“How about I stay, then?” I whisper, palming his face and feathering it in kisses.
He nods, eyes pooling with warmth and tenderness.
When the fire finally fades to embers, I lie tangled against him, his arm draped heavy over my waist, Bear snoring somewhere near the hearth. Rain taps faintly against the roof—gentle now, almost grateful.
I trace the lines of his scars with my fingertips. “Still scared?” I whisper.
He answers against my hair, voice low and sure. “Yeah. But not enough to let you go.”
Maybe that’s what this mountain’s been trying to teach me.
Sometimes the scariest thing isn’t the storm—it’s staying when the clouds finally clear.
Outside, the storm moves on. Inside, everything finally feels still.
Chapter
Nine
DENVER
Morning slides in soft and glimmering through the pines.
No storm, no generator hum, no chaos—just wind threading through needles and the low crackle of what’s left of last night’s fire.
She’s still asleep.
Her hair spills across my chest, cheek pressed over the spot where my heartbeat usually hurts.
Not today.
For a long while, I just lie there, cataloging the ordinary miracles—her steady breathing, the warmth where our skin meets, the faint scent of pine soap and honey that’s somehow becomeher.
Didn’t think I’d wake up beside anyone again. Didn’t think I wanted to.
But seeing her here, tangled in my sheets and sunlight, makes me feel like a man stepping into daylight after years underground.
Bear pads in, stretches, then noses the edge of the quilt. I give him a look.
“Five more minutes,” I whisper.
He huffs, settles by the bed like he understands somehow.
Dahlia stirs. “Coffee?” she murmurs without opening her eyes.
“First things first,” I say, sliding beneath the sheets, following sensual curves down to my new favorite spot.
One hand splays her pussy lips open. She gasps as I lean in, swirl my tongue over her clit for the first time. The only flavor I crave.
“What are you doing?” she purrs, raising the blanket and looking down at me.
I shrug. “Spice for the mountain man. You said it yourself.”
Her giggle catches in her throat as I dive into her. Desperate for more of her slick heat. Her hips arch toward me, movements slow and steady. I suck her into my mouth, pulsing my tongue. She whimpers, gives me more of that sweet honey.
Her hips follow my mouth as I slide a finger inside, find the rough spot at the front of her pussy where all the nerves are. I stroke her gently yet firmly, feeling every quake and shudder, noticing how she grows slicker and wetter with each pass. Until my beard’s covered in her juices, and her legs quiver.
She’s close. So fucking close. I have to be the man who takes her there. Every. Damn. Time.
