Chapter 48

She’s mine.

Hannah is mine, and there isn’t a damn thing anyone can do to take her away from me. I will have her for the rest of my life, protect her and keep her, and fucking worship the grounds she walks on. But while I feel like I’ve been gifted a perfect future, I can’t help thinking that Hannah had at least a portion of hers taken away.

I meet Hannah at her old apartment on a sunny morning—she’s fully moved out as of today—and sweep her into my arms the minute she’s handed the key back to her landlord.

Hannah laughs and grasps my shoulders, throwing her head back, and she’s the most beautiful woman in the world. I put her down, grab her packed bag, and lift it onto the back seat of my car. I open the passenger side door for Hannah.

I get in beside her, but I don’t start the car yet.

It’s a Sunday morning, and we have a couple of hours to kill before her grandmother’s pot luck.

I turn to Hannah and study her. I’m not sure when I realized I was in love with this woman, or if it’s just something that’s always been there, waiting below the surface for me to get my shit together.

When I look at her, she has this indescribable quality. A beauty that radiates from the inside out. It’s like I can see all the different shades of who she is—the red of her passion for kids, for us, for life or the pink of her cheeks when she’s looking at me. The past and the present mesh together and make her into this complete, loveable woman.

“Carter?” she asks.

“Hmm.”

“You’re staring.”

“I know,” I say, and laugh. “Open the glovebox and grab the envelope inside, will you?”

“Sure.” She takes the envelope out then frowns at her name, which I’ve written across the front in slashing letters. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

She opens the envelope and removes two plane tickets from within, along with a note. She opens the note and reads it. I smile at her eyes widening as they shift from side-to-side.

I remember every word I wrote.

Princess,

You’ve given me everything I’ve ever dreamed of.

You might think that your life will always be in Heatstroke. That you will never get the adventure you dreamed of. Let’s fix that.

Love,

Carter

And those two plane tickets are to France, specifically to Paris. From there, we’ll catch a regional flight to Bordeaux. The South of France, just like she wanted.

The note trembles in Hannah’s hand. “Are you serious? These are tickets to?—”

“Yeah,” I say. “I thought we’d go next week.”

“Are you kidding?”

“You can’t go in your third trimester, so let’s go now. We’ll go away together, enjoy ourselves, and then come back and get properly settled in at the house. Figured it’s a good way to start our life together.”

“Our life.” Her cheeks turn that beautiful shade of pink again. She scrambles across the seats and throws her arms around my neck. She kisses my cheeks, my nose, my lips.

I kiss her back hard, my hands wondering over her back, moving down her spine, tracing her curves. She isn’t showing yet, but I can’t wait until she is. I can’t wait to treat her the way she’s always deserved to be treated.

“Hannah,” I say, against her mouth. “I love you.”

“I love you,” she whispers.

“Let’s get you back to the ranch.” And then I suck her bottom lip into my mouth and nip it.

She moans against me. “I don’t know if I can wait that long. I’m so desperate for you, Carter.”

I love hearing that. Even more because I know she would’ve been too embarrassed to say it in the past. Too shy. Now, there’s nothing between us except too many clothes. “Come on, Princess. Let’s go. We’re giving the folks in front of the bakery a free show.”

She lifts her head and glances out at them. “Who cares?” And she’s shining with pride. Unabashed.

I’m so fucking proud of her. “I do,” I say. “Nobody gets to see you moaning and coming except for me.”

Hannah shifts back into her seat and clips her seatbelt into place. And then we’re on our way back to the house together. Our house.

“We should go,”Hannah sighs, as she takes a casserole out of the oven and places it on the counter. “It’s ready.”

We’re due at Ganny’s pot luck in a half hour. It’s just enough time to drive out there. But Hannah and I have spent most of the morning in each other’s arms. I’ve made her come three times, but it’s still not enough.

When I said I was going to worship her body, I meant it.

Hannah’s wearing a cute cotton dress studded with blue flowers.

I take hold of her waist and turn her around in my arms, brushing the backs of my fingertips over her cheek. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” she says.

“Just good? That’s not right.”

“What do you?—?”

I tug down the front of her dress and expose her full breasts in the kitchen. Her nipples pucker in the cool air, instantly. “Oh my God,” she whimpers.

“You’re not wearing a bra,” I say.

“Yes.”

“Are you trying to drive me crazy?” I ask.

“Maybe.”

I palm one of her breasts and pinch her nipple. She gasps and arches her back. My other hand slides over her torso, down to the hem of her skirt.

“Naughty girl,” I growl, and nip her throat, scratching it with my beard. “You’d better be wearing underwear.”

My hand slips between her legs, and I find her wet and quivering for me. So slick, I could slip inside her in the kitchen.

And that’s exactly what I intend to do.

I move her away from the oven, to the other side of the kitchen counter, and bend her over it, so that her tits press against the cold countertop.

I rip her dress up and over her hips, and she quivers and cries out.

“How bad do you want it, Princess?”

She swallows.

I trace the curves of her hips with my hands. “How bad?”

“So bad, Carter. I want you inside me. I need you to fill me up again.”

I slip my finger over her warm pussy, spreading her warm wetness toward her clit. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours,” she cries out.

I torture myself by fingering her slowly, by refusing to let myself taste her. It’s like I’m edging myself by giving her slow pleasure. I rub her clit and finger her pussy at the same time, standing behind her and watching the way she reacts. How she starts swirling her hips, getting so desperate for her release that she’s begging for it. Pleading. Both with her body and her mouth.

“You want to come, Princess?”

She smacks her hand down on the countertop. “Now. Give it to me now.”

I love that she’s demanding it.

I bend and suck her clit between my lips, and almost blow my load when she instantly comes on my face. Quickly, I pull back, remove my dripping cock from my pants and slide inside her. I enjoy the last pulses of her orgasm, and she arches into me as I slide in inch by inch.

“Carter, please. Please.”

“This is going to be fast, Princess,” I growl, and slap her ass, grab and squeeze it. “You’d better hold the fuck on.”

I pound into her, and she clings to the counter top. Shaking, her eyes rolling in her head, and unearthly fucking noises escaping her throat. I’m making her lose all sense of herself, but it’s nothing compared to the way she makes me feel.

Out of control, protective, happy.

I show her how I feel with every thrust, bringing us both closer to the edge. I press my hand into her hair, and tug on it.

She cries out. “Harder. Pull it harder.”

And I do, finding her clit with my free hand and working her at a slower pace until she comes again. This time, when she breaks, I go with her. We’re a breathless mess of arms and limbs. We’re late for the potluck. We’re totally fucking out of control when it comes to each other.

But for the first time in sixteen years, I’m happy. And it’s all because of her.