Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

RHETT

I t's late afternoon. The golden light filtering through the windows casts a warm glow over the kitchen as I lean against the counter, watching Cara. The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg fills the air. The pie we cooked together sits cooling on the oversized island—the recipe my mother used to make. We've been at it all day, prepping dinner for Friendsgiving. It's a fucking feast, and I did as much as I could. Between stirring pots, rolling out dough, and even working on that pie… it feels surreal.

I can't remember the last time I celebrated a holiday or smelled anything like this. The warmth of a home-cooked meal? The feeling of something normal, something good? It's been years, and even then, it never felt like this.

But the truth is, every time I move, my ribs scream in protest. Bruised for sure, maybe broken, but it's nothing I haven't been through before. I've been hiding the pain, though, pushing through it. Cara doesn't need to know. She's already got enough on her plate.

I should be helping more, but I can't tear my eyes away from her. The way she darts around the kitchen, wiping down counters and fixing every little detail… makes something tighten in my chest. This is real. We're here, together, after everything. And she's still mine.

I fucking knew she wanted this.

She catches me staring and smiles. Pushing myself off the counter, I step toward her as she wipes her hands on a dish towel before tossing it on the counter. She moves like she's got no idea how much I want her. How the sight of her flushed cheeks and raven hair falling loose from the day's work has me losing control.

Her arms wrap around my neck, fingers running along the short hairs at the base of my neck as her body presses against mine. "You alright?" she asks, her voice soft but with that playful edge that always drives me crazy.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Just watching you."

She tilts her head, lips brushing lightly against mine, the taste of her so familiar, so damn intoxicating. The scent of her, vanilla and something else that's just hers makes everything in me snap. The need hits me all at once, that burning, primal urge to claim her, own her, take her.

"I need you," I mutter, my voice rougher than I mean for it to be, hands already sliding down her back, gripping her waist.

My girl smiles against my lips with that wicked, knowing smile and whispers, "Then take me."

Well, fuck.

That's all I need. I'm pushing her back against the kitchen island, and spinning her around. Her palms slap the counter, and her hips press back into me. Her body's so damn responsive, and it drives me fucking wild. The sight of her bent over for me, her round ass in those tight leggings… it's more than I can handle.

I yank her leggings down to her knees and bunch the fabric from her burnt orange dress up to her waist, my hands rough and needy, and she gasps but doesn't resist. She never does. She knows this is how I need her, how I crave her.

"You've been teasing me all day," I growl, gripping her hips, positioning myself at her entrance, the head of my cock teasing her slick folds, already swollen and ready for me.

Her breath catches, and she lets out a soft moan, her voice laced with need. "Teasing you, how?"

I slide into her, hard and rough, filling her in one brutal thrust. Her cry of pleasure echoes through the kitchen, her body trembling, already tightening around me like a vice.

But I'm not stopping. Not even close. I grip her hips tighter, my fingers digging into her soft skin as I pull her back onto me, every thrust harder, deeper, faster. Her legs shake, and her nails scratch at the countertop of the island as she struggles to hold herself up.

But that only drives me further.

"Do you want to run now, little nightmare?" I growl, my voice low, dangerous. I lean over her, my hand sliding into her hair, yanking her head back so I can hear every gasp, every moan.

"No," she gasps, her breath coming in short, ragged moans, but her voice still defiant. "No, I—fuck—I want you."

A feral grin pulls at my lips, and I tug her head back harder, bending her even lower over the island. "You always want to run, Cara. But not from me. Not really."

She moans louder as I slam into her again, rough and unrelenting. Her body fights me with every thrust, twitching with overstimulation as I push her to the edge. I free one hand from her hair and slide it around her body and between her legs, finding her clit. It's swollen and begging for my touch. She jerks beneath me, her body arching as I circle it slowly, teasing her just enough to drive her fucking crazy.

"You're so fucking wet for me," I hiss in her ear, my breath hot against her skin. "Your body knows exactly what it wants. Doesn't it? It's always wanted me. Craved what only I can give you."

"Yes," she moans, her voice high and breathless, her fingers gripping the counter for dear life. "I need it, Rhett. I need you."

"Then take it," I growl, slamming into her harder, my hips snapping forward with every brutal thrust. The sound of my body crashing into hers and the wetness of her slick heat fills the kitchen, the smell of sweat and sex mingling with the pumpkin pie cooling on the island.

It's raw. It's primal. It's everything I fucking need.

My girl's body quakes beneath me, her legs shaking, and her breath coming in sharp, shallow pants. She's close, so fucking close, I can feel it. I can tell by the way she's tightening around me, her moans turning desperate and pleading.

But I'm not done with her.

Not yet.

I pull her head back again, forcing her to arch even more; her ass presses against my stomach as I drive into her deeper and harder. The roughness of it makes her scream out. Her body fights it, jerking and trembling, her sensitive clit throbbing under my relentless fingers.

"Tell me who you belong to. Who's fucking pussy is this?" I demand, my hand tightening around her throat, cutting off her air just enough to make her gasp. "Say it."

"I─Fuck—I belong to you," she cries, her voice hoarse, every word ripped from her throat. "It's your fucking pussy. I belong to you."

That's all I need to hear. I slam into her one last time, burying myself as deep as I can, feeling her walls pulse and tighten around me as her body shatters. Her scream rips through the kitchen, her orgasm crashing through her like a wave. Her body convulses beneath me, her legs buckling as she comes apart in my fucking hands.

I smirk. Satisfaction is washing over me, but we're not done yet.

Her body twitches as she tries to pull away from my touch. Every nerve in her body is oversensitive, but I don't fucking care. I'm not done.

I don't stop. I grind into her, fucking her through it, refusing to give her a moment's rest. "Look at you," I whisper, my voice dark, teasing. "My little nightmare, always trying to run. But you're mine now, and I won't ever let you go."

Her cries turn to breathless sobs of pleasure, her fingers slipping from the counter as her body sags against me, trembling and spent. But I'm still inside her, still hard, still needing more.

I roughly grab her by the waist, flipping her around in one swift motion. Her leggings are still bunched at her knees. She gasps, her eyes wide with shock, but there's no time to catch her breath. I lift her onto the island, her bare ass resting along the top of the counter. Her legs spread wide like she's the main fucking course of this meal, and shit, for me, she's the only fucking dish I care about.

I position myself between her thighs, taking in the sight of my name inked into her flesh on her inner thigh.

Fucking mine.

Her body twitches as I slide into her again, the overstimulation making her cry out, but I don't stop. I don't have it in me to. I thrust into her with reckless abandon, my hands gripping her thighs, pulling her onto me, using her like the perfect little fuck toy she is.

Her moans turn to whimpers, her hands clawing at my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin as she rides the edge of another orgasm. Her body's so sensitive, so raw, but she doesn't ask me to stop. She never does.

I lean down, my lips brushing her ear as I fuck her harder, faster. "You can't run from me, little nightmare. Not anymore. We belong to each other, and you know it."

Her body tightens again, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me in deeper, her voice breaking as she screams my name. Her second orgasm hits her just as hard as the first.

"Fuck, Rhett!"

I pull out, stroking myself until I explode, hot cum spilling across her stomach and thighs.

Some of it lands on the counter.

Cara's too wrecked to notice, her breathing ragged, body trembling as she slumps against the island, completely spent. I grab a towel from the drawer and clean up the mess I made on my girl before I wipe myself off. When I'm done, I toss it onto the counter next to her before my eyes find their way back to my little nightmare. Her skin is sporting that gorgeous rosy flush I love seeing on her.

"You're fucking perfect," I mutter, shaking my head, trying to hide the grin tugging at my lips.

She smirks, giving me a soft smile just as there's a knock at the door.

"Shit," Cara mumbles, quickly pulling up her leggings, her face flushed and hair a tangled mess. "That'll be them."

She rushes toward the door, still adjusting, leaving me to finish in the kitchen. I turn back to the counter, wiping it down casually, ensuring there's no trace of what happened so my girl won't be embarrassed in front of her little friends.

That's when I see it.

The creamed corn. And the spoon… covered in a mix of cream and, well—me.

I blink, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head in disbelief. Out of all the fucking dishes in this Friendsgiving feast, it had to land in the creamed corn.

Of course it did. The irony isn't lost on me. Creamed fucking corn.

Still chuckling under my breath, I stir it in. No one will ever know and it will give me something to look forward to at this fucking dinner. I toss the spoon into the sink, cleaning the counter one last time to make sure everything looks perfect.

Her friends' voices grow louder as the door opens, laughter and conversation spilling into the house. It's her last dinner with them before we leave, and I know how much this means to her.

It has to go smoothly. For her. Always for her.

I take one last glance at the bowl of creamed corn before walking out to join Cara, smirking to myself. If they happen to enjoy my little addition to the meal… Well, that's just a bonus.