Charming Hannah (Big Sky 1)

“Fucking Jesus,” I groan and grip onto the sheets.

“No, you’re fucking Hannah,” she says and then sinks down over me, sucking and licking. She’s making noises, which only intensifies the heaviness in my balls and electricity moving through me.

I’m going to fucking come, and I don’t want to do that yet.

“Hannah,” I warn her, but she shakes her head and keeps going, gripping me hard and I have to take her by the shoulders, pull her off of me, and switch our positions, tucking her beneath me.

“I’m not going to come in your mouth,” I growl before sinking slowly inside her. “Not today.”

“Another day then?” She moans and hitches her legs up around my sides, gripping my ass in her strong hands and pulling me more tightly against her.

“Maybe.” She cocks a brow and I smirk. “Some women don’t like that.”

“I’m not some women.”

“No, you’re not.” I drag my fingertips down her cheek and cup her neck and jaw, just able to see her eyes from the glow of the hallway. “You’re fucking amazing.”

“You’re good for my ego.”

I pull my hips back and then push in again, deeper than before and watch her eyes widen in lust and pleasure.

“I’m not feeding your damn ego. You’re magnificent.” I kiss her lips, nibble the corner of her mouth and then sink into her, tangling our tongues, tasting her. She’s moaning against my mouth, and her fingers have tangled in my hair again, and that’s it. I can’t stop myself from picking up the pace, pushing harder, and cursing under my breath when she bears down and squeezes me as she comes around me.

I bury my face in her hair and follow her over; the world falls away and I’m lost in her.

There’s no going back.

I’m hers.

***

“So, you’ve never been kayaking?” I ask Hannah about a week later as we drive the forty miles or so into Glacier National Park.

“No, it’s always scared me. I know how to swim, but you always hear of people rolling over in their kayak, and I don’t want to do that. Ever.”

“Well, I have sit-on-top kayaks, and they’re less likely to tip over.” I smile over at her and squeeze her hand in mine, feeling the tension in her. This makes her nervous, but she’s willing to give it a try, and that says a lot about her. “And if you hate it, we can just hike a bit.”

“Okay.” She nods and looks in the backseat at her backpack.

“You grabbed the bear spray.”

“I know, I’m just checking.” She fidgets. “I know it’s weird to you that I have this fear, but I can’t turn it off. I can’t describe it, I just have it, and I can’t make it go away.”

“You don’t have to describe it,” I assure her and turn on the road that leads up to Bowman Lake, a lesser-known lake that tends to be less rull of tourists this time of year. “You’re right, I don’t understand it, but I have other quirks that I can’t explain either.”

“Like what?”

“Remember when I took you to my house that day that you hurt your ankle, and I made you stay in the truck while I checked the house?”

“Yes.”

“It’s habit, anxiety now that I think about it, to walk through the entire property when I get home to make sure nothing is disturbed. I lock up tight, and I have alarms and cameras, but I have to do a sweep before I can settle in.”

“And you don’t know why?” she asks.

I know why.

“Actually, when I was a kid, and my dad was chief, we had been out as a family around Christmas time. I don’t remember where we’d been. But we came home and there was a man in our house, drunk and pissed off and he came to the chief’s house to confront him about it.”

“Oh my God.”

“It was scary. Dad had a weapon on him, and I don’t think we were ever in danger. I don’t remember what the man was upset about. Maybe his wife had kicked him out for beating her, I’m not sure. But I remember that he was so pissed off. Dad lured him outside and Mom rushed us into a back bedroom and called for backup, which came quickly. But I don’t think I’ll forget walking into the house and seeing a stranger there.”

“No. I wouldn’t forget that either.”

“I didn’t check the house before,” I continue. “And I don’t think it ever occurred to me that that’s why I do it now. As soon as I became chief, I started the routine, and now I realize that’s why.”

“It makes sense,” she says with a nod, and then points to the red building of the small bakery in a town of only a couple hundred people. “Best pastries in the state.”

“Let’s stop.”