The deeper I go in the woods, the dumber I feel. Here I am, a grown ass man, running away from the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Damn, I feel like a fucking fool. What must she be thinking? She willingly gave herself to me, and instead of staying home, enjoying my bride-to-be, I ran off.

My feet crunch over the branches on the forest floor, and even the fresh scent of pine needles doesn't seem to invigorate me. It just makes me think of how sweet Hannah's fragrance was, how her skin smelled of warm spices, relaxing me and exciting me all at once.

When I stop to eat a handful of granola, washing it down with lukewarm water from my Nalgene water bottle, I think about breakfast in bed. How I could have spent a lazy morning in Hannah's arms, feeding her strawberries and bites of cake.

Instead, I'm here, alone. Berating myself for not being the kind of man a woman like her needs. Present. Available. Hers.

It's late afternoon by the time I've walked myself into a figurative corner. Either I go home now and apologize, or I stay out here in the woods forever.

It takes a single memory, of her kneeling before me, touching me with such tenderness, for me to know what I must do.

I am the one who needs to kneel before her and apologize.

There is no time to waste if I want to get home before it’s too late, and suddenly the idea of leaving her alone in the cabin, all alone, rips out my heart. What kind of idiot am I?

One who has been through hell and back, that’s what kind.

I'm scared. Of loving her and letting her down.

But I keep on the trail, pushing through the fallen branches that came down in the storm last night and shaking it off when I lose my footing and slide in the mud. I need to get home, get to her.

When I finally see the cabin in the distance, I pause, standing on the edge of my property looking into the large bay of windows. She's in the kitchen, screwing lids on jars. There are pots and pans everywhere, but I can hear music playing, I see a fire on in the electric fireplace. She's in a summer dress, floating around her ankles. Her hair is long and flowing over her shoulders. Despite the way I treated her, she is choosing to live in the moment, not letting me be the one to get her down.

It's beautiful, her kind of strength. I want more of it in my life. I want to dance when no one is watching, I want to smile despite the rain. It makes me want to trust again. To hope again.

I don't want to be like this forever--alone.

I walk to the sliding glass door and push it open. The house smells like lemon balm and citrus and fresh air and sunshine. And the hope I am looking for? It's right in front of me.

"You're home," she says, her words hushed and filled with a longing I absolutely understand.

"I'm so sorry that I left, that I ran." I press my hand to my forehead. "I don't know what I was thinking."

She nods, and I step toward her, taking her hands in mine. "I'm sorry, Hannah. I shouldn't have done that to you."

"Were you scared?"

I swallow, nodding hard. "Yeah, scared of letting you down. Thought I’d make a preemptive move."

She twists her lips. "I don't expect this to be easy or perfect. Or even for you to fall head over heels for me, Harrison. Things take time."

I brush back her hair, cup her cheek. "Why are you like this?"

"Like what?"

"So soothing. So understanding? Of me."

"I want this to work. I want us to work."

"So, do I," I tell her, pulling her into a kiss. When our lips meet, it's like I can breathe for the first time all day. Her hands run over my back, my tight muscles releasing under her palms.

Her hands may heal, but her heart is my cure. She eases my pain, lessens my fear. And with her in my arms, I want to give into the kind of love that songs are written about. Love that is real and forever. I want that with Hannah.

"I want you," I growl in her ear, and she pulls back, our noses touching, the heat between us thick and needy.

"Then have me," she whispers, her hands running through my hair.

We move in front of the fire, letting the warmth from it ease away any hint of fear. I run my hands over her cotton dress, her breasts round and full. She doesn't wear a bra and my cock gets hard at the sight of her, here, for me.

"Do you like it when I touch you?" I ask, my thumb rolling over her hardening nipple, the thin dress the only barrier between what I have and what I want.

A gentle moan escapes her lips. "So much." She fumbles for my belt buckle and I tense without meaning to. "We don't have to," she whispers, her hand running under my shirt, over my abs.

"I want to," I say, the words honest and raw and for her alone.

She smiles softly. "Can I change into something pretty I bought for you?"

I grin raising my eyebrows. "How do you think I'll answer that?"

She laughs, and laces her fingers through mine, asking me to follow her to the bedroom.

She slips into the bathroom, and it gives me time to undress and to take off my prosthetic. while I mentally work through being open and honest with her.

A large part of me is self-conscious, and I want her to know it has nothing to do with her. It’s all about me and the baggage I carry.

When she steps out of the bathroom, my heart starts pounding in my chest. "God," I sigh. "You look so fucking beautiful, Hannah."

She licks her lips, the little blue nightie she has on barely covers her ass cheeks, and the silky fabric hugs her hips. The top of the lingerie pulls on her tits, her little nipples poking out and making my cock hard as hell. I run my hand over my shaft, and her eyes land on my length.

"You look happy to see me," she says with a small laugh on her lips.

"More than happy. Fucking thrilled."

"I missed you today," she says, stepping closer to me.

"I'm so sorry, Hannah."

"I know." She smiles. "I just want you to know, really know, that you were on my mind all day."

My heart clenches at her words. "You were on my mind too, I knew I had to come home, come back to you."

She stands in front of me and I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her tightly to me, needing to hold her close. I kiss her belly, breathe in her scent, and feel my shoulders relax as she runs her hands through my hair. I look up at her, and she must know what she is doing to me in this lingerie.

It's maddening, her beauty. And I run my hands under the hem of the nightdress, her round, bare ass cheeks in my palms and I squeeze them, growling as I do so.

"You like my ass?"

"I love it."

She turns, bending over, and I press my mouth to her cheeks, kissing her perfect ass, then I run my hands up, over her, wanting to hold her tits. She moves back around, and I run my hands up under the silky fabric, getting harder as I touch her perfect globes.

She kneels before me, a needy look in her eyes. She peels off her nightie, her naked body so perfect, her titties big and round and a fucking feast for my eyes. She opens her pink lips, her little tongue darting out before she pulls my hard cock into her mouth.

I brace myself on the bed as she begins to get me off, swirling her tongue around my cock, her fingers rolling over my balls, her head bobbing up and down as she takes me in as far as she can.

"Fuck," I groan, but she keeps going, her hand moving up and down my shaft as she sucks me, with a nice tight suction, knowing my throbbing length is about to come hard and fast. She moves her head faster, I hear her gag on my thickness, and it just makes her suck me all the more. Her tongue swirls all over me, and she whimpers, moaning, getting so hot as she gets me ready to explode.

"I'm gonna come, baby," I groan, and when I do, she pulls me from her hot little mouth and aims my cock at her perky tits. I come against her, ribbons of my release shooting over those round globes of desire until she’s coated in my come. She pumps my cock, her tongue catching my come as I get off against my bride-to-be.

"Fuck me," she moans. "My pussy is so ready for you," she begs, "please."

I run my hands over her tits, my cock throbbing from her mouth fuck, and I know at that moment, she is mine. Now and forever.

"I love you, Hannah," I whisper, looking down at her.

Her eyes meet mine.

She doesn't say it back.