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She laughs then, that bright sound warming me straight through to my very marrow. It's a sound of pure, unbridled joy and freedom—the sound of a woman who's shed her former shackles to embrace the wildness and passion that's been lying dormant all along.
Chapter 9
Rhylee
The door to Zane’s cabin swings shut behind us with a dull thud, sealing us off from the inky depths of the Silverpine wilderness. It’s temporarily vacant while the gruff mountain man helps to sort out the captured poacher with the authorities. For now, we have this place entirely to ourselves.
I lean back against the weathered wood, letting out a long, shuddering breath as the tension finally drains from my body. Tucker hovers before me, his broad frame seeming to take up the entirety of the modest dwelling.
"Rhylee..." He exhales my name in a low rasp that has gooseflesh prickling along my nape. "What you did back there... the way you faced that depraved son of a bitch down without an ounce of hesitation..." His words trail off in a husky rumble, his jaw tensing.
"You don't have to say anything, Tucker," I murmur gently, reaching up to cup the sharp plane of his whiskered jaw.
“Yes, I do,” he rasps, his jaw tightening. “I’ve been running scared for a long time. But you… Christ, I've never seen anything so goddamn beautiful in my whole life. So wild and fierce and strong. The kinda partner I always dreamed of having, even if I was too chickenshit to admit it to myself."
"Tucker..." I breathe, scarcely daring to believe this is real.
"I’m never letting you go," he vows. "You're mine now, in every sense of the word.”
“And you’re mine,” I murmur. “We’re in this together now, like it or not.”
He pins me with a look of undisguised longing and fierce possession. "Oh, I like it, Doc. More than you could possibly imagine."
I sink against him, his powerful arms banding around my waist.
"You really did a number on that sick bastard," he rumbles.
Despite the gravity of the situation we've narrowly escaped, a flush of undeniable pride kindles in my chest. I can't resist rolling my eyes, even as a coy smile curves my lips.
"Well, he had it coming after threatening to gut you."
"That's my girl," he murmurs, nuzzling against the sensitive curve of my neck. His stubbled jaw scrapes deliciously along my flushed skin. "Fierce as a mountain lion when somebody threatens what's hers."
"You're damn right," I murmur, my words fanning against the thundering pulse at the base of his neck.
With those words hanging between us, he claims my mouth in a searing kiss that obliterates every last coherent thought. His big hands roam freely over my body with scorching urgency, tracing the flare of my hips before cupping my backside and hauling me flush against the rigid length now straining against his worn denim. I whimper into his mouth at the delicious friction, rolling my hips instinctively to increase that maddening contact.
"That's it, gorgeous," he rumbles in a low, approving rasp. "No more holding back, not for either of us."
His large hands, roughened from years of hard work, glide up my body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. They pause at the hem of my shirt, and with a growl, he tugs it upwards. I eagerly lift my arms, allowing him to pull it off me.
His thumb traces the lace edge of my bra, his touch sending a jolt of pleasure straight to my core. He dips his head, his lips following the path his thumb had taken, the rough stubble of his beard adding an extra layer of sensation.
With a deft flick of his fingers, he unclasps my bra, the garment slipping away to reveal my breasts. Tucker's breath hitches in his throat at the sight, his eyes reverently taking in every inch. He cups one breast in his hand, its weight filling his palm. His thumb brushes over my nipple, the peak hardening beneath his touch.
He dips his head, his mouth closing over my nipple. The sensation of his hot, wet tongue against my sensitive flesh has me gasping. He sucks and nips at the tender bud, the pleasure-pain sending a rush of wetness to my core. His hand moves to my other breast, mirroring the actions of his mouth.
I fumble with the hem of his shirt; I want to feel his skin against mine, to revel in his heat. With a growl, Tucker takes over, ripping the shirt off in one swift motion. My eyes drink in the sight of him, his muscles rippling beneath tanned skin, a smattering of golden hair dusting his chest.
Without a word, he scoops me into his arms, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. The sensation of his bare skin against mine is intoxicating, his heat seeping into me. He carries me over to the worn leather couch, his strides purposeful and sure.
Gently, he lowers me onto the cushions, my body bouncing slightly at the impact. His hands move to the waistband of my pants, his fingers teasing the skin just beneath. He takes his time, his eyes never leaving mine, the tension between us growing taut like a bowstring.
With agonizing slowness, he slides my pants down, my hips lifting off the couch to assist him. His breath hitches in his throat as he reveals my cotton panties, the fabric damp with my desire. He reaches out, his fingertips tracing the delicate material.
“I need to taste you,” he rasps in a tone that brooks no arguments. "Need to bury my tongue so deep inside you, darlin'."
The crude words send a thrill lancing through me, and I can only nod with shameless eagerness. Tucker's lips curve in a wolfish grin before he sinks to his knees before me, pulling off my panties and lifting my legs onto his broad shoulders. The position leaves me vulnerable and exposed, but I trust him. I trust him with my body, with my heart.
