Page 17

Ten

M arley

The rest of the day I work. Reworking my thesis. Banging my head against the table, then writing more. Oddly enough, I want this to be my shining achievement. I want me on this paper, not just what I know would be a perfect thesis.

Cade wanders in and out, kissing my head, making me drink water, but leaves me to my task, always close but making sure I focus when I want to be distracted by his mouth or his cock. He’s infuriatingly self-controlled.

By late afternoon, I’m feeling good about what I’ve produced. The sun is out again, Cade’s cabin sort of hugs me with its simplicity and minimalism.

I stand from the kitchen table and stretch. Watching Cade emerge from the enormous shed where he stores lots of gear and two other vehicles he uses for his excursions.

Just watching him walk makes me hot. He runs his hand through his hair, catching sight of me in the window and smiles with a nod, reaching down to grab himself, then pointing to his mouth, then to me and my pussy responds with a warm rush of heat.

He’s demanding and crude and rough. But, he feeds me and brushes my hair and listens when I’m spiraling out of control, then pulls me back to earth with grace and a calmness that transfers to me and the way my brain has adjusted to this new life, has me wondering if I’ll ever be able to live inside the world in which I was raised.

Cade bursts through the door, nodding at the table where my notebooks are stacked, laptop closed.

“You done?” The question is sharp as he walks my way, eyes on me, tongue gliding along his lower lip.

I barely nod before he grunts, “Good girl. Time for you to suck some cock.”

He’s got me on my knees and his cock pushing between my lips with a moan before I can protest.

“That’s my girl. Show Daddy how good you can suck.”

Pride blooms inside me as he makes these happy sounds. I experiment with my tongue, the pressure, my hands around the base, working the weight of his balls, with a squeeze and before long, the head of his cock fills my throat, his hands controlling my head like I’m a toy to be used.

“Fuck yeah. That’s what that pretty face is for. Getting fucked by Daddy’s fat dick. You’re such a big girl. Trying so fucking hard. Here comes your reward baby.”

I choke as he pushes down my throat, my palms feel the subtle pulsing on the underside of his shaft as tears fall on my cheeks and the first spurt of creamy warmth spreads over my tongue.

He uses me for his pleasure without shame and I can’t believe how much purpose it gives me.

When he’s finally done, he pulls out, putting himself away without a word, tapping me on the top of my head as cum and spit spill from my open mouth. My hair is a tangled mess, I’m panting and swiping the tears from my cheeks. “Good girl.”

He leaves me there, on my knees, moving around the cabin whistling and I don’t feel discarded or ignored. I feel, calm. Content. Happy.

"I love you," I say, the words tumbling out before I can stop them.

He goes very still, turning from the kitchen where he’s pouring himself a cup of coffee. "What did you say?"

My cheeks burn. "I said I love you. I know it's only been a few days and it's completely insane and you probably think—"

"I think," he says, cutting off my rambling, "that it feels like I've been waiting my whole life to hear those words from you."

"Really?"

"Really." He puts down his coffee mug, coming to me, crouching down, knees wide, cupping my face in his hands. "I love you too, Marley Voss. I love your brilliant brain and your stubborn streak and the way you make everything an adventure."

"I love that you see me," I whisper. "Really see me, not just what everyone expects me to be."

"I see you." He presses his forehead against mine. "And I love every complicated, beautiful, infuriating part of you."

We stay like that, just being like the only two people in the world. Which, for all practical purposes, we are.

"So what happens now?" I ask.

"Now, we take a shower, I eat your pussy, give you a good solid fuck, then we go to Sunday dinner and I introduce you to my brothers as the woman I'm going to marry."

My heart stops. "Marry?"

"Yep." His smile is soft and sure.

He stands on a soft groan. “I’ll get the shower warm, and,” He shakes his head, running his hand down his chest, “fair warning: my brothers are going to give you the third degree."

"What kind of third degree?"

"The kind that determines whether you're tough enough to be a Boone."

An hour later, I'm sitting at Colt's dining room table wondering if I've somehow wandered into an alternate universe where mountain men actually do exist outside of romance novels.

All four Boone brothers are massive, but in completely different ways.

Jack, the eldest, has the settled look of a man who's found his place in the world.

Beau is all easy charm and flirtatious grins that probably get him out of speeding tickets on a regular basis.

Colt, the sheriff, has the quiet intensity of someone who sees everything and judges nothing.

And then there's Cade, who keeps one hand on my knee under the table like he's afraid I might bolt.

"So," Beau says, refilling my wine glass with a grin that could probably charm paint off a barn, "journalism, huh? You going to write about our boy here?"

"Maybe," I say, surprising myself with how steady my voice sounds. "Depends on whether he gives me anything worth writing about."

Jack's wife Delaney, laughs. "Oh, I like her already."

"Don't encourage her," Cade mutters, but I can see him fighting a smile.

"What's your beat going to be?" Colt asks, cutting into his steak with surgical precision. "Politics? Crime? Human interest?"

"I'm hoping to do investigative work. Real journalism, not puff pieces." I take a sip of wine for courage. "I want to tell stories that expose uncomfortable truths."

"Like what?" Delaney leans forward, genuinely interested.

"Like..." I glance at Cade, then decide to test the waters. "Like how our traditional education models are fundamentally flawed. How sometimes the most profound learning happens outside institutional frameworks, through... unconventional teaching relationships."

"Unconventional how?" Jack's eyebrow raises.

"As an example… Authority-based learning, where one person has complete knowledge and control, and the other learns by being guided." I feel heat creeping up my neck but force myself to continue. "Trust dynamics that create deeper transformation than any classroom could achieve."

Cade's hand tightens on my knee, and I can practically feel his amusement radiating through his skin.

"Sounds like you speak from experience," Jack observes, and there's something knowing in his voice that makes me wonder exactly what Cade has told them.

"I do." I feel Cade's thumb stroke across my kneecap, offering silent support.

"I was the perfect academic product. Graduated high school at sixteen, started my Master's at eighteen.

But I couldn't skip a stone or start a fire or make a decision about what I wanted for lunch without calculating the optimal nutritional outcome. "

"And now?" Beau asks, his charm dialed down to something more genuine.

"Now I'm learning that maybe intelligence isn't all about accumulating information, but can also be about having the courage to admit when you don't know anything at all about a subject, and trust someone else to guide you through it."

The words feel dangerous coming out of my mouth, loaded with implications. But the language is the same as I’m using in my newly written thesis, designed to obfuscate any real truths that aren’t meant for anyone but me and Cade.

The table goes quiet for a moment, and I wonder if I've revealed too much. Whether the language needs toning down before my final presentation. Then Jack raises his beer bottle.

"To unconventional education," he says.

"To unconventional education," the others echo, and I feel something warm settle in my chest that has nothing to do with the wine.

"So when's the wedding?" Beau asks, and Cade nearly chokes on his beer.

"Jesus, Beau."

"What? You brought her to Sunday dinner. That's like putting a ring on it in Boone family terms." Beau's grin is unrepentant.

"Time doesn't matter when it's right," Colt says quietly, his sheriff's eyes taking in details I probably don't want him to notice. "What matters is whether you're brave enough to trust it."

"She's brave enough," Cade says, his voice full of quiet certainty. "She just doesn't know it yet."

The conversation moves on to safer topics—Beau's latest motorcycle project, Colt's ongoing battles with drunk tourists, Jack and Delaney's crazy successful nursing rocking chair business.

But I find myself watching the way these men interact with each other, the easy affection and gentle ribbing that speaks of bonds forged in childhood and strengthened by choice.

This is what family looks like when it isn't about competition or performance or maintaining appearances. When it's just about showing up for each other, no questions asked, no conditions attached.

"You're quiet," Cade murmurs in my ear as Delaney and Beau argue about the best fishing spots in the county.

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About how different this is from my family dinners.

" I lean into his warmth, breathing in his familiar scent of pine and something indefinably male.

"My parents would spend the whole meal quizzing me about my studies, making me recite quotes from classic literature or discussing my 'trajectory' like I wasn't even there. "

"Well, you're here now." He presses a kiss to my temple that feels like a hug. How quickly I’ve come to rely on his touch for comfort. How I seek it out for pleasure, and purpose and safety. "And we're not going anywhere."

It's such a simple statement, but it hits me harder than any declaration of love. We're not going anywhere. Like permanence is just a given, not something that has to be earned or maintained through perfect behavior.

My phone buzzes in my purse, and I ignore it. Then it buzzes again. And again.

"You should probably check that," Delaney says gently. "Could be important."

I pull out my phone and see three missed calls from Professor Harrison and two from my mother. My stomach drops like a stone. This is it. Crunch time.

"Excuse me," I say, getting up from the table on unsteady legs. "I need to take this."

I step out onto Colt's back porch and call my advisor back, my hands shaking as I dial.

"Marley!" Professor Harrison's voice is sharp with irritation. "Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for hours."

"I'm sorry, I was at dinner. Reception is spotty here. What's wrong?"

"Your parents called me this afternoon. They're driving up for your defense on Friday."

The world tilts sideways. "They're what?"

"They want to be there to support you, which I think is wonderful. Your mother mentioned that she's looking forward to discussing your Harvard placement with the committee afterward."

My mouth goes dry. “I have someone else coming as well,” I say as quickly as I can, ripping off the band-aid.

“Marley. That’s not going to happen. Defenses are closed to all but—”

"Then my parents can’t be there either, can they?"

"Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Your family includes two distinguished academics who've made significant contributions to the field."

“Either I can bring someone, or defenses are closed, it can’t be both.”

“Marley, I’ve never… Fine, bring someone for support.” Harrison's tone suggests I'm being unreasonable. "Your father is quite excited to hear about your methodology. He's been telling colleagues about your innovative approach to ethnographic research."

"Professor Harrison, about my thesis—"

"Yes, I'll need your final draft by Wednesday so I can review it before the defense. I trust you've been working on incorporating the feedback from our last discussion?"

"Actually, I've been taking a different approach—"

"Excellent! Innovation is what sets Michigan apart. Well, I'll let you get back to your work. See you Wednesday with the finished product. I know you’ll exceed everyone’s expectations as you always do."

The line goes dead, and I stare at my phone like it's a bomb that just went off.

My parents are coming to my defense. My parents, who think they've raised the perfect academic daughter. Who've already told their colleagues about my "innovative methodology." Who are expecting me to present the kind of research that will make them proud and secure my place at Harvard.

I have no idea how they’ll react to the thesis I now have planned. It goes against everything they ever taught me. It rebels . I’ve never rebelled in my life.

"Everything okay?" Cade's voice makes me look up. He's standing in the doorway, concern tightening his brow.

"My parents are coming to my thesis defense."

"That's... good?"

"No." I stand up on shaky legs. "That's catastrophic."

"Why?"

“Because the thesis I plan to present takes every teaching method they ever used with me and uses it to light a fire. Because when they hear what I say they’re going to know I’m not their little girl anymore. That I’ve chosen to walk a path of my own.”

He places his hands on my shoulders, centering me. Then he smiles. “Baby, sometimes you gotta burn things down for new things to grow. You’re just blazing your trail for new things and I’m going to standing there right beside you fanning the flames.”