Page 65 of Welded Defender
I close her door and turn to Becket. I clap a hand on his shoulder. “Beck—” My throat tightens around the rest.
His eyes crinkle at the corners, the same way they did when we were ten and he let me have the last popsicle, when we were sixteen and he covered for me after I dented my stepdad’s car, when we were twenty-two and he stayed up all night while my mom was in the hospital. “You’d have done the same for me,” he says. “What are brothers for?”
Something warm spreads through my chest.
“Thank you,” I manage.
He nods, then turns and heads to his own truck.
I jog to the driver’s side, fingers stiff with cold. Marcy smiles at me from the passenger seat, and I can’t help but smile back. God, I’ve missed her. We pull onto the road and begin the drive home.
Halfway up the ridge, where the pines lean over the pavement, her fingers slide across the seat. They pause at my leg—just the weight of her pinky against my jeans at first. When I cover her hand with mine, I feel her exhale, a small, surrendering sound in the darkness of the cab.
By the time we hit the long stretch leading toward the house, her thumb brushes small, restless circles against my jeans. Each movement sends electricity up my thigh. The truck’s heater hums, and my collar feels too tight, too hot.
“Marcy,” I manage, the word scraping my throat.
She meets my glance with half-lidded eyes, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “What?”
“You need to stop looking at me like that.”
She blinks, lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks. “Like what?”
My knuckles whiten against the steering wheel as I swallow hard. “Like we’re not going to make it to the house.” The wordscatch in my throat, rough as sandpaper, while the heat from her hand burns through my jeans.
Her hand slides higher up my thigh, her fingers leaving trails of heat. “This has been the longest week of my life, Landon.” Her voice drops to a whisper that brushes against my ear. “The longest I ever want to go without your hands on me.”
I suck in a harsh breath. The steering wheel creaks under my grip as the truck swerves slightly. My pulse hammers in my throat while I force my eyes to stay on the road instead of her parted lips. I make myself ease off the gas, even though everything in me wants to race forward.
My thumb traces the edge of the steering wheel, circling the worn leather again and again. I’ve been so careful these past weeks—not pushing, giving her space. But the way she’s looking at me now...
“Marcy—” My voice breaks on her name.
“Landon...” She breathes it like a prayer, like permission.
As we near the house, I spot the lights blazing and multiple vehicles crowding the drive.
“Shit,” I hiss. “Everyone’s at the house. Want me to head back to the garage where we’ll have some privacy?”
Marcy leans across the console, close enough that I feel the heat radiating from her skin and catch the faint trace of her shampoo. Her lips brush my ear as she whispers, “I can’t wait that long, Landon. I need to feel close to you. Now.”
CHAPTER 36
Landon
Jesus, this woman is going to be the death of me. I don’t pull into the driveway. Instead, I take us further down the road and veer off onto a narrow dirt path, the truck bouncing across the rough terrain until we reach a secluded spot on the property.
The truck barely stops before she leans across the console, fingers curling into the front of my jacket, pulling me to her. Her mouth crashes against mine—desperate, urgent, tasting of salt and breath and everything I’ve been craving this past week.
I groan into the kiss, cupping her face, letting myself pour into her all the weeks of restraint I’ve been storing up. She answers with equal fire, climbing halfway into my lap, and suddenly the cab feels too damn small for what we both need.
When we finally break apart, both breathing hard, she whispers, “Please, Landon. Don’t make me wait anymore.”
Her eyes are wide—not with fear, but with absolute certainty. The trust there nearly undoes me.
I press my forehead to hers, fighting for control. “You sure?”
“Yes.” One word, unwavering.
