do this for hours, just make you come over and over on my tongue."
He works me with devastating skill, alternating between broad strokes of his tongue and focused attention on my clit.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice muffled. "Let me hear you. Let me know how good I'm making you feel."
The combination of his skilled tongue and his fingers stroking inside me has pleasure building fast. But every time I get close, he gentles his touch, keeping me on the edge.
"Please," I whimper. "I need to come."
"Not yet." He lifts his head, his beard wet with me. "I want to be inside you when you come. Want to feel your pussy squeeze my cock."
He moves up my body, positioning himself at my entrance. The thick head of his cock slides through my wetness, back and forth until I’m whimpering with need.
"Look at me," he says softly, waiting until my eyes meet his. "I need to see you. Need to watch your face when I make you mine again."
He pushes forward slowly, and the stretch is exquisite after our time apart. He fills me inch by inch, giving me time to adjust to his size.
"Fuck, Dove," he breathes when he's inside me. "Your pussy feels incredible. So tight, so perfect around my cock."
"Then show me I'm yours."
He starts with slow, deep strokes, each thrust deliberate and measured. This isn't fucking—this is worship, claiming, reconnecting on every level.
"You're so beautiful like this," he says, his eyes never leaving my face. "Taking my cock, those perfect tits bouncing with every thrust. I thought about this every night. Touched myself thinking about being inside you again."
The confession makes me clench around him. "I did too. Touched myself wishing it was you."
"Show me," he demands, his hand catching my wrist and guiding it between us. "Touch yourself while I fuck you. I want to feel you come around my cock."
I circle my clit while he continues those perfect, deep strokes. The combination has me climbing fast toward the edge.
"That's it, baby," he groans, watching my hand work. "Such a good girl, touching that pretty clit while I fill your pussy. You're so fucking perfect. Made for me."
His pace increases gradually, each thrust hitting deeper. One of his hands slides up to palm my breast, his thumb brushing over my nipple.
"I love you," he says, his voice breaking. "I love you so much. Every day without you was torture. Never again. I'm never letting you go again."
The raw emotion in his words combined with the perfect rhythm of his cock and my fingers on my clit pushes me over. My orgasm crashes through me, my pussy clenching rhythmically around his thick length as pleasure radiates through every nerve.
"Fuck, yes," he groans, his rhythm faltering. "Your pussy feels so good when you come. So tight around my cock. I'm gonna fill you up, baby. Gonna mark you as mine."
He thrusts deep three more times before he's gone, his cock pulsing inside me as he empties himself with a guttural groan. The feeling of his release, hot and claiming, sends another wave of pleasure through me.
He collapses on top of me, and I hold him close, feeling his heart pound against mine. When he lifts his head, there are tears in his eyes.
"I love you," he says again. "And I'm never wasting another day without telling you."
"I love you too," I whisper, threading my fingers through his hair. "And I'm not going anywhere."
Outside, snow falls on Darkmore Mountain. Inside, wrapped together and finally whole, we've found our way home.