Chapter Twenty-Five - Diane
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DIANE
It's not uncommon that Avery comes up to Thomas' house and they leave for the night. I know they go into the city and lose themselves in whiskey, women, and poker tables.
I'm not sure if Avery knows how much Thomas gambles when he goes. I'm the one who has to drag him up to his bedroom when he returns. I see the I-owe-yous in his wallet and the distinct lack of cash.
I'm not sure how much he owes, but it's a lot.
Thomas' drinking has some advantages, the primary one being that I can rob him for spare change while he's passed out. I take any cash he has left after I haul him to bed. Sometimes it's a dollar, sometimes more. I cut a slit in the mattress and stuff it deep inside.
I'm not sure what I'm going to do with it, but I know that whoever has money has power. It doesn't matter that I have the same legal rights to own land and go where I want.
They have the money, so they have the power.
There's an unusual burst of warmth in late September that lets in the frost by night but holds off the snow during the day. One evening, when Avery and Thomas are gone, I open my bedroom window and sit by it. It's chilly, but the fresh air smells so good.
In the distance, dogs yap from Avery's farm over the hill. My heart hurts. I'm lonely and tired of sitting in this room, hoping that the world changes.
It's then that I hear it: a faint tread on the grass outside.
My eyes snap open.
The constant tension I live with at Garrison Ranch is gone instantly. Warmth rushes through my veins. Westin Quinn stands on the other side of the screen. He's shadowed, but when he tilts his head up, his hazel eyes glitter.
I want to cry with relief.
"Westin," I whisper. "What are you doing here?"
He comes close, so close until there's nothing separating us but the wire screen. I reach out, and he spreads his hand so I can press my palm to his. His fingers are big and square, rough from work. My hands look small and cold in comparison.
"Came to see my girl," he says.
My lips quiver like I might smile. Instead, I sniff.
"How'd you know I was alone?" I whisper.
"I was leaving town, and I saw the Garrisons at the bar," he says. "I reckon they'll be gone all night with the way they were drinking."
I hesitate, unsure what I want. Maybe I should invite him in, but this house feels like death, and Westin burns like the sun. I part my dry mouth and clear my throat.
"Take me to Sovereign Mountain," I burst out.
Those are the words he's waited for—I see relief hit him. He nods once.
"Go get your boots on, darling," he says.
I nod, my pulse racing. He melts into the darkness as I pull the window shut. Billie is sleeping on my bed. She lifts her head as I draw a thick, oversized sweater atop my dress and wriggle into my boots. I kiss her head, running my fingers through her coarse hair.
"I'm leaving the bedroom door open," I tell her. "If you need to leave, the dog door is unfastened. Okay?"
She licks my face. I kiss her one more time and dart from the bedroom and out the back door. I lock it securely, and I'm halfway down the steps before Westin appears. Without thinking, I jump into his arms, and he catches me easily.
Our mouths meet. All the pain in my chest is gone, replaced by golden warmth. He's good at kissing, takes his time warming me up, and then he goes in with his tongue and makes my stomach flip.
When we break apart, I'm dizzy.
"Did you drive here?" I ask.
He nods. "I'm parked off the road."
He sets me down and takes my hand. I follow him blindly, my brain turned off. All I want is to put all my fear into his capable hands and lose myself in him for tonight.
We get to his truck, parked halfway in the woods. He pulls open the door and lifts me inside. Our eyes meet, and he takes his hat off and fits it on my head.
My throat tightens. I want to speak, but I can't. He closes the door, and there's a second of silence while he circles the truck. Then, he gets in, filling the cab with his presence, warm like a fireplace on a cold night.
I inhale, closing my eyes. For the next few hours, I'm safe.
He's big, rough, but not the way the Garrisons are, not the way that will hurt me.
I don't know how I know. I just do.
Maybe that's why I bend to him when I've never bent to any man.
We drive in silence. He reaches over, shoves his hand up under my skirt, and grips my thigh, right below my panties. I'm soaked, tingling with desire. Part of me wants him to pull over and tie me to the wheel the way he did before. The rest of me knows how much better it will be if I can just wait until we get to his bed.
The driveway up to Sovereign Mountain is long. A sign looms overhead, stark against the night sky. There's a huge, sprawling ranch house that sits by a glittering lake, blue in the moonlight. To the right, I see all the lights of the employee housing. Beyond that, stars dance over the trees and dark mountains.
The air feels pure up here. It reminds me of being home at Carter Farms .
Westin pulls around the house and down the side driveway. Not far from the ranch house sits what was likely a guardhouse once upon a time. It's large, two stories, shaded by two huge trees on either side of the door.
He cuts the engine. I take off his hat and lay it on the dashboard.
"Is this where you live?" I whisper.
He nods. "I prefer it. People come through the ranch house all day, but the gatehouse is quiet."
"Can anyone see us?" I turn and look back at the light on in the upper level of the ranch house.
"It's possible," he says, opening the door. "But not likely."
I wait until he comes to lift me out. It's amazing how fast my brain went from survival mode to letting him manage everything. He sets me on my feet, takes my hand, and leads me to the front door. He pulls it open, guiding me through with a hand on my back.
The light flickers on. We're standing in an open concept living room. Everything is clean and neat, the furniture dark wood and leather. The rug is a deep blue plaid, and it matches the curtains in the kitchen on the far end of the space.
It's exactly as I thought Westin Quinn would live. Clean, no frills. Everything is in its place, all the dishes in the sink washed and towels folded on the counter.
"Are you hungry?" he asks.
I shake my head. How can I be hungry at a time like this?
He jerks his head up to the ceiling. "Let's go upstairs, darling."
Maybe this is as simple as it was when he took me upstairs to my bed; when, between my sheets, I learned what it felt like to be alive. But it doesn't feel that way. Maybe because we both have more scars this time around.
I know my heart is broken and tied together with nothing but a string called Westin Quinn. If I had to guess, I'd say his heart was already broken when we met.
He holds out his palm. I slip mine over it.
Then, we go upstairs .
His bed is just like the rest of the house—clean and neat, white sheets and a plaid blue quilt, turned down. Everything smells like laundry soap. There's a wooden cart in the corner by the fireplace. On it sits a glass and a bottle of whiskey.
"Turn around."
I obey. He shuts the door. Now that we're in full light, my eyes roam over him hungrily. His deep chestnut hair is slicked back, like he ran his fingers through it. I'm so close, I can see the faint lines around his eyes. I wonder if they're from wearing that pleasant mask everywhere, the one he takes off when we're alone.
His shirt sticks to his chest. The top few buttons are open, and my toes curl as I sneak a quick peek at the hair between his pecs.
I take a step closer.
He stays still, and I feel like I'm approaching a big animal in the wild, like any sudden movement will make him throw me down on the bed.
My eyes go lower. Down to the belt he used to tie me up. Down to where his shirt isn't properly tucked in. I pull the fabric free, and my fingertips graze the warm skin of his lower stomach. His chest tightens in a quick inhale. His eyes burn like fire.
I know he feels that touch in his groin.
I lift my eyes. "I want it the way you like it to be."
The words come out wrong, all jumbled. His brow creases.
"What do you mean?"
I worry my lip. "By the swimming hole, you mentioned being into…things."
"You mean BDSM," he says flatly, like it's nothing.
I nod. "I'd like…to know what that means."
He takes me by the chin. He turns my face up so I have to crane my neck. I forgot how tall he is. He's serious, his eyes having quieted down to glimmering coals.
"Do you really?"
"I do," I whisper.
His other hand slides behind me, and I feel it in my hair, gathering the tangled curls into his grip, wrapping it twice around his fist. My pulse stumbles, speeding up. He wraps it around one more time until his grip is at the nape of my neck.
Our bodies are close. I feel the heat of his groin against my belly.
"Is that what you really want?" he breathes.
"Yes," I gasp.
His eyelids flicker. "You will call me sir tonight."
Arousal pours through my veins. "Yes, sir."
Something clicks in my brain. All the fear and pain I carry around like a burden on my back falls away. There's nothing but his big, broad body, his hand in my hair, and the bed where I know he's going to ruin me.
I glance sideways. It's so neat, the sheets tucked flat.
He drags my head back. His head dips, his mouth brushing my forehead. I've never felt more grounded than right now. Somehow, he knows how to pull me back in, to make me feel like home is a real place, not just something I wish for at night.
He lets my hair go and pushes the sweater off my shoulders. It falls with a soft thump. He sinks to his knees and starts unbuttoning my dress.
This feels new, different.
"Pick a word for me, darling," he says, eyes down as he undresses me. "Any word you feel comfortable using as a safeword."
I think it over, suddenly self-conscious. My mind drifts to the safest thing I know—the willow tree at Carter Farms.
"Willow," I whisper.
He slides my dress down around my ankles. His head dips, and his hot mouth brushes my panties right over my sex, warmth seeping through to my clit.
"Perfect," he says. "If you need me to stop, say that. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," I say.
It's funny how easily I call him that. He hums low in approval. Then, with one finger, he hooks my panties and draws them aside. I shaved, maybe out of the vain hope this would happen. My pussy is smooth, and it feels delicious when his hot tongue pushes into the crease of my sex and finds my clit .
His tongue dips out and then in again, like he didn't get enough the first time.
He groans. My knees sway. He pulls back, and my panties drop to the ground. Then, he rises, towering over me, and unhooks my bra. My breasts fall free, and my nipples go hard.
He picks me up and carries me to the bed.