Chapter Nine - Diane

CHAPTER NINE

DIANE

He hurts me, fills every part of me to the brim, but he feels like being alive. If he breaks me in the process, I'm happy to be broken.

I've been rusting away at Carter Farms, hoping for my life to start, and here he is, all muscle and sweat and a maybe-it-could-be-something-more. I'm delirious, but I swear, I can see him coming back to me at night.

He kind of looks like he could make me his bride.

And I like the thought of that, though it sounds ridiculous, considering we barely know each other. He's different. I've never held much stock in romanticism, but I wouldn't mind hearing him whisper sweet things to me or bring me flowers from the field in July.

Maybe even promise to be more than just a kiss and a fuck in the afternoon.

His body stiffens abruptly, pulling me from my silly thoughts. His eyes change; he goes from fucking slowly to rutting hard, chasing something that makes his breath come in harsh pants.

His gun, hanging from the bedpost, clatters.

I whimper.

Then, in one, fluid movement, he jerks his hips back and swears under his breath. I look down, and his cock is out of me and in his hand, wet with my arousal. He comes on my inner thigh, and it's warm as it hits my skin. His jaw goes tight as his hips jerk one last time before he's done.

I'm faintly disappointed he didn't do that inside me.

But also relieved.

He sits back on his heels. His pants are still on, a leather belt hanging open at the hip. His chest heaves, glittering with sweat. He tucks his cock back into his boxer-briefs and runs a hand over his face.

"Let me clean you up, darling," he says, his voice a low rumble. "You got any washrags?"

"In the bathroom," I whisper.

He stands and flashes the brand on his broad, muscled shoulders. The scar tissue is thick, like someone took a hot poker and raked it over his skin, digging in to make sure he was branded for life.

My stomach twists. People are cruel, I know that, but sometimes, it shocks me just how much.

He comes back to the bed and cleans the cum off my thigh before he wipes his hands and tosses the rag in the laundry basket. I sidle over to make room for him.

He stretches out, looking absurdly big on my twin bed. I let my gaze run over his hard stomach. It's so sexy, and I feel my battered pussy tighten.

I look up at him, head spinning. He bends and kisses my forehead, something gentle and dark in his eyes, but I don't know enough to understand it. It reminds me again that I'm out of my depth.

Too much, too soon.

Maybe he was right to ask me that on the riverbank.

What he did to me in this bed while all the men were in the city was too much, too soon. I should have refused instead of welcoming him like rain after a drought.

The only problem is, I don't regret it. I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

I part my dry lips. "You hungry?"

He shakes his head. "No. You?"

"A little. "

He picks up the apple I placed on the bedside table the other night, the one he tossed to me before disappearing. He has no knife, so he bites a piece from it. I watch as he takes the chunk from his mouth and puts it between my lips.

Breathless, I open.

It's the sweetest apple I've ever had.

We lay on the tangled sheets as he feeds me, bite by bite, until it's gone. Taking it from his mouth and putting it into mine. It's so intimate; I never dreamed it was possible to feel this close to anyone.

When it's gone, I slide down so my head is on his thigh. It's thick and hard with muscle. I'm fully naked, and I don't mind that he's looking, studying my body like he wants to memorize every inch of it.

"What do you want most in the whole world?" I ask, staring up at the ceiling.

He rumbles in his chest, leaning his head back against the wall. "What you just gave me."

I glance at him, thinking he's joking, but his face is sober. I can't find the words to respond, so I pick at my nails. There's a smudge of blood on the side of my finger.

"What do you want, darling?" he asks.

"Everything," I sigh.

He's silent for a long time, and I wonder if he thinks I'm silly. Finally, he lays his hand on my chest, right between my breasts, like he's feeling my heart thump.

"That's a good thing to want," he says. "You'll get at least part of it at some point."

I laugh, even though he's not joking. He gathers my right breast in his grip, squeezing it. His rough thumb moves back and forth over my nipple, and the feeling trickles down my belly to my clit, making it tingle.

Downstairs, the grandfather clock chimes. It's late afternoon. I sit up slowly, trying not to wince at the twinge between my legs. He catches me by the elbow and kisses my mouth hard. When we break apart, he gives me a look that pierces right to my soul.

"You're so beautiful," he says.

His voice is hoarse and low. I believe every word he says.

I don't know how to respond, so I curl up against the headboard and pull the sheets over my body. He stands and gets dressed, the gun holster back on his waist.

His expression is sober as he picks up his hat, and my hands are a knot in my lap. I glance up, and I don't know why, but I want to cry.

"You better go before the men come back," I whisper.

He kneels beside the bed. I shift to the edge and let my legs hang down between his boots. He's so big, his head is level with mine.

He runs his hand down my calf to my ankle. His head dips, and he kisses the arch of my foot.

My stomach flutters.

"You're pretty sweet, Diane," he says. "I'd like to see you again."

I swallow. "Um…do you think we're moving too fast?" I whisper.

He shakes his head once, not hesitating. "I've never been surer about wanting to get to know somebody. If you want me to fuck off, Diane, you'll have to shoot me."

I laugh weakly. He smiles, and I touch his face, enjoying the prickle of his beard.

"I kinda like you," I whisper.

His lids flicker as his throat bobs. "I more than kinda like you."

I bite my lip. "Too much, too soon, Mr. Quinn," I say, trying to make it into a joke. I mean it a little bit, though.

"I don't care," he says, voice hoarse. "What kind of flowers do you like, darling?"

My brows rise. Is he trying to get romantic with me?

"My favorite? The yellow lilies that grow in the spring," I say. "They're pretty, but they don't last long, so it's a waste to pick them."

He tilts his head, the corner of his mouth crooked. Then, his hand slides around the back of my neck, and he pulls me down to his mouth. I swear, I'm getting used to the taste of Westin Quinn. It's feeling familiar.

He makes me burn between my thighs when his tongue brushes mine. We break apart before he kisses my palms and gets to his feet.

"Goodbye, Diane Carter," he says. "I'll be back soon. "

He leaves me sitting on the bed, stained sheets surrounding me. The front door slams, and I go to the window, holding the curtain over my body. He's leaving, heading down the driveway.

I know it's risky for him to be here, but it'll break my heart if he never comes back.