He lifts me, guiding us back to a sheltered space beside the rocks, the steady roar of the waterfall muffling everything but our breaths, our small sounds, the heat blooming between us.
He lays me down gently, brushing hair from my face as he leans over me.
“You sure?” he murmurs.
“Yes,” I whisper, every part of me warm and full and aching. “Kendrick… yes.”
And when he kisses me again—slow, consuming, tender in a way that unravels every defended part of me—I know two things with absolute clarity:
This moment is going to change me. And I’m not ready for how much.
His mouth finds mine again—slow at first, warm and exploring, like he’s relearning the shape of me in this new, quiet world carved out by falling water and rising breath.
The cold air sharpens everything—the warmth of his hands, the softness of his mouth, the press of his body as he lowers himself carefully over mine. My coat rustles beneath us, the waterfall a steady hum behind the sound of our tangled breaths.
“Kendrick…” I whisper, fingers sliding up the strong line of his back.
He pauses, just for a heartbeat, searching my gaze like he wants to be absolutely certain. When I cup his jaw in both hands and pull him down to me, something in him gives—softens, deepens, opens.
His kiss changes.
It’s still slow, but not hesitant. Intentional. Thorough. Like he’s memorizing me from the inside out.
His hands move with gentle certainty—one brushing along my ribs, the other sliding under my sweater, mapping skin and warmth and reaction. I arch into him, a soft sound slipping from my throat before I can hold it back.
He swears under his breath, low and rough, and lowers his mouth to my throat. My fingers tighten in his shirt as his lips trail heat along my skin, lingering at the hollow beneath my jaw like it’s a place he’s been needing to find.
“Tell me what you need,” he murmurs against my skin, voice thick.
“You,” I breathe. “Just you.”
His breath catches, and he kisses me again—deeper, hungrier, but still with that same careful reverence that makes everything inside me clench with want.
Clothing becomes a slow unraveling—layers peeling away in the cold air, only to be replaced by the heat of his hands, his body, his mouth. He moves deliberately, savoring every inch like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s not rushing through a moment — he’s honoring it.
By the time he settles over me again, skin against skin, my heartbeat is in my throat, my pulse everywhere. He braces on one elbow, his other hand tracing a slow line along my waist.
“You sure?” he asks again, softer now, roughened with restraint.
“Yes,” I whisper, pulling him down. “I want this. I wantyou.”
The last thread of hesitation unspools from him.
The moment he eases us together, my breath stutters. His forehead drops to mine, his fingers finding my hand and threading through it as we start to move—slow, controlled, a rhythm that builds and deepens and finds us both at the same time.
Heat unfurls low and sharp in my belly, spreading with every rise of his hips, every soft, unguarded sound he makes against my mouth. His other hand drags gently down my side, anchoring me, grounding me, pulling me closer with a tenderness that throbs through every nerve.
“Emma…” He says my name like it’s pulled from the center of him. “You feel—God.”
I kiss him, swallowing the sound, tugging him closer until there’s no space left at all, until the world narrows to breath and warmth and motion.
And then it hits—bright, consuming, curling inward and outward all at once. I gasp, clutching him, my whole body tightening around the pleasure that breaks over me like a wave. He follows a heartbeat later, burying his face in my neck, breath trembling as he grips my hip, holding us together through the last, slow pulses of release.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
The world softens again—the waterfall hums, the air cools, our hearts slow in quiet sync.
Kendrick shifts just enough to brush his thumb over my cheek, his expression dazed and gentle and almost disbelieving.
