“Carrie!” I hissed, face burning.
She just wiggled her brows and walked towards Peter's car, and the door he held open for her. As soon as they pulled away, silence fell, heavy, thick, weighted with everything unsaid.
Blake dropped to his knees at Gracie’s grave. Flowers slipping from his hands. Sobs ripping through him raw, broken, ugly.
He stayed there until he couldn’t anymore.
Until he staggered away into the twilight, shoulders shaking.
I didn’t go after him.
Not anymore.
Dane touched my back lightly. “Come inside.”
We slipped into the house, and I closed the French doors. Bolted them. Pulled the teal curtains across so Blake couldn’t see in even if he came back.
The air inside felt thick. Charged. Like the storm had passed and left only heat behind.
Dane didn’t speak first.
I did.
I reached for his hand.
Pulled him with me.
Down the hall.
Into my bedroom.
Straight into the ensuite.
The shower steamed as soon as I turned it on.
He shut the door behind us.
I stepped backward until the water hit my back.
He followed.
Slow.
Eyes dark.
Hungry.
Tender.
I lifted his shirt first.
He lifted mine.
Clothes pooled around our feet like soft confessions.
The water poured over us as his hands slid down my sides, gripping, exploring, learning. His mouth found mine deep, consuming, devouring. Heat spiralled low in my belly, curling through me as I pressed myself against him.
He kissed my neck.
