20. Winter

TWENTY

WINTER

I wake up from a dream where I'm riding Hunter's tongue, only to find Hunter lapping lazily at my clit when I open my eyes in the darkness.

In the three seconds it takes me to realize what's going on, I let out a long moan because now he's sucking on it, and that's one of the quickest ways to get me to come.

I reach down and run my fingers through his hair.

"Good morning, H," I say breathily. "Not that I don't appreciate the wake-up call, but—" He shuts me up by sliding his thick finger inside me and hitting my go-button.

When I register the delicious stretch from the addition of another digit, I don't say another word until I come on his face a few minutes later.

He looks up from his spot between my legs as I pant.

"Good morning, baby." Then he has me ready again when he sticks both fingers in his mouth, sucking off my cream.

" God ," I say with a moan.

"Nope, just me." He nips my inner thigh when I laugh.

I quickly glance at the clock across the room and am confused as to why he's waking me up at five-thirty in the morning .

March has breezed by in a whirlwind of rainy days, lazy afternoons watching movies with August and Kitty in the media room, and intense lovemaking with Hunter.

Most importantly, it's been weeks of finding happiness—redefining what the emotion feels like, looks like, tastes like. My body remembers, and I'm working with my mind to come into alignment.

Settling back into the pillows, I reach for him to move up my body. When we are face to face, I go for his cock, but he pushes my hand away.

"We've got a lot to do today. Later," he says. In a snap, he leaves the bed and waltzes to the bathroom completely naked.

I roll to my side, watching his ass flex with every step.

How did my life get this way?

It's unbelievable. I was so lonely before I met Hunter. I was stuck in my tiny bubble. And now? My days consist of laughter and freedom and love.

Well, except for the fact that you were almost murdered not too long ago due to your affiliation.

I rub my eyes, hoping to erase the thought at the same time.

I know I can forgive all that's happened. I want to move forward so badly. It's just that...it's hard. I find myself so sad sometimes, and then I get so angry—at Adam, at Hunter's dad.

At Hunter.

I count my breaths, inhaling for three beats and then exhaling for another three.

It's a process.

I close my eyes. It is a process.

I must have dozed off because Hunter's wet hair dripping on my face startles me.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to get up. We've got shit to do today." He rolls me over and slaps my ass .

I yelp and sit up.

"Things like what? And do they require me to wear anything in particular?"

I'm not feeling like dressing up. At all.

"Nah, be comfortable. But be downstairs in ten minutes." And with that, he's out the door. He didn't even stop to cop a feel of my exposed breast.

I try to not be disappointed by that.

I clean up and dress in long black yoga pants with flared legs and an old off-the-shoulder shirt.

Kitty snorts from his dog bed, and I decide against bringing him with me for now. I leave the door open for him to wander around when he wakes.

Hunter installed a dog door in the exit closest to his room. It leads to the rose garden and the field beyond, and Kitty loves pouncing in and out of the contraption.

As I stay inside pretty much 24/7 these days, Kitty has acted less as my service animal and more like my pet. That's not to say that he hasn't been a force against me completely losing my shit several times over the past few weeks.

But I feel myself not needing him in that capacity as much anymore.

Maybe it's a false sense of security. I don't know how to feel about the shift in our relationship. A vague thought tickles the back of my consciousness, that maybe I've replaced the emotional support Kitty provides with the overbearing presence of my lover.

Discomfort pushes at the edges of the idea, and I physically shake it off.

Throwing my hair up into a high bun, I follow the smell of coffee brewing.

I stop just short of the kitchen when I hear August speaking. "I do not know how I feel about you marrying Winter. This is all very sudden," August says.

The woosh of my heartbeat sounds amplified in my ears. He can't possibly be having this conversation with him now. I peek around the corner and their backs face the entryway. I can tell by August's outfit that sleep didn't find him last night. On the counter, August's impressive collection of helicopter pieces line a microfiber cloth.

His insomnia comes and goes, and I don't expect to see him again until very late in the afternoon.

"I understand that, Aug," Hunter says. "Just know that we both want you to be happy. So ask as many questions as you want about it. We'll tell you what we're thinking every step of the way. But Winter makes me so, so happy, bud. And I want to make her a permanent part of our family."

I hold my breath, afraid they'll catch me in their silence.

August breaks it. "I think Winter is cool as hell. I guess there are worse people you could choose to make my stepmom." Hunter chuckles, and August adds, "LOL."

"Will you and Winter have kids?" August is going for the kill.

"Yes, I'm sure we will. She would make a great mom, don't you think?"

August's response is quick. "Yes."

More silence.

"I do not want to share my room with anyone, though. And do not think about turning my game room into a nursery," August adds.

I hear a gentle exhalation of amusement.

"Wouldn't think of it," Hunter says.

A moment later, August says, "You may hug me now, but not for more than thirty seconds."

I cover my mouth to keep the sob I want to emit from coming out. I'm having several emotions at once. I'm happy that Hunter and August are growing closer and establishing a bond. I'm overwhelmed at all the baby talk and conversations about family. I'm scared because…how could I not be scared ?

If I look close enough at my circumstances, it's easy to see why I'm fucking terrified.

But I'm also in love. I'm in deep, deep love with Hunter Brigham.

And I don't know how to feel about the fact that my love for him edges out everything else.

The scrape of chairs and the clink of ceramic hitting the marble countertop force me to move. I stomp my feet a little louder than usual to pretend I'm just coming up to the room.

Does that ever work?

"Good morning!" I say brightly. Both Hunter and August look at me with a lifted eyebrow. August's gaze is so much like his father's that I have to blink a few times.

What would our baby look like?

Hunter hands me a coffee mug, and I take it, grateful for something to do with my hands. The color of the coffee is perfect—a blonde color due to the heavy cream added.

"Four sugars are in there for you," Hunter adds. He remembered how I like my coffee, even though I rarely drink it.

I love this man.

"Goodbye," August says, loping out of the room.

"Bye, Aug!" I call after him.

Taking a grounding breath, I ask Hunter, "So what is so important that you have to wake me up at the ass-crack of dawn?"

He stands next to me at the island, our shoulders touching. "Have you ever held a gun, Sunbeam?"

I startle, leaning away to get a good look at him.

"No, do I need to?"

"Yes," he says.

Oh. Okay.

"We're going to the gun range on the property. You need to learn how to shoot and actually do some damage. The guys often use it throughout the day, so I wanted to bring you when no one is around."

"Oh- kay ," I drawl. I don't ask the silly question: Why do I need to learn to shoot? Because the answer is obvious.

People are trying to kill us. It would be better if I knew how to defend myself and protect our family.

I swallow at that. Our family. Is that what we are?

Hunter moves around the kitchen as I analyze my coffee cup. Ideally, I wouldn't be in a situation where it's kill or be killed. Hunter would be there to keep me and our family safe. But when have things turned out how they should?

"Get a move, cupcake," he says, and then he slaps my ass again.

I follow him out of the kitchen, and I smile when he takes my hand. He stops in front of the study.

"See this panel here?" he asks.

I nod.

He presses on the top left corner of the wood frame, and it pops open.

"Go in," he says, pushing me inside. He follows me, pulling the panel door shut behind him. When I move inside, a light comes on, casting shadows around the narrow passageway.

"So where are we going? Narnia?"

He doesn't laugh at my quip.

"There are nine entrances to the safe room that follow this corridor between the walls. This passage is soundproof and bullet resistant." My eyebrows shoot to my hairline.

"Meaning?" I add in a reedy voice.

"A single bullet won't do damage, but against a barrage of bullets from an AK-47, it will only hold up for so long."

I feel my eyes bulging out of their sockets.

He chuckles at my expression. "My grandfather had this place renovated during the Second World War. He wanted to be able to hide if the Japanese decided to take over the country."

I shake my head from side to side. Makes sense.

"Keep walking, Sunbeam."

I slowly move down the passage, keeping my hand on the smooth, cool wall on my right. Every few feet, a light clicks on.

"Here's another entrance. This is August's game room." We walk for another minute.

"The kitchen." Further down. "The media room."

Finally, we reach a steel door with a biometric panel on it.

"Put your hand here," he murmurs. Any sound we make is dampened by the material on the walls.

I place my hand on the scanner, and a few clicks later, the door opens. It has to be at least two feet thick.

Hunter walks in, and a row of overhead lights come on. There's enough shelf-stable food on one wall to last at least six months. A PVC pipe comes from the ceiling and into a water dispenser on the wall—not that the room needs it. There are ten massive barrels labeled "Potable Water" on another end. A sofa, a computer, a giant television screen, an old-school radio, and a row of bunk beds fill the space. The room is at least fifteen-hundred square feet.

"If you're ever in trouble, come here. Ella knows of this place, and she has a print. I'll get August's registered too."

"This is a lot, H," I whisper. A funny feeling settles in my chest, making me vaguely lightheaded.

He presses his body to mine, my back to his front. "I know, Sunbeam." He kisses the side of my head.

"I hope we'll never have to use this space. But if you do, please promise me you'll come here and stay safe until help arrives."

I nod, still not looking at him. "Promise."

He leads me out of the safe room and down another corridor. It spits us out into the rose garden, and we make our way to a smaller, hangar-looking building on the west side of the property. It's a part of the estate that I don't often visit. The guards bunk there in three houses spread out on that end.

Hunter pushes the metal door and flicks on a large main switch, illuminating the entire space. There's a two-seater helicopter and a small jet parked inside.

"So you own a 767, a helicopter, and a jet?"

Hunter has the sense to look bashful as he holds up three fingers. "I have three helicopters and three small fixed-wing planes."

I shake my head, spinning to look at all the opulence.

"You want more kids, yeah?"

"You bet your sweet pussy I do," he says brightly.

I press my lips together in admonishment.

"Well, we're gonna have to teach them humility. Their first car will be a used Toyota Camry. At least a decade old."

The sound of his laughter echoes off the metal walls.

"I'm serious. Our kid will know what it means to earn things. So yes, they'll have a beat-up car with no working A/C or heat. They'll have to get it how they live when it comes to D.C. winters," I add.

He shakes his head, grinning widely. "You crack me up, Winter Leigh," he says.

"Vaughan," I add.

He shrugs and rolls his eyes.

Grabbing my hand, he leads me through another set of doors, and then we're in the indoor range. He keeps the lights low, turning on one switch so the spotlights above each shooter bay are on.

On the opposite side of the bays is a wall of safes, all fitted with biometric scanners. Hunter walks up to one of them and opens it.

"Come here, Winter," he says. He taps a few keys and then places my hand on the scanner. "If you ever need weapons, you're in the system to unlock any weapons cabinet. That goes for in here and the ones we have in the main house."

"We have guns in the main house?" I ask. I'm overwhelmed.

"Yes, of course," he says. "There's a safe in our bedroom, my office, the kitchen, and the sitting room. There's also a weapons closet in the safe room. I should have shown you that." His hand on my chin causes me to snap my mouth closed.

He turns around and grabs three guns. Then he walks over to lay them on the small counter at the bay farthest from the door.

"Know what these are?" he asks.

"Those would be guns, right?" I say, sarcasm lacing the statement.

His face is unamused, so I shake my head no.

Nodding, he removes what I know to be the magazine from each firearm. Pulling on the top of one, he says, "This is called the slide. You pull it back to chamber the round or to make sure the gun is empty."

He clears each gun to ensure they're unloaded. I suppress a yelp when bullets pop out as he disarms them.

"This one is a Glock 19. It's lightweight. It holds fifteen rounds and one in the chamber. Feel it." He hands me the gun, holding it out in his palm with the handle facing me and the barrel pointing toward the paper target.

I take it, careful to keep the gun angled away from us. I arrange my arm into an awkward position.

"It's not going to shoot you, baby. The gun's completely empty."

"Nope-a-lope, I've seen that PSA commercial," I say.

He takes the gun from me.

"This is a Smith & Wesson Shield. It holds twenty rounds. This one is light too, but won't kick as much. Hold it. "

I pick it up, feeling slightly more confident when I palm it like Hunter does. After a moment, I push it back toward him.

"This one is a Beretta M9. The military uses these. We keep these armed with armor-piercing bullets, and they hold fifteen rounds, plus one in the chamber. It will kick, but if someone is trying to fuck with you and they're wearing some type of bulletproof vest, it will drop them."

I pick it up off the table without him having to tell me.

Everything feels surreal.

"What's the most important thing I've told you about all three of these guns?"

"Um," I say dumbly. I'm overwhelmed with everything he's told me.

"How many rounds they'll hold," he says. "If you're in here and you have two dozen people coming at you, I want you to know how many bullets you have in your gun before it's spent."

I nod, shaken at the thought of a small army of people trying to kill me.

Hunter picks up the empty magazine next to the Glock and starts loading it with rounds. "Watch me do this, then you do it." The bullets click as he refills the cartridge holder.

"Your turn, Sunbeam." He hands me a disassembled, unloaded gun. The ammo slides into the mag with ease. When I'm done, he shoves the clip into the bottom of the gun.

"Here's how you know it's loaded," he says, pointing to a tiny dot on the side of the firearm.

"Who would be able to see that?" I yell with dismay.

"You. When you're focused on protecting yourself."

I suppress a whimper.

"We're going to shoot all these guns. The safety is on. Here's how you turn it off." He points to the lever. "You need to rack the gun, but you only need to do it once. That's why they're called semi-automatic."

So that's what that means .

"Pull the slide back to rack the gun," he says. I struggle to pull it back and look at him with hopelessness.

"Pull hard, then let it go," he says.

Using all my upper body strength, I slide it back and let it release. I hear the bullet slide into the chamber.

"You know you never want to point a gun at anyone, but you especially don't want to point it at someone unless you're ready to kill them. And if you're shooting someone, you're shooting to kill. You keep pulling that trigger until the gun goes click. Got it?"

"Got it," I choke out.

"Good girl," he says. He steps behind me and then situates the gun and the position of my fingers. He holds his hands over mine.

The paper target isn't a bull's eye like I expected from the movies. Instead, it's a silhouette of a man's body.

"We're going to shoot now," he whispers close to my ear.

My terror at this lesson starts to get edged out by want.

Jesus Christ, get a grip.

"You want to line up this point here," he taps the ridge at the top of the gun, "with wherever you're trying to shoot. Aim for the chest, as it's the largest area. Keep both your eyes open. Understand?"

"Eyes open. Shoot for the chest. Line up the shot. Got it."

"Turn the safety off, baby."

I move my thumb to click the lever. His hands are warm, steady over mine. I feel him take a deep breath.

"Prepare for the recoil," he says. "Fire on one."

I put my finger over the trigger.

He counts slowly. "Three, two, one?—"

Even though he told me to prepare for the recoil, the force of it takes me off guard. If his hands weren't holding mine steady, I would have one hundred percent knocked my front teeth out.

"Holy shit," I say. My hand hurts, and I look at the target. I clipped the top edge of the paper, nowhere near where I was aiming.

"Well, fuck, that's really bad," I say.

He chuckles in my ear.

"For your first shot, you did pretty good. You hit the paper." He rubs my forearms and then says, "Let's try again."

It goes on like that for two solid hours. We go through all the guns, unloading several clips from each weapon until I'm able to stand on my own and shoot with some accuracy.

The last ten rounds, I manage to hit the target dead center.

"Are we done yet?" I ask, petulance lacing each word.

"Let's do a few more shots with the S&W."

I like the Smith & Wesson, and Hunter promises I'll get one to carry before the day ends.

I release the tension in my neck before picking up the handgun. With this one, I feel like I'm able to control the aim better, and the recoil is manageable.

Hunter walks up behind me when I lift the gun to aim.

Three, two ?—

Right when I squeeze the trigger, Hunter grabs a handful of my ass, and the shot goes wild.

"Hunter James Brigham, that is so dangerous. You're distracting me!"

"If someone is trying to kill you, you'll be distracted then too. Focus," he says close to my ear.

I suck my teeth and roll my eyes. He has a point, but still.

I lift the gun again, and then I start counting.

Three, two ? —

This time, I shoot low, but that's because I bend forward at the last minute when Hunter's hand skates beneath the elastic of my yoga pants.

"No panties. Really, Sunbeam?" His finger finds my clit, rubbing it in small circles.

I mumble incoherently, pushing back against him. He's hard, and all my ability to focus is now in my snatch .

"Good, but you have to focus better than that, Sunbeam."

"Ugh!" Determined to make my shot and to come, I square my shoulders.

I lift the gun.

Three, two ? —

This time, when he slides his finger inside me, I go up on my toes and keep both eyes open and my arms locked. I hit the target right in the center.

"Good job, baby. You did good," he whispers. He's got two fingers in me now, and the heel of his palm presses against my nub.

"What do I win?" I ask, breathless.

"What do you want as a prize?"

"Your cock," I blurt out.

He chuckles. Spinning me around, he bends me over the long bench separating the shooting bays from the cabinets.

With as much frantic energy as he's using to unzip his pants, I push my leggings down to my knees. When my palms slap against the wood-grain bench, he pushes inside me in one long stroke.

"Fuck— H !"

He pumps into me, slamming so hard that my tits hit my chin. It's so hot.

"You're going to keep yourself safe, right, Sunbeam?" His balls slap my clit, and I widen my stance as far as the material of my pants will allow, arching my back.

"Yes," I say to him on a moan.

"God, you're perfect," he says. "Rub your clit quick. I'm about to come, and I want you squeezing my cock when I do."

Without an ounce of hesitation, I rub my spot in the familiar pattern I know is destined to bring me over the edge.

His movements speed up, and we're fucking wildly. It's glorious. I come to the edge quickly, shouting his name when I tip over .

"God damn , Winter," he grinds out, and then with one-two-three more strokes, he pulls me flush to him with a bruising grip, coming deep inside me with one hand on my shoulder and the other on my hip.

We're both breathless, half-dressed, and my arms start to shake from the weight of holding myself up and the hours of shooting practice.

He runs his hand up my back before slowly pulling out. I start to stand up, but he holds me in place. "Don't move," he commands, and I look at him over my shoulder. He stares at me. Well, at my pussy.

"Hunter," I say, heat crawling up my face. I shift, and he presses me down more. Using his other hand, he scoops up his cum, pushing it back in slowly, giving my most sensitive parts a gentle, loving caress along the way.

"Sorry, baby. I just wanted to sear this sight into my memory," he says with little humor. He pulls me to stand, putting my yoga pants back in place.

The kiss he gives me is so, so tender.

"It's important to me that you are safe, Sunbeam," he says quietly.

"I know. I'm learning that."

He kisses my forehead. "Part of staying safe means knowing where you can turn for help," he says casually. He moves over to the guns, preparing them to return to storage.

I sit on the bench.

"Yeah," I say.

"You need to call Veronica." His back is to me when he says this, and I bite my lip to keep from breaking down. The truth is, I miss my best friend. Like, I really, really miss her. And I'm so sorry and embarrassed and angry at myself for how I treated her.

And based on the fact that she hasn't reached out to me, I know she's hurt.

"Wait. Has she spoken to you? "

Hunter reaches a hand out to me, and we leave the shooting range, pausing only to flick off the lights. When we exit the hangar without a response from him, I know the answer is yes.

I say his name, and he exhales. "Yes, she and I have talked."

I look around the rose garden, trying to figure out my emotions and my thoughts.

"Winter," he says, "I love you. I'm always here for you. "

"But," I add.

" And, " he emphasizes, "you need to accept that you have more people in your corner than you allow. You have a support system that's beyond me. It's Veronica. It's Genevieve. It's Ella. Hell, it's even Leo and August."

I bite the inside of my cheek, contemplating his words. I know he's right. But taking another step to get vulnerable, to make amends, is fucking hard.

What was it I said to Hunter all those months ago in this same garden? Atonement.

"I'll work on it," I commit.

He smiles at me.

Reaching over to pluck a rose from the nearby bush, he hands it to me.

I bring it to my nose, inhaling the luscious scent.

"I know you will, baby. I know you will."