Total pages in book: 44
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 203(@200wpm)___ 162(@250wpm)___ 135(@300wpm)
She wraps her legs around me, pulling me in deeper. The uneven hardwood presses into my kneecaps, but none of it matters. All I can focus on is the way she tightens with every stroke, the way her voice changes when I hit just right.
"We’re going to need a better system," she gasps, laughing between moans.
"Next time," I grunt. "We'll have a mattress. A fire. Maybe soundproofing, too."
Her laughter turns into a sharp cry as I angle my hips. Her body bows under me.
"There," she whispers. "Right there. Again."
I oblige. Again. And again.
My control frays. My pace increases. Her name slips from my lips like a litany. Her breath stutters into full-on sobs of pleasure, her fingers leaving crescents in my back.
She breaks first. Comes hard, full-body, trembling and slick, clinging to me like gravity reversed.
Only then do I let go. I drive in deep, finally giving myself over. My groan is ragged, primal, guttural. I shake against her as I come, the pleasure spiking white-hot through every locked muscle.
We collapse together, panting, the storm still howling outside while everything inside is still.
"That was…" Her voice cracks.
"Yeah. It was baby.”
She breathes, smiling against my skin.
We lie there afterward, her curled against my chest while the storm rages outside our tiny shelter. I pull my jacket and another couple blankets I find over both of us, creating a cocoon of warmth in the small space.
"Daddy?" she says after a while and I think my heart is going to burst from my chest.
"Yeah?"
"What happens now?"
It's a good question. What does happen when a mountain man who can’t stand even the idea of school falls in love with a brilliant little girl who's supposed to go to Harvard in the fall?
"Now we figure it out," I say, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Together."
Eight
Marley
I wake up to the sound of birds and the realization that I'm completely naked, wrapped around Cade like he's my personal heater. The storm has passed sometime during the night, leaving the air clean and crisp and smelling like pine and rain.
Also, my entire body feels different. Used. Claimed. Like every nerve ending has been rewired to respond to his touch.
"Morning, little girl," he murmurs against my hair.
The endearment sends the same shiver through me it always does, but this time there's something deeper underneath it. Something that makes me want to curl up smaller and let him take care of everything.
"Morning." I try to sit up, but he tightens his arms around me.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"We should probably get dressed. Head back to camp." I gesture vaguely toward the door of the hunting blind. "The storm’s passed."
"The outside world can wait." He rolls us so I'm pinned beneath him, his weight solid and reassuring. "I want to play with my girl first."
"Play?" The word comes out smaller than I intended.
"Play." He brushes a strand of hair away from my face, his touch gentle. "When's the last time you played, Marley?"
I think about it. Really think about it. "I don't know. Maybe when I was six? Before my parents decided I was too smart to waste time on childish things."
Something dark flashes across his face. "Six years old?"
"They wanted me to focus on developing my intellectual potential instead of—"
"Instead of being a kid." He sits up and pulls me into his lap, arranging me so I'm straddling his thighs. "Well, we're going to fix that."
"I don't know how to play." The confession feels embarrassing. "I don't remember."
"That's okay. Daddy's going to teach you." He reaches for his backpack and pulls out a small object I can't identify. "Close your eyes."
"Why?"
"Because I told you to." His voice has that firm edge that makes my stomach flutter. "Trust me."
I close my eyes, hyperaware of his hands moving around me, the warmth of his body, the way the morning air feels against my bare skin.
"Open your mouth," he says softly.
Something small and sweet touches my tongue. I bite down and taste honey and nuts and dried fruit.
"What is it?" I ask, opening my eyes.
"Trail mix. I make it myself. Even coat it with my own maple syrup." He holds up another piece. "Not because you calculated the optimal protein-to-carb ratio, but because it tastes good. Call it breakfast, until I get us back to camp and cook something more substantial."
"That's silly. You make syrup?"
"It is silly and yes, I do. I’m not just here for looks you know, I have depth." He deadpans as he feeds me another piece, watching my face carefully. “I like putting things I make in your mouth.”
Eating without calculating feels revolutionary, like I'm breaking some fundamental rule I've been following my entire life.
"Now what?" I ask.
"Now we see what other rules we can break." He stands up and starts getting dressed, but slowly, like he's in no hurry to rejoin the real world. "Tell me something you always wanted to do but couldn't because it wasn't academic enough."