“Shit—Carter!”
I start to move, watching her eyes flutter, her sarcasm melt into wrecked pleasure. “You play so fucking hard,” I growl, pulling her leg up and over my shoulder, “but you’re soaked the second I talk dirty to you.”
Her hand claws at the sheets. “You’re full of yourself.”
“No, baby,” I grunt, pushing myself deeper. “I’m full of you, and you’re gonna feel me dripping out of you for hours.”
She moans, and I press down harder, as I grind against her clit with every thrust. “You wanna act like a smartass,” I whisper, leaning down until our lips almost touch, “then you’re gonna take this cock like a good girl.”
“Fucking make me.”
I grab her hips, fucking her so hard the headboard knocks against the wall. She’s moaning louder, her bratty mouth lost to pleasure as I pound into her without mercy.
“Look at that,” I pant. “Not so mouthy anymore, are you?” Her nails dig into my back as she trembles, coming hard with a cry of my name.
I don’t let up. I chase her through it, fucking her deeper until I’m spilling inside her, as my head buries in her neck, groaning into her skin like she’s the only thing that’s ever felt real. We stay tangled, her body soft under mine.
She sighs, still catching her breath. “I love you.”
I grin, kissing her cheek. “I love you more, baby. Come on, let me clean you up and let’s get dressed.”
She groans. “Why?”
She doesn’t saya damn thing on the drive into town. She stares out the window, her hair half up in a lazy bun, as she wears one of my flannels hanging off her shoulders. Her infamous bedazzled cowgirl boots are up on the dash, and that sharp attitude simmers just below the surface.
She knows where we’re going. Her body’s already tense like she’s bracing for impact. When I pull into the lot, she doesn’t bother looking at me.
“Why are you bringing me here?” she mutters, eyes fixed on the building. “So I can stare at another fucking failure, and remind myself what getting gutted feels like?”
I swing the truck into park and step out without answering. I walk around, open her door, and hold out my hand. She doesn’t take it right away.
“Shut up and come with me,” I tell her.
She glares—because, of course, she does—but her fingers slide into mine anyway. We walk toward the door, her grip tightening around my hand. She thinks she’s about to fall apart again, but she doesn’t know I rebuilt it all for her.
I push open the door, gesturing for her to step inside first. She crosses the threshold, and her entire body stills as she lets out the tiniest gasp.
She turns in a slow circle, her hands covering her mouth, and her eyes wide as she takes it all in. The airsmells like vanilla bean and cedarwood with a hint of matcha. Soft lavender neon glows from the back wall, curling in cursive letters that saySmut Princess—because that’s what the fuck she is and we both know it.
Shelves line the walls, towering and perfectly spaced, stocked with dark romance, spicy fantasy, and all the morally questionable love stories she used to whisper about wanting in her store one day.
Her custom matcha bar gleams beneath a gold sign. The back counter is stocked with oversized mugs, lavender-hued syrups, rainbow sprinkles, and enough oat milk to last her a century. Next to the register, her tip jar is right where it belongs, rimmed in glitter, with a label handwritten in chunky letters:You’re Doing Amazing, Sweetie.
Overhead, fairy lights wind around exposed beams, twinkling around the wood. And pulsing through the space is a remix of John Summit’s Where You Are, just loud enough to thump in your chest.
I watch her take a shaky step forward, her fingers drag across the counter, down the row of annotated BookTok faves, and past a little shelf labeledCatalina’s Chaos Cornerfilled with sprayed edges and signed editions.
She finally turns to me, voice barely above a whisper. “You did this?”
I nod, stepping closer until I’m right in front of her. I cup her face in both hands, brushing my thumb slowly across her lip. “Anything for you, baby.”
She doesn’t answer with words. She grabs my shirt, pulls me down, and kisses me like she’s still trying to wake up from a dream she doesn’t trust yet.
She exhales, her hands still curled around my chest. “How did you know this was me?” she whispers. “All of it?”
I smirk, brushing her hair off her cheek. “Just because I’m quiet, darlin’,” I murmur, “doesn’t mean I don’t observe.”
She lets out a watery laugh, eyes wide and sparkling, and spins once more under the fairy lights like she’s dancing in the middle of her magic.
