Soren’s pulse thudded. Every instinct told her to be careful, to give Nia space. But when she reached up and brushed a strand of hair from Nia’s cheek, Nia leaned into the touch instead of away.
Her skin was warm, her eyes luminous.
“You don’t have to be afraid of wanting something,” Soren said softly.
Nia blinked, as if the words hit somewhere deep. “I don’t?—”
Soren smiled a little. “You do.”
And then Nia moved—so small, just the tilt of her head, but it closed the distance between them. Soren met her halfway, their lips touching with the hesitant softness of a first confession. The kiss was gentle, questioning, until Nia made a small sound in her throat and reached for her, pulling her closer with surprising certainty.
The rest was heat and instinct.
The blanket slid away as Soren’s hands found her waist. Nia’s breath hitched against her mouth, and Soren broke the kiss only long enough to whisper, “Tell me to stop.”
Nia shook her head, voice barely a whisper. “Don’t you dare.”
That was all the permission Soren needed.
They came together with the same intensity that had sparked between them from the beginning—but this time it was surrender, slow and deliberate. Nia’s hands were on her shoulders, her pulse racing beneath her skin. Soren kissed her again, deeper, feeling the shift from hunger to something far more dangerous.
They sank down to the rug in front of the hearth, moving in sync without words. Soren stripped Nia of her leggings and wet panties and knelt between her legs, dipping her head to once again taste Nia. The taste of her was intoxicating.
Soren licked and Nia moaned and when Nia came in her mouth it was just as satisfying as it had been before.
When Soren finally pulled back, both of them breathing hard, Nia’s eyes were bright and open in a way Soren had never seen before.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Nia whispered, voice shaking.
“Doesn’t have to,” Soren said. She brushed her thumb along Nia’s jaw, smiling softly. “Nothing real ever does.”
Nia’s lips parted like she might argue—but instead she kissed her again, fierce and certain, tasting her own sex on Soren’s lips and the world disappeared into light and heat and quiet.
Outside, the snow fell in slow, endless silence. Inside, the storm had found a new home—in the space between them.
9
NIA
The light woke her before the sound did.
Pale gold poured through the window, the kind of light that made everything look deceptively calm. The storm had passed. The silence was different now—no wind, no groan of the lodge’s timbers. Just stillness.
Nia blinked, momentarily unsure where she was. The scent of cedar smoke and coffee grounded her first; then she saw the soft quilt tangled around her legs, the faint imprint of candle wax on the table, and memory came rushing back.
Soren.
Her body ached in ways she hadn’t felt in years—satisfying, lazy, real. Her skin still carried the ghost of Soren’s touch, her mouth the memory of her name whispered like a secret.
The other side of the bed was empty, but warm.
Nia sat up slowly, pulling the blanket closer as she listened. Somewhere down the hallway, she could hear soft movement, a hum of an old radio, and the low, familiar rasp of Soren’s voice.
For a moment, she just sat there and let herselffeel.
It was dangerous, that stillness. There were no distractions here—no hospital lights, no monitors beeping, no surgical teamwaiting for her command. Just quiet, sunlight, and the strange, terrifying comfort of having let someone see her without armor.
She ran a hand through her hair and looked toward the window. Outside, the world was a sheet of glittering white. The snow on the eaves was already beginning to slide in heavy, wet chunks, the start of the thaw.
