Page 6

six

Beau

The word "leaving" hits me like a physical blow, a knife between my ribs. She's standing by the window, watching the storm that's finally beginning to weaken, talking about "when" not "if" she goes back. My blood turns to ice, then fire. Five years I've been alone, five years of silence and survival, and now she thinks she can walk into my life, make me feel again, and then just leave? My hands clench into fists at my sides, rage and terror mingling into something primal I can't contain. No. She's not leaving. She's mine now.

"I should call my boss once I get back," she says, more to herself than to me. "Explain what happened. And my apartment...God, the plants are probably dead."

Each word is another cut. She's planning her return to a world I can't follow her into. A world that will take her from me.

"The trail should be passable by tomorrow," she continues, fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on the window. "Maybe the day after, if there's flooding. Do you think?—"

"Stop."

My voice doesn't sound like my own. It's a rasp, an animal growl that fills the cabin. She turns, eyes wide with surprise, lips parted on a question she doesn't get to ask.

In three strides, I'm across the room. My hands find her waist, lifting her like she weighs nothing, and I spin, pressing her back against the rough-hewn log wall. Her breath catches, a tiny sound of surprise that feeds the beast clawing at my insides.

"Beau, what?—"

"You're not leaving."

Her pulse jumps in her throat, a frantic flutter beneath delicate skin. I can smell her—the clean scent of her hair, the hint of arousal that blooms even as confusion clouds her eyes.

"I don't understand," she whispers, hands resting lightly on my chest. Not pushing me away, but not pulling me closer either. "I have to go back eventually. My job, my apartment?—"

"No." The word tears from my throat, raw and final. "You're mine now. You don't go back to the world. You stay where you belong—here. With me."

Something shifts in her expression—fear, yes, but something else too. A recognition. A heat that matches the inferno in my blood.

"Beau," she says, my name a plea, though for what, I'm not sure even she knows. "You can't just?—"

"Can't what?" I press closer, pinning her with my body, my hardness evident against her soft belly. "Can't claim what's mine? Can't keep what belongs to me?"

Her pupils dilate, nearly swallowing the hazel of her irises. Her breathing quickens, chest rising and falling rapidly against mine. I take her wrists in one hand, pinning them above her head, watching her reaction.

"Tell me you don't feel it," I demand, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me you don't know you're meant to be here. That from the moment you stumbled out of that storm, you weren't already mine."

She doesn't answer, can't seem to find words. But her body speaks for her—the subtle arch toward me, the parting of her lips, the flush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.

My free hand slides up to cup her face, thumb brushing across her bottom lip. The gesture is gentle, a stark contrast to the storm raging inside me. "I won't let you leave me, little dove. I can't."

Something in my voice—the raw honesty, the naked fear beneath the possessiveness—reaches her. Her eyes soften, understanding dawning.

"You're afraid," she whispers, the insight cutting straight to my core. "You're afraid of being alone again."

The truth of it burns worse than any physical pain I've ever endured. But I don't deny it. Can't deny it. Not to her. Not when she sees through me so easily.

"Five years," I say, the words dragged from somewhere deep and wounded. "Five years of nothing but silence and survival. Then you. Your voice. Your touch. Your warmth in my bed." My fingers tighten on her wrists, not painful but firm. "And now you want to walk away? Back to a world that never gave a damn about either of us?"

Her breath catches on a sob, eyes bright with unshed tears. "Beau?—"

I silence her with my mouth, claiming her lips in a kiss that's more possession than affection. She makes a small sound against my lips, body going pliant in my hold. When I pull back, her eyes remain closed for a beat, lips still parted.

"The world out there," I growl, voice rough with emotion, "it'll break you. Use you up and throw you away. Here, you're safe. Here, you're cherished." My hand slides from her cheek to her throat, not squeezing, just resting over her thundering pulse. "Here, you're mine to protect. Mine to please. Mine to worship."

Her eyes open slowly, hazy with desire despite—or perhaps because of—my possessive display. "Show me," she whispers, a challenge and surrender in two simple words.

Something snaps inside me. The last thread of restraint, the final barrier holding back the primal need to claim, to mark, to own. I lift her, hands gripping the backs of her thighs, and she instinctively wraps her legs around my waist. Her arms loop around my neck, clinging as I carry her to the nearest horizontal surface—the kitchen table, solid oak I built with my own hands.

I set her down, stepping between her spread thighs, my hands sliding beneath the oversized sweater she wears. My sweater. On her. Marking her as mine in the most basic way. But it's not enough. Not nearly enough.

"Take it off," I command, voice barely human.

She hesitates only a moment before crossing her arms and pulling the sweater over her head in one fluid motion. She sits before me, naked but for a pair of plain cotton panties—the only underwear that survived her drenching in the storm.

"Beautiful," I murmur, hands spanning her waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. "Perfect."

She shivers at my touch, goosebumps rising on her skin that has nothing to do with cold. My mouth finds her neck, teeth scraping along the sensitive curve where it meets her shoulder. She gasps, head falling back, offering herself to me.

"Mine," I growl against her skin, one hand sliding up to tangle in her hair, the other moving between her thighs, finding her hot and wet through the thin cotton. "Say it."

Her hips buck against my hand, seeking more pressure. "Yours," she whimpers, the word barely audible.

"Again." I push the fabric aside, fingers finding her slick heat, circling but not entering. "Louder."

"Yours," she gasps, hands clutching at my shoulders. "I'm yours, Beau."

I push two fingers into her, feeling her stretch around me, watching her face contort with pleasure. "And where do you belong?" I demand, curling my fingers to hit the spot that makes her cry out.

"Here," she moans, rocking against my hand. "With you."

"That's right, little dove." I withdraw my fingers, ignoring her whimper of protest. My hands move to my jeans, unfastening them just enough to free myself. "Right here. With me. Always."

I position myself at her entrance, the head of my cock nudging against her. She's so wet, so ready, but I hold back, making her wait, making her want it.

"Please," she whispers, trying to pull me closer with her legs around my waist.

"Please what?" I need to hear it. Need to know she understands.

Her eyes meet mine, clear and certain despite the haze of desire. "Please make me yours. Keep me. Don't let me go."

Something breaks open in my chest, a flood of emotion too complex to name. I thrust forward, burying myself to the hilt in one smooth motion. She cries out, body arching, inner muscles clenching around me like a fist.

"Never," I promise, beginning to move, setting a punishing rhythm that has the table creaking beneath us. "Never letting you go."

I take her hard and fast, all finesse abandoned in favor of raw, animal claiming. Her nails rake down my back, her cries growing louder with each thrust. I mark her with my mouth—her neck, her shoulders, the tops of her breasts. Each mark is a brand, a visual reminder that she belongs to me.

"Everyone will know," I growl against her skin, hips never slowing. "When you wear your hair up, when you bend over, when you stretch—they'll see my marks on you. Know you're taken. Know you're mine."

Instead of frightening her, my words push her closer to the edge. Her inner muscles flutter around me, her breathing turning to short, sharp gasps. She's close. So close.

"Come for me," I command, reaching between us to circle her clit with my thumb. "Come on my cock, little dove. Show me you're mine."

She shatters with a cry that echoes off the cabin walls, her body convulsing around me, pulling me deeper. The sight of her coming undone, the feel of her pulsing around me, the knowledge that I've claimed her so completely—it's too much. I follow her over the edge, burying myself deep and releasing with a guttural groan that comes from somewhere primal and possessive.

In the aftermath, I gather her trembling body against mine, holding her close as our breathing gradually slows. I'm still inside her, neither of us willing to break the connection just yet. Her face is pressed against my neck, tears dampening my skin—from intensity, from release, from emotion, I'm not sure.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, stroking her hair, suddenly aware of how rough I was, how consumed by fear and possessiveness. "I didn't mean to scare you."

She pulls back just enough to look at me, eyes still damp but clear. "You didn't," she says softly. "Not the way you think."

I study her face, searching for any sign of regret or fear. "I meant what I said, Lila. I can't let you go."

Her hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where my scar twists my lips into a permanent half-snarl. "I know," she whispers. "And that should terrify me. But it doesn't."

"What does it do?" I ask, voice rough with emotion.

A small smile touches her lips, sad and sweet and knowing. "It makes me feel like I've finally found home."

The words hit me like a physical blow, stealing my breath. Home. Yes. That's what she is to me. What I am to her, if she'll let me be.

I press my forehead to hers, breathing her in. "Stay," I whisper, the word more plea than command this time. "Please, little dove. Stay with me."

Her arms tighten around me, her body melting into mine. "Where else would I go?" she murmurs. "You're right. I belong here now."

With her in my arms, marked and claimed and choosing to stay, I finally feel the terror recede, the beast inside me settling. She's mine. She's staying. And I'll spend every day making sure she never regrets that choice.