Page 7

Hannah

The late afternoon sun dips low over the farm, bathing everything in a golden haze.

I adjust my wide-brimmed hat, wiping the back of my hand across my forehead as I move from one hive to the next.

The bees hum lazily around me, their soft buzzing blending with the breeze that rustles through the wildflowers.

Normally, this is my favorite time of day—a quiet, sacred moment when the world seems to exhale.

But peace feels impossible today.

I can’t stop thinking about him. Cameron Barrett, with his broad shoulders and unreadable gray eyes.

Cameron, who’s been coming around my farm more often, fixing fences, repairing roofs, and leaving me more confused with every passing day.

He’s like a storm trapped in a man, all pent-up energy and tension, and I can’t figure out why he keeps pulling away just when it feels like we’re getting closer.

The sound of boots crunching on gravel pulls me out of my thoughts. I turn, startled, and there he is, standing near the fence. He’s wearing his usual flannel shirt and jeans, his hands shoved deep into his pockets and his shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for something.

“Cameron,” I say, my voice soft with surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He hesitates, his eyes flicking to the hives before settling on me. “I wanted to check on the fence,” he mutters, nodding toward the section he repaired last week.

I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow. “The fence is fine. You did a great job.”

“Still. Thought I’d make sure.”

Something in his voice—low and rough, like gravel sliding down a mountainside—sends a shiver through me. I watch as he shifts his weight, his hands flexing at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“You can come closer, you know,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “I don’t bite. Unless you’re made of honey.”

For a moment, I think I see the corner of his mouth twitch—almost a smile—but it’s gone before I can be sure. “I’m not made of honey,” he says, but he steps closer anyway, his boots sinking into the soft earth.

I take off my gloves and tuck them into my pocket, watching him carefully. Something’s different about him today. He seems… restless. His shoulders are tense, his jaw tight, and his gray eyes—God, those eyes—are darker than usual, like a storm cloud is brewing behind them.

“Cameron,” I say gently, taking a step toward him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that.” I cross my arms, narrowing my eyes at him.

“You’ve been acting strange ever since…” I falter, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Ever since he started helping me around the farm?

Ever since he began looking at me like I’m the only person in the world?

“Ever since we’ve been spending more time together,” I say finally, my voice quieter.

His gaze drops to the ground. He scuffs his boot against the dirt, silent for a long moment before finally looking up at me. His eyes are full of something I can’t quite name—desire, maybe, or regret.

“Hannah,” he says, and the way he says my name—low and rough, like it’s been pulled from somewhere deep inside him—makes my heart skip a beat. “You don’t understand.”

“Then help me understand,” I say, stepping closer. I’m close enough now that I can smell him—pine and sawdust and something warm and earthy that makes my head spin. “Because I’m tired of guessing what’s going on in that head of yours.”

His jaw tightens. His hands clench into fists at his sides, and for a moment, I think he’s going to walk away. But then, to my shock, he reaches out and cups my face in his hands.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says, his voice hoarse.

“Then show me,” I whisper.

And just like that, the dam breaks.

His lips crash down on mine, and I gasp, heat exploding through me. His hands slide to my waist, pulling me against him, and I melt into him, everything inside me screaming yes . His kiss is rough, desperate, like he’s been holding himself back for years and can’t anymore.

My hat falls to the ground as I wrap my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his thick hair.

His stubble scrapes against my skin, sending little shocks of sensation racing through me.

His lips are warm, his kiss fierce and consuming, and I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but give myself over to him.

“Cameron,” I murmur against his mouth, my voice barely a breath.

He makes a low, guttural sound that vibrates through me, and his hands grip my hips tighter, pulling me closer. I feel the hard planes of his body pressing against my softness, and the heat pooling in my belly spreads like wildfire.

But then, just as suddenly as it began, he pulls back. His chest heaves as he stares down at me, his gray eyes wild and full of something that looks an awful lot like regret.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he says, his voice rough.

I blink up at him, my lips still tingling from the kiss. “Why not?”

“Because…” He takes a step back, dragging a hand through his hair. “Because you don’t know what I am. You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

Frustration flares inside me, hot and sharp. “What does that even mean, Cameron? You keep saying I don’t understand, but you never tell me why! You can’t just kiss me like that and then pull away!”

“I’m trying to protect you,” he growls, his voice rising.

“From what? You? ” I take a step closer, poking him in the chest with my finger. “Because newsflash, Cameron, I’m not some fragile little thing that needs protecting. I can handle myself.”

His eyes lock on mine, and for a moment, the air between us crackles with tension. Then, without warning, he grabs my hand and pulls me toward the farmhouse.

“Where are we going?” I ask, stumbling after him.

“Inside,” he says, his voice low and firm.

My heart pounds as he leads me through the door and into the living room.

The moment we’re inside, he spins me around and kisses me again, backing me up against the wall.

This kiss is different—slower, deeper, like he’s trying to memorize the feel of me.

His hands roam over my curves, sliding down my sides to rest on my hips, and I shiver under his touch.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs against my lips, his voice thick with need.

“Good,” I whisper, tugging him closer.

He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that makes my knees weak. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

“Maybe I like driving you crazy,” I say, my voice breathless.

Cameron’s lips trail down my neck, the rough stubble of his beard scraping deliciously against my skin, igniting a trail of fire wherever he touches. I let out a soft moan, my head falling back against the cool wall, surrendering to the sensations that course through me.

His hands are large, enveloping my smaller frame with a possessiveness that is both thrilling and comforting.

A reverence in his touch, a silent prayer, speaks of a fear of losing me yet an undeniable urge to claim me as his own.

The dichotomy is intoxicating, and I revel in the way his strength contrasts with my own delicate form.

“Tell me to stop,” he says, his voice strained, almost pained, as if the words themselves are a battle against his own desires.

“Don’t you dare,” I whisper back, my voice barely audible but laced with a fervent desperation that mirrors his own.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks, and the flood of his restraint washes away in an instant.

With a growl that rumbles from deep within his chest, he lifts me effortlessly, his strength a stark reminder of the size difference between us.

I feel like a feather in his arms, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively as he carries me across the room.

Cameron presses me against the wall, his body pinning mine in place. I feel the heat of him through our clothes, the hardness of his arousal pressing against me. He grinds against me, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my core.

His hands roam freely, tracing the curve of my waist, the swell of my hips, the softness of my thighs. Each touch sends shivers down my spine, and I arch into him, my fingers fisting in his shirt, desperate to feel more of him.

Cameron’s eyes are dark with desire as he pulls his shirt over his head, revealing the expanse of his broad chest and the sculpted muscles of his abdomen.

His body is a work of art, each line and curve a testament to his strength and power.

I can’t help but stare, my breath catching in my throat at the sight of him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my collarbone and sending another wave of pleasure coursing through me.

“So are you,” I manage to say, my voice trembling with the intensity of my emotions.

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Not like you.”

Something in his voice—a rawness, a vulnerability—makes my chest ache.

It’s a glimpse behind the curtain of his stoic exterior, a peek into the depths of his soul that he rarely allows anyone to see.

I reach up and cup his face in my hands, pulling him down for another kiss and pouring all of my love and reassurance into it.

As our lips meet, Cameron’s hands move to the waistband of my pants, deftly undoing the button and zipper. He slides them down my legs, his fingers trailing fire along my skin. I lift my hips, helping him remove them completely and leaving me bare before him.

His gaze is intense as he takes in the sight of me, his eyes roaming over every inch of my exposed flesh. I feel a flush of heat spread across my cheeks, but I don’t look away. I want him to see me, to see how much I want him.

Cameron’s hands move to his own pants, undoing them with a swift motion.

He steps out of them, standing before me completely naked, his arousal evident and impressive.

I can’t help but stare, my mouth going dry at the sight of him.

He’s large, both in height and in girth, and I feel a shiver of anticipation run through me at the thought of him inside me.

He lifts me again, my legs wrapping around his waist as he presses me back against the wall. I feel the head of his cock teasing my entrance, the heat of him against my sensitive flesh.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” I moan, looking into his eyes with need-filled desperation.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, he enters me, filling me completely. I cry out, the sensation of him stretching me, claiming me, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through my body. He’s large, and the feeling of being so completely filled by him is almost overwhelming.

Cameron begins to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, allowing me to adjust to his size. But as my body relaxes around him, he begins to pick up the pace, his hips snapping against mine with a force that leaves me gasping.

I feel an orgasm building, the pressure coiling tightly in my belly. Cameron’s hand finds my clit, his fingers working me in time with his thrusts and driving me higher and higher.

“Come for me,” he growls, his own release imminent.

With a cry, I shatter around him, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave. I feel him follow me over the edge, his own release filling me as he growls my name.

But Cameron isn’t done with me yet. He pulls out of me, setting me on my feet before turning me around and bending me over the back of the sofa. I feel his hands on my hips, positioning me just how he wants me.

He enters me again, the new angle allowing him to penetrate me even deeper. I gasp at the sensation, my fingers gripping the sofa cushions as he begins to move.

Cameron’s thrusts are harder now, more urgent, and I feel another climax building within me. The room is filled with the sounds of our passion, the slap of skin against skin, the moans and gasps that escape my lips.

I look back at him over my shoulder, watching as he takes me with a fierce intensity that leaves me breathless. His eyes are locked on mine, filled with a heat and desire that mirrors my own.

“Cameron,” I gasp, my hips pushing back against him, seeking more of the delicious pleasure he’s giving me.

With a final, deep thrust, I shatter once more, my orgasm ripping through me with an intensity that leaves me trembling. I feel Cameron follow me over the edge, his release filling me as he growls my name.

We collapse together on the sofa, our bodies slick with sweat and the evidence of our passion. Cameron pulls me into his arms, holding me close as our breathing slowly returns to normal.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

“And you’re mine,” I reply, snuggling closer to him.

We lie there, tangled together in the warm glow of the setting sun, the world outside forgotten. Cameron’s fingers run through my hair, his touch gentle and soothing. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat and feeling completely at peace.

But even as my eyes drift closed, I can’t shake the feeling that Cameron is still holding something back. A tension in his body, a slight hesitation in his touch, speaks of secrets untold.

As the night wears on, I fall into a deep sleep, lulled by the warmth of Cameron’s embrace. But when I wake the next morning to find the space beside me empty, my heart sinks.