Ren and Della: Boxed Set (Ribbon Duet Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  I didn’t stand a chance.

  I had no control over the typhoon swirling and building, sucking up debris, cleansing my heart from all its maybes and uncertainties and blowing them around, focusing the eye of the storm into my belly.

  Up and up, I flew.

  Tighter and tighter, I gathered.

  And when his voice shared his tongue, spearing into me and murmuring against my searing flesh, he smashed the old Della apart and gave this new one wings. “Remember that wish—” Plunge, lick, bite “—you made when you were five years old?” Twist, tease, nibble. “At the diner with the cupcakes?” Thrust, consume, worship. “Answer me, Della.”

  I shivered, unable to talk but desperate to reply. I nodded. I remembered, or at least I remembered the stories he’d told me. “I wished for us to never be apart. For you to take me everywhere.”

  “I’m ready to ensure that wish comes true.” He licked me again. And again. “You’re mine, Della Wild. I’m going to take you places you’ve never been. Starting with making you come on my face.”

  The crude snap, the dirty vow, the darkness of his voice—they all added matches to the swirling wind inside me.

  His mouth settled over my core again as his tongue laved and fingers hooked and those tiny flying matches inside turned into a spark, a flame, a roaring fireball that took me with no warning.

  “Oh—” It was the only word I knew as Ren dug fingers into my thighs, holding me down and wide as he gave me no safety, no sanctuary, no reprieve from the torture he brought between my legs.

  “God, you taste—” He bit me again. “You taste like Della. Like everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

  And that was it.

  I did what he said I would.

  I exploded.

  I unravelled.

  I came and came and came.

  And before the final breeze blew the fire out, Ren crawled up my body, slotted his hips into mine, and thrust inside me in one long, delicious impale.

  We both cried out. Him low and guttural. Me high and needy.

  This was truth.

  This was us.

  This was everything.

  His hips pistoned into mine, driving me deep, shoving me into the sleeping bags, and the tent shook and creaked, and we clawed and snapped and bit, our hands never empty, our legs never untangled, our bodies as joined as they could ever be.

  On and on, he fucked me.

  On and on, I rode him.

  And when a matching fire-breathing typhoon found him. When his body couldn’t withstand the pleasure. When our hearts exceeded too much love and thankfulness and joy, he reared up on his hands…

  …and roared.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2018

  IT TOOK A MONTH.

  A month for me to trust that this was real.

  That I hadn’t died and found my version of heaven. That I wasn’t asleep and living in my dream. That I wasn’t fantasising that Della was mine only to find I’d gone insane.

  For four wondrous weeks, we stayed in the forest, swimming in chilly rivers, making love in glades, and eating the rest of our supplies before brushing off our hunting skills and living off the land.

  Autumn well and truly arrived, turning the final mugginess of summer into the warning chill of impending winter.

  T-shirts became sweaters and we snuggled for warmth as much as for sanity.

  We walked far, sometimes leaving the river to climb up a hill for a better vantage point, and sometimes doubling back to a campsite where we’d shared a night beneath the stars, naked and writhing on a sleeping bag beside a cheery fire.

  We didn’t care what time of day it was or where we were—when the urge to be close overtook us, we didn’t fight it. We’d spent far too long fighting it and were now making up for lost time.

  Most mornings, I woke with Della plastered to my side—just like she did when she was little—her face tucked into my chest, her legs wrapped in mine. Those moments stabbed my heart with memories of a blonde cherub who always made me melt.

  I found it hard to let such thoughts in—of Della playing with Liam when she was six or seven. Of Della launching on my back while I raked freshly cut lucerne when she was eight or nine.

  The guilt was still there, but not because I’d slept with her. The guilt was because she was so damn pure and had an entire life ahead of her. By accepting what had always been between us, I’d stolen that future from her. I’d shackled her with me, and I still struggled to believe I would be enough.

  She’d always been so bright and brave and capable.

  I’d always been distrusting, untalkative, and stubborn.

  I’d given her everything to ensure she had an education, enjoyed fellow humans, and was prepared for a career she could be proud of. But by giving in to my feelings for her, I’d made all those sacrifices obsolete. I should’ve noticed just how similar we were. I should’ve stopped to look at her, not just manhandle her into a life people were told they should want.

  As far as I was concerned, I would never live in a city again. I doubted I could. I’d reached my people quota the day I ran from Mclary’s, and that hadn’t changed just because I’d fallen in love.

  But I also couldn’t deny, I would live in a high-rise poky apartment if that made Della happy. If she wanted to work in an office and have overpriced drinks with her colleagues and become the bread winner, then I would agree, because I meant what I said: I was hers.

  We’d stepped over every line we could, and there was no going back now. She was stuck with me, and no matter what sort of life she wanted—city or farm—I was limited to what I could offer her.

  Wherever we ended up, I would forever be an unskilled labourer with no accolades to my name. I knew hard work, and I lived to cultivate and tend, but I would never be a man to wear a suit, own a laptop, or host dinner parties in his home.

  At the moment, Della was as wrapped up in me as I was in her…but things always had a way of changing. When she grew sick of my overprotectiveness, or when she turned away my need to have her in my arms…what would happen then?

  She was still so damn young—still forming into herself; unaware of her true wants and dreams. Compared to her, I’d always been the surly old man who would rather growl at visitors than welcome them. Would Della love me when she was my age and I was pushing forty not thirty? Would she still find me handsome with sun-weathered skin and a body that had seen better days?

  At least those thoughts were few and far between—I could forget about any future worries because when I was with Della, she made me exist purely in the now. When her fingers touched my arm or her lips landed on mine, nothing else mattered.

  Nothing.

  And that was the best gift she could give me because for the first time, I was free from worry. Free from the weight of responsibility and concern for her future and mine.

  “Ren?” Della cocked her head, her hands glittering in scales as she rasped the silver fish I’d caught.

  I put down the snare I was making to catch dinner, giving her my undivided attention. Her hair was lighter from living outdoors, bordering white gold instead of sunshine. The blue of her ribbon peeked between the glossy strands, dangling a little over her shoulder.

  “Yeah?”

  “I know we agreed not to discuss it again, but…it’s all I can think about.”

  I groaned, leaning heavily against the sapling I’d chosen to sit by. “Della, you know why I can’t—”

  “It’s not enough. It doesn’t feel complete.”

  I wouldn’t admit that I felt the same way. That whenever I was inside her, I hated, hated having to pull out before I came. We’d gone through her box of condoms—the box I’d bought her and probably close to their expiry date—within the first few days of sleeping together.

  Once they’d run out, we had no other alternative. To start with, I’d adamantly swore I wouldn’t touch her again until we had more. Tha
t had blown into a massive argument where she threw logic in my face and made me agree that since I’d never had unprotected sex before her and she hadn’t either—we were safe in that respect. However, I wasn’t just worried about that.

  I didn’t want to hurt her, and I knew what would happen if we continued sleeping together with no protection.

  She’d get pregnant.

  And as much as I loved her, she was far too young to be shackled with a kid—I should know after dedicating my life to a child I hadn’t planned—and far too naïve to think it wouldn’t happen.

  And out here? If she got pregnant, so many things could go wrong. Even if we headed back into town, we had no insurance or money to pay for hospital stays and baby check-ups, and I refused to put her in danger when it was avoidable.

  “You got your wish. We’re still having regular sex. It doesn’t matter if I come on your stomach or inside you, it still feels incredible.” I lowered my voice, giving her a dark smile. “Believe me, Della, that first time I felt you without anything between us, it took everything I could not to come that very second.”

  She huffed, not buying my attempt to redirect the conversation. “It doesn’t feel complete, and I struggle to come, knowing you can’t finish with me.” She brushed away a tumbled curl with the back of her hand, decorating her forehead with a fish scale.

  Seeing her in a stretched sweater hanging over her shoulder, jeans with holes and frays, and dirt beneath her nails with mess upon her face made me hard.

  So damn hard.

  I loved how wild she was. How the last name she’d baptised us with matched us perfectly. And because she was wild, she wanted our sex to be wild.

  Three weeks ago, she’d crawled onto my lap while I was turning a spit-roast of rabbit and undone my shorts before I could stop her.

  She’d been naked under one of my t-shirts, and it only took a second for her to squeeze me, jerk me, and make me hard enough to slip inside her. I’d become her prisoner the second I felt her wet heat, allowing her to take from me until…she stood as suddenly as she’d sat on me, her eyes harsh and dangerous.

  It had been the night after our fight about the condoms, and she still hadn’t forgiven me for not giving in.

  Well, she won. And she won again when she looked me in the eye, then dashed away, barefoot and hair free, disappearing into the woods.

  I wasn’t responsible for what I did next. I wasn’t myself as I tossed good meat into the cinders, clutched my open shorts to keep them on, and took off after her.

  So many times we’d played chase when she was little. So many times I’d run after her when she was angry or cheeky or pissed, and because of those games, I knew how to play this one.

  I knew how to track her. Knew the weaves and ducks she favoured. Never staying in a straight line, she used the undergrowth to hide her.

  The small hitches of her breath and snaps of bracken as she navigated the gloom led me directly to her.

  She didn’t see me until it was too late.

  And when I did…my behaviour was abominable.

  Pushing her to the ground, I let out a savage groan as she landed on all fours, then, because she insisted on fighting me like an animal, I fucked her like an animal.

  I speared into her from behind—just like all the farmyard creatures did—and the scream she made? Holy shit, I lasted mere seconds.

  I thrust savagely until her entire body rippled with her release, and then I pulled out, fisting myself hard as I came all over her back.

  The shame that crashed over me was entirely new. It wasn’t about taking more than I deserved but going too far—for letting her push me until I snapped and only thought of myself. For getting so caught up in whatever war we’d been fighting that I’d hurt her.

  But of course, Della hadn’t let me stew, and once we returned to our camp in stony silence, she’d climbed my body and kissed me deep, murmuring that having me behind her, driving into her like a monster had been the best experience thus far.

  I hated to admit that I’d fucking loved it too, and unfortunately for both of us, we became hooked on pushing our limits. Of using trees to stand against and rocks to bend over and riverbanks to writhe on. Nothing was safe from our insatiable love, and even now, the minor scratches from this morning’s lovemaking still glowed on her palms from where I’d shoved her to her knees after she’d returned from washing in the river.

  She made me a terrible person, but she also freed me in ways no one else could.

  Sighing, I shrugged. “What do you want me to do? Get you pregnant?”

  She froze. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Why did this conversation sound eerily like the one I’d had with Cassie the night I lost my virginity?

  Putting the snare down, I hoisted my ass up and went to her. Brushing away the fish scale on her forehead, I sat down and murmured, “I’m not afraid of it. I’m afraid of losing you to something that’s full of complications and pain.”

  Her eyes searched mine, deep and almost wary. “I know it’s early days, but we’ve never actually discussed our future.”

  “Our future now that we’re together?”

  She nodded shyly, looking back at the fish in her hands. “I know it’s technically only been a month, but it’s been so much longer than that. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve been yours for eighteen years. But I never thought about having children until the exact moment you said you were afraid of it.”

  I clasped my hands between my knees, very aware how dangerous this subject could be. Before my dreams came true and I earned Della, I was adamant I didn’t want any more kids. It’d taken a lot out of me to raise her right and fix all the things I did wrong. I wasn’t exactly the best father figure for her. Look at us. We’d fallen in love despite everything telling us not to.

  But in that moment, sitting beside her on a dead tree with the smell of smoke swirling around us and the sounds of happy birds serenading us, I had a flash of what life could be like if Della gave birth to my child.

  Of another girl.

  A girl who would once again own me completely, make me stress, make me proud, give me purpose—a legacy I could utterly adore. A legacy of both me and Della—a little girl who had her blue eyes and my dark hair and our cynicism of society.

  And I wanted that.

  Very much.

  Just…not right now.

  Tipping her chin up with my forefinger, I kissed her gently. A simple press of lips and love, not asking anything more than a quick connection. “I’m not afraid of it, Della. But I am selfish.”

  “Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes. “Is this like when you said you were selfish in sex? Because you got that wrong. You never leave me wanting. You always—”

  “I’m selfish because I’ve only just found you. I want to keep you for myself for a little longer. I want to share a world with you. I want to marry you. I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted, and only then, once I’ve had you all to myself, will I be ready to share.”

  Her shoulders slouched as love glowed on her face. Love I still couldn’t get used to. Love I would do anything to deserve. “Ren, we could have a hundred children and not one of them would steal me from you. I know women aren’t meant to admit this, but you would always come first for me. I wouldn’t be able to help it.”

  I chuckled against her lips as I kissed her again. “You’ve just proven you’re not ready, either. You’re the one being selfish, Little Ribbon. When the day comes that you love me so much that your heart has expanded for more, that’s the day we’ll start a family. But not before.”

  Standing, I held out my hand to pull her to her feet. “Because one thing is for sure. Our child will steal our hearts entirely, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I would want you to love our daughter more than you love me. I’ll happily come second.”

  She weaved her fingers with mine until there was no space between us. “You have my word, Ren Wild, that I will forever love you. But if and
when we have a family of our own, I promise they will be loved just as much as I love you.” Walking into my embrace, she hugged me hard. “But I don’t want a daughter. I want a son. I want a son exactly like you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2018

  “DO YOU KNOW this is probably only the third or fourth time we’ve been shopping together?” Della grabbed a can of nectarines from the supermarket shelf and placed it into the basket I carried.

  “Supermarkets aren’t exactly a rare occurrence.” I smirked. “I happen to be well-versed in how to get into most of them undetected.”

  “Yes, and you didn’t let me go on those adventures, did you?” She smiled, her blue jacket, jeans, and boots faded from forest-living, and her hair with its requisite leaf hidden amongst the gold.

  “I didn’t want you to be in danger,” I said.

  “No, you didn’t want me cramping your thieving skills.”

  “That too.” I reached for a packet of pasta, placing it on top of the canned nectarines. “Then again, when we lived in the city and we had cash to pay for things, you did most of the shopping.”

  “Only ‘cause you worked such stupid hours. I mean, really? Who gets up before dawn?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Are you forgetting I’m a farm boy? At Cherry River, I was up with the cockerels, and at Mclary’s—well, it was be up before him or your ass would be beat and you’d have to spend the day in agony as well as exhaustion.”

  Her face fell a little, her gaze trailing to my missing finger. “You know, I don’t think I ever apologised for what my father did to you.”

  I froze to the spot. “Why would you? You weren’t responsible.”

  “I know, but now that I’m not so self-obsessed, I can see how hard it would’ve been for you to love me. Not only love me but keep me when you were running for your life.”

  I went to her as she turned to stare blankly at brightly boxed taco shells. Wrapping my arm around her, I kissed her temple. “What’s really going on, Della? Why are we talking about the past when we’re both so incredibly happy in our present?”