“Fuck no.”
“That’s reassuring.” She yawns. “I was worried I’d have to make a run through the snow.”
I smirk at the thought. “You wouldn’t make it fifty feet.”
“So, you’re holding me hostage.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
She shifts closer, her head finding the space between my shoulder and jaw. Her hand slides over my ribs and settles there. We lie there while Bear snores near the stove and the fire pops low.
I can’t believe this is so easy, being with her like this. So, I shouldn’t be surprised when I start talking about shit I’ve never told anyone.
“The first guy I lost was twenty-one years old.” My voice sounds strange in the stillness. “This kid—Jackson, had a smart mouth. He used to play the harmonica during patrols, driving everyone insane. He came home when I did with a clean discharge. He seemed fine.”
Sasha doesn’t move or try to fill the silence, and I appreciate it.
“A month later, he drove into a tree going eighty. No note. No nothing.” My throat hurts when I try to swallow. “His mom asked if he seemed okay overseas. I told her he was fine.”
“Was he?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem.” I stare at the ceiling beams, studying the grain of wood I know by heart. “After that,I stopped trying to get close to people. I figured the less I cared, the less it would hurt when they left.”
Her fingers spread over my chest, right above my heart. She can probably feel it hammering.
“Then you showed up in that ridiculous outfit with cookies and questions, and I couldn’t get rid of you.”
“You tried.”
“Not hard enough.” I look at her pointedly. “Now you’re here wearing my shirt, stealing my blankets, making my dog love you more than me. And I don’t want you to leave.”
Her eyes hold mine. “I know.”
That’s all she says, and I wait, assuming she’s going to say more, but she doesn’t, and I feel a rush of something warm and grateful rise in my belly, almost like it’s from my soul.
I lean in close, capturing her lips with mine. She sighs against my mouth, her hand sliding up to cup my face. I roll us, pulling her with me until she’s beneath me, the shirt bunched around her hips, her legs warm against my sides.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, my hand sliding under the shirt to find her soft skin. She arches into the touch, and I take my time learning the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the places that make her breath catch.
She pulls my shirt over my head—I strip hers off. There’s no hesitation this time, no shyness.
I reach for the drawer for a condom, but she stops me.
"I want to feel you. No barriers."
I study her. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Her trust in me nearly breaks me.
I waste no time in sinking into her pussy bare, and the difference is fucking stunning.
She gasps, her nails biting into my shoulders.
I don't move—I can't, not yet—my forehead pressed to hers while I fight for control.
“Red.”
