Stormy lets out a small laugh.
“Oh, she’s asleep,” she whispers, placing the bottle down beside her and leaning forward to cradle the little one’s head, her fingers gently stroking the foal’s face. “She’s like a little drunk baby,” she murmurs, and I watch the way Stormy looks down at her with so much warmth and affection.
And I realise, as I sit there beside her in the hay, that this moment, is the kind I want more of.
There’s a part of me that wants to grab hold of her and never let go. Because if I don’t … someone else will. She’s beautiful. Kind. Strong in ways most people don’t even notice. She’s the most caring person I’ve ever met. Anyone in their right mind would want her.
But not everyone would deserve her.
And that’s what gets me.
I’m not saying that I do, but maybe I want to try. I want to be the one who treats her the way she should be treated. Who sees her, really sees her, and never makes her question her worth again.
If I wait too long, I might miss my chance to show her what it means to be cherished. To be safe. To be loved like she’s never been loved before.
She straightens, and something shifts in the air between us as she watches me too. Her smile fades, softens. Her eyes meet mine, and neither of us looks away.
I want to kiss her. God, I want to kiss her. But I don’t know if I should, if this moment is hers to offer or mine to take.
I reach out tentatively, like I’m afraid to startle her, my hand brushing her cheek. Her skin is warm beneath my fingers and soft. Her eyes flutter closed, and I feel her lean into my touch, like it’s something she’s been waiting for. Like she’s giving me permission.
And that’s all it takes.
Gently, deliberately, I swipe my thumb across her bottom lip.
Her breath catches, quiet and sharp, and my brows draw together as I notice a faint scar there, just at the edge. It’s small, but distinct enough to draw my focus. A pale line against the fullness of her mouth. Her eyes open, and she catches me looking. She shifts, her fingers curling tighter around the foal, pulling her lip into her mouth, like she’s trying to hide it.
My voice is quiet, almost hesitant.
“This was him, wasn’t it?”
She nods. Or maybe just tilts her head, enough to turn her face away.
But I don’t let her hide.
I reach out again, my hand finding her chin, fingers gentle but firm as I guide her eyes back to mine. I run my thumb over the scar once more, more slowly this time. Then I lean in. I press a kiss to the mark, soft and reverent, like I’m trying to erase it. Like I’m trying to rewrite the story he left behind.
She watches me as I pull back just enough to meet her eyes, my fingers still holding her chin. Her gaze shines with unshed tears, and I want to erase those too.
Another kiss follows. And another.
Whispers of a kiss, laid gently across her mouth, until her lips part beneath mine and the space between us disappears. My hand moves acrossher cheek to the back of her head, fingers knotting in her hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepens. Slow, aching, full of everything I’ve been holding back.
She makes a quiet sound as she melts into me, and the world narrows to just us, here in this moment.
Her hands come up to frame my face, pulling me closer—as if that’s even possible. Her grip says everything: don’t stop, not yet. Her tongue teases mine, and it’s not just heat, its connection. Every stroke ignites something deep inside that I’m not sure I can contain.
I have to hold myself back.
I want to lay her down in the hay and devour every part of her until she’s trembling beneath me, until I’ve worshipped every inch of her body with the kind of attention she deserves.
But I pull back, hesitantly, reluctantly, stealing one last kiss before I do.
I hold her face in my hands, gazing into her eyes, not sure what to say. Not sure what this means.
I wanted to make it better. I wanted to soften the scar he left behind, to trace over it with something tender. Erase it—not the mark itself, but the memory attached to it. Replace it with something real, something kind.
But I won’t lie and say it was completely selfless.
