My pulse jumps hard enough to bruise bone.
“Sadie.” I brush my thumb along her cheekbone. “I won’t take more than you’re ready to give.”
“I know,” she says. “That’s why I want you to. Because I trust you. And… it feels like the first true thing I’ve said in years.”
Christ. I was already halfway gone for her. Now I’m fucking done for.
I lean in slowly—slow enough she can stop me with a breath, fast enough she knows I want her—and cradle the back of her neck. When my lips brush hers, the world goes quiet.
It’s not hunger or possession. Not a claim.
It’s a vow.
Her fingers curl into my shirt, anchoring herself. I deepen the kiss just enough to show her she’s wanted, that I’m here, that she’s not alone in this.
She trembles.
I pull back, resting my forehead against hers. “I’ve got you,” I whisper. “Whatever this becomes, whatever we build, you don’t have to do it alone.”
Her breath stutters. She nods.
And when she kisses me again—this timeherleading—I let her.
Because a woman choosing the chance to hope again?
That’s the kind of miracle you don’t rush.
Chapter 9
Sadie
I think I’m dreaming.
Because no one has ever kissed me like this. Like I’m breakable but also precious. Like I’m not just wanted but chosen.
Wyatt’s lips are soft but firm, patient but devastating, and everything about the way he holds me—one hand warm at my neck, the other anchored at my waist—makes me feel held. Not trapped. Not caged. Just… safe.
His scent wraps around me: pine, smoke, and something warm and masculine that makes myinstincts hesitate, confused, hopeful.
My fingers curl into his shirt because I need something to hold on to—because he’s already becoming my steady.
I sigh against his mouth, and he answers with the subtlest pull of pressure, like he’s savoring me instead of consuming me. There’s heat there, simmering under the gentleness, but he’s letting me lead. Letting me choose how far this goes.
When I open for him, tentative and trembling, he groans low in his throat and kisses me deeper.
God.
Heat sparks low and fast. My skin flushes. My heart stumbles. My thighs press together on instinct, and I ache in places I’ve only ever felt alone. But this? This is so much more. My entire body is aware of his—how solid he is, how careful, and how quickly I’d let him take all of me if he asked.
But he doesn’t ask.
He just breathes my name like it’s a vow.
When he finally pulls back, my lips feel swollen. My pulse beats high and wild.
The fire crackles, and Maisie sighs in her sleep.
But all I can think is: I want more. More of his kisses. More of his touch. More ofhim.
