19. Hunter

NINETEEN

HUNTER

I don't open my eyes as I absorb the feeling of Winter's skin against mine.

It's early, the sun having barely crested the tree line. But Winter rests in my arms. When she finally fell asleep, she wore an expression of peace and contentment.

I'm afraid that opening my eyes will make it all go away.

The truce we called in the sitting room last week is tentative. Fragile.

We fell asleep wrapped around each other, naked, for hours on the hard floor. When our bodies protested our position, I ushered her upstairs to my room after sending a quick message to Rio to delete any surveillance in the sitting room.

When we got to my suite, we made love again. I rocked into her as we both lay on our sides, her leg swung over mine.

This time when she came, the shuddering of her body was so wild it seemed like the tips of her hair orgasmed along with the rest of her.

I pressed in as deep as I could when I came inside her.

Reveling in the feeling of her soft hair brushing against my face, I crack my eyes open and put my hand over her stomach, sliding over the skin of her lower belly. Beneath my hand is her c-section scar.

In those silent moments before the sunrise all those days ago, I tracked each of her breaths as they made their peaceful journey in and out of her body. I wanted to absorb her into me—keep her tethered to me. She wanted to run away and honestly? I should have let her. I told myself I would let her leave if she wanted to go. But when I faced her in the foyer and saw the resolve in her gaze, I just…couldn't.

My fingers flex against her flesh in an involuntary movement.

If she wanted to leave again, I would let her.

But maybe I can give her good enough reasons to stay.

The skin beneath my palm seems to warm as if it were a manifestation of my thoughts.

This one is yours.

My fingers move against her, starting their descent lower, and the movement wakes her.

"H," she says with a sleepy yawn.

"Good morning, baby," I say into her neck. She stretches slightly, her ass pressing against my erection. My hand skates further down.

"Nuh-uh, H. I'm a messy mess right now. I need a shower, and my girl needs a break." She scoots away from me. I grab her hip, pulling her back.

"I like you being a messy mess. It's my mess down there," I say, leaning over her and sucking the skin of her neck.

She moans, and I can tell by the hitch in her breathing that she's turned on despite her protests.

"You are depraved, Mr.Brigham," she says with no heat in her voice.

"How many kids do you want, Winter?" She goes rigid in my arms.

"Ex-squeeze me?" She looks at me, her eyes clashing with mine. I chuckle .

"Babies. They're often a result when people do what we've been doing." The color drains from her face.

"I'm aware," she says. Her voice is even weaker, but the arousal in her gaze has evaporated. In its place is trepidation.

"I want three more," I say. "I think August would love being a big brother." August likes being around his peer group, but I get a feeling that he would love a sibling. He has so much love in his heart behind all the hurt he's experienced.

The hurt I've caused.

The long-uttered word echo through my mind: atonement.

I'm in the process. August and I are moving forward, growing closer.

A few days ago, August and I explored the grounds a little bit, and I took him to the shooting range to teach him how to handle a weapon without being completely assaulted by his sensory system.

We're at the point now that he can fire a gun with noise-canceling headphones and hit the target.

It's good enough. And when I told August I was proud of him, he smiled in a way I've never seen him do.

So, yeah. Progress.

I look at the woman who made that happen and am filled with gratitude. I wouldn't have been able to connect with my son without her.

"Wooooahkay," she says, all grace absent as she climbs out of the bed and heads to the bathroom. She enters the water closet, closing the door with a quiet click . I count to five before following her.

I open the door while she's midstream peeing. "H! Have you heard of privacy? What if I were taking a dump? The romance would die. "

I lean against the doorjamb. "Do you need to take a shit?" I raise an eyebrow.

Her cheeks flush. "No," she grumbles out.

"Well, what's the problem? "

"Lord Jesus, today," she says with a groan, putting her head into her hands. I laugh as I walk away a little, keeping the door to the water closet open. When I hear her pull toilet paper off the roll and flush, I reach for my toothbrush.

Winter is hypersensitive to morning breath—usually her own.

She washes her hands and then reaches for the spare toothbrush she keeps in my bathroom. She's been reluctant to move all her stuff over to my room, but piece by piece, things migrate into my suite.

Give her time.

I'm done brushing right when she starts, so I give her a few moments before I take the opportunity to talk.

"You're not on birth control right now," I say. She coughs and sputters, spitting the toothpaste into the sink. Rinsing her mouth, she says, "How do you know that?"

I don't respond.

She sighs. "No, I'm not. But I'll schedule an appointment with Dr.Greene immediately, if not sooner."

I mull that over for a moment. "Do you have to?" I ask.

She looks bewildered. It's cute. "Um, yes? Because you and I don't need to go making babies in the midst of all this." She waves her arms around the room, seeming to indicate the entire world—the shit with my father, the process of her healing, hell, even the entirety of society—in her movements.

My head tips from side to side as I nod. "The timing isn't ideal, I suppose."

"You suppose?" she responds, dumbfounded.

"But I don't want to wait. I want curly-haired kids that look like you running around this place." She looks like she's about to choke. Or run. Instead, she spins to the shower, twisting the nobs with jerky movements to turn it on before stepping inside.

"We've already fucked several times without protection, baby. You're probably pregnant right now," I say to her through the shower door. She fumbles the bottle of body wash.

"This isn't a joke, H," she says, her voice hard.

"Who said I was joking?" I reply, opening the door and stepping into the shower behind her.

I rub her shoulders, and her head drops to her chin. "And I'm very likely not pregnant. It's not the right week," she says.

I hum in response. "Got it. So if I bend you over this bench right now and fuck you until I blow deep inside your pussy, it probably won't stick, right?"

She whirls around, her eyes wide. She opens and closes her mouth. "You are certifiable, Hunter Brigham," she says. Then her eyes flick to the bench as if it were an involuntary movement, before returning to my gaze.

I smile slowly.

"Is that your professional opinion, Sunbeam?"

She shakes her head in a circle—both yes and no. So I haul her to me, pressing her body to mine with my hand behind her head.

"We can call it testing the theory. Let me make you more messy. At least we're in the right place to clean you up." And then I give her a kiss so dirty, it has me on the edge of blowing outside her.

Once we're out of the shower, Winter wants to talk.

So after we're both dry and dressed, I grab her hand and steer her toward the rose garden. March has been kind to us, bringing more sunny days and snow-free weeks. The gardeners started revitalizing the blooms for the spring, and the colors are starting to come back.

It smells incredible out here.

Winter decides to take us to the pavilion off to the side of the garden.

She rubs her hands together several times. Then she speaks .

"I had a realization this morning." She swallows thickly, and I can tell by the set of her shoulders that it's something serious. Heavy.

"Adam—" She clears her throat. "Adam only got twenty years for what he did to me as a kid. He was young himself when he went in, so it's unlikely he would have died in prison. So even if he never got parole, if he were determined to have me—to end me—he would have done it anyway."

We sit in silence as the intensity of her words washes through our bodies and sinks to the floorboards.

"What happened was all a matter of time, whether I was with you or not. He was determined. He would have gotten to me either way." She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, they're glassy.

"Those are some big thoughts, Sunbeam," I say softly. I grab her hand, unable to help it.

She clenches mine back.

"They are." She wipes her eyes with her free hand. "They are. But the other thing I realized is that if I had never met you, when he did ultimately get to me, I would have been dead. He would have killed me."

I inhale sharply, the idea of Winter dead being too obscene to sit in my consciousness.

"At least, now that it's happened, I was able to get myself out of it. I was able to go back home—and I have you to help me through this."

She weeps openly, but she bites her lip to prevent her sobs from fully escaping.

I get off the bench, kneeling in front of her.

"I'm so sorry this happened, baby. I wish I could have protected you from all of this. I should have protected you, but that guilt is mine to carry for the rest of my life—no, don't argue with me," I say when she looks like she's going to interrupt.

She shakes her head. "Can I tell you about it?" Her voice is hoarse, and when she closes her eyes, I do the same to steel myself against her story.

"Yes," I say. "You can tell me anything. Always." When her lids flutter open again, her eyes find mine.

"I want to talk about this only once. Then I never want to talk about it again. Okay?" Her chin wobbles.

"Yes, baby." I nod solemnly.

"He hurt me a lot, H. And I felt so terrified and hopeless. I thought I was going to die in there. He told me he was going to kill me, and I know he would have if I hadn't got to him first."

I fight to keep my face impassive, trained on her beautiful eyes.

"He raped me a total of eight times." I don't move a muscle.

"He told me that he was obsessed with me. I felt his obsession. He said that I owed him a life. His life. The baby's..." I see the exact moment when she falls into a daze, disassociating as she tells me about the horrors she experienced.

"He was so angry about you. That I'd been with you. He wanted to clean you out of me, so he did. Physically. He really thought he and I were soulmates." She inhales a stuttering breath. "He was sick."

I fight the urge to interrupt her and tell her not to give him an inch of grace.

"I wanted him to kill me at one point. I just wanted the pain to stop, you know?" Her gaze skitters to mine, but she doesn't hold it. "But then I found that razor blade and...you know, it never occurred to me to slit my wrists? That's the logical idea, right? It was such a long shot that such a tiny razor would have killed him. But I knew I had to try. I just wanted to get back to you."

Her face sobers, her tears drying.

"I will be myself again—a stronger version of myself. I worked so fucking hard to get well after the first time. I worked so hard to move forward with my life. And I refuse to be stuck in this moment. He will not win," she says with conviction.

I remain silent. She needs this moment. She deserves this moment.

"If you'd asked me six months ago if I could have killed someone, even with all that he did to me in the past, I would have said no. But now? I want them all to bleed, H. All the people who had a hand in what happened to me, I want them to suffer. I want them to die. And I don't care what that says about me. I want revenge on all of them, just like you do."

And in that moment, she looks so fierce, so powerful, so radiant, so mine that I don't think. I pull her down on top of me, settling her on my lap on the floor of the pavilion.

Then I kiss her. Hard. Pouring all my love and energy and promise into the act.

When we pull apart, her eyes are glassy, and she looks as drunk on this feeling as I am.

"If you want revenge, baby," I say, running my nose down the delicate column of her throat, "Then we'll make them pour rivers of blood."

She shudders at my declaration.

Searching my face, she says, "Good."