My cheeks are burning, but I force myself to hold his gaze. “So, that’s what I’m asking. No strings. Just sex. Hopefully really amazing sex. You won’t owe me anything. I just? I trust you.”
The silence between us stretches.
Scott’s knuckles are white where they grip his glass. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, his chest rising and falling slowly like he’s trying to keep himself under control.
Finally, he speaks. His voice is low, rough, almost a growl. “You want me to fuck you? No strings? You don’t know what you’re asking for, Bree.”
I smile faintly. “Then show me.”
His eyes flick down to my mouth, then lower, to the curve of my breasts beneath my hoodie. I see the struggle in him. The war between what he wants and what he thinks is right.
I lean back in my seat, giving him space. “Just think about it. That’s all I’m asking.”
He nods, but his eyes linger on me like he’s already thinking about a hell of a lot more than that.
Hank calls out from the bar. “You two ready for dessert?”
Scott mutters something under his breath, and I laugh, the tension breaking just a little.
This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Chapter 16: Bree
Scott hasn’t said much since I dropped the bomb on him at dinner, but I can feel the tension radiating off him. The drive back to his cabin is quiet—too quiet—but not in that comfortable way.
He’s gripping the steering wheel so hard I’m surprised it hasn’t snapped in half. His jaw is tight, eyes locked on the dark road ahead, but I can see the flicker of something more beneath his gruff exterior. Something hungry.
Good. Let him stew in it.
When we pull up to his cabin, he kills the engine but doesn’t move. Neither do I. We just sit there in the dim light. I know he’s trying to hold himself back, fighting that inner battle between what he wants and what he thinks he’s supposed to do.
I’m done waiting.
“I’ve thought about this, Scott,” I say, breaking the silence.
His knuckles tighten on the wheel. He doesn’t look at me. “Bree—”
“No. Listen.”
I shift in my seat, turning to face him. My voice is calm, steady, because I need him to hear me.
“I’m not asking you for some relationship. I’m not asking you to break some code with Jake. I’m asking you to teach me. About sex. About my body. About what it’s supposed to feel like when it’s good.”
He exhales slowly, but I press on.
“Misty Mountain isn’t my forever. I keep thinking I will eventually go back to my old life at some stage. But this is what I need now, but while I’m here, I want this. With you. And no one has to know. Not Jake. Not Clara. Not Hank. No one.”
I finally see him glance at me, his eyes shadowed but burning with restraint. “Bree, you don’t know what you’re asking me for.”
“I do.”
“No, sweetheart. You don’t. If we do this, I’m not going to be gentle all the time. I’m not that kind of man.”
I swallow, heat unfurling low in my belly. “I don’t want gentle. I want real.”
He drags a hand down his face like he’s trying to wipe away the images in his head. But I can see it there, the fight is slipping. His self-control is cracking, and I am not about to let him rebuild it.
“I want to know what it feels like,” I continue. “To be wanted. To be touched like you can’t get enough of me. To feel good in my own skin, with someone who actually sees me.”
