She paused on the porch, snowflakes catching in her hair, eyes bright in the moonlight.For a second, she just looked at me, smiling shyly, like the whole night had been leading here.
Every instinct I had screamed to be careful.To stop.To keep the line sharp between us before it blurred into something I couldn’t pull back from.She deserved safety, ease, light—not a man made of scars and ghosts.
But then she rose on her toes, lips parted, and I caved.
The kiss was soft at first, cautious, like she was waiting for me to shove her away.I didn’t.Couldn’t.Instead, I leaned in, letting it deepen until the cold night air vanished and there was only her warmth, her taste, her impossible nearness.
Her coat slipped from her shoulders, mine following right after, forgotten in a heap on the porch.I didn’t even notice the bite of the wind against my back.All I knew was the feel of her against me, her hands curling at my chest like she’d been meant to be there all along.
By the time I realized how far I’d already fallen, I was leading her inside; the door closing hard against the storm behind us.
The house was dark, silent, the fire in the hearth nothing but embers—but none of it mattered.She was here, and she was kissing me like the world hadn’t already decided who I was.
I told myself I’d regret it, that I’d crossed a line I could never uncross.
But with her lips on mine, her smile still brushing the edges of my restraint, regret was the last thing on my mind.
Inside, the house was dark except for the dull glow of embers in the hearth.I meant to step back, to give myself a second of distance, but Belle followed close, her hand still caught in mine, her breath still warm against my lips.And then there was no space left between us.
Her mouth found mine again, urgent this time, hungry, pulling me down like gravity itself had chosen sides.I answered before I could think—before caution or guilt could wedge their way in.My hands slid to her waist, trembling but desperate, pulling her flush against me.
She whispered my name between kisses, soft as prayer, and I nearly came undone right there.
I felt the old instincts flare—the shame, the need to hide.My scars were too visible, too raw, a map of every failure and flame I’d endured.I half-expected her to recoil the moment her hands brushed them.But when her fingers finally trailed up my jaw, over the ridges that had kept the world at bay, she didn’t flinch.She touched me with reverence, her palm warm, steady.
Not revulsion.Not pity.Reverence.
It nearly broke me.
My breath hitched, rough and uneven, and I pressed my forehead to hers, unable to speak, unable to make sense of the fire and the fear tangling in my chest.She cupped my cheek, whispered my name again, and kissed me like none of it mattered—like I wasn’t broken at all.
Her coat had already fallen away, mine with it, forgotten in the shadows of the room.Hands roamed—hers up my chest, mine tangled in her hair—each touch a question, each answered by the next kiss.The storm outside rattled the windows, but in here the only sound was the rasp of our breathing, the low groan of the floor beneath us, the whispered syllables of each other’s names.
For the first time in years, I didn’t feel monstrous.Didn’t feel like a shell of a man patched together by scars and silence.With her hands on me, her lips claiming mine with tenderness and fire, I felt… chosen.Wanted.Alive.
I pulled her closer, memorizing the weight of her in my arms, the way she clung to me with the same need that burned in me.I wanted to tell her everything, confess every shadow, but words slipped away under the heat of her mouth and the certainty that this moment was enough.
The fire cracked softly behind us, painting her in light, and I let go of the last defenses I had left.
Sunlight poured across the room in a soft wash, catching on dust motes that drifted lazily in the air.I blinked against it, disoriented for half a second—until I felt the warmth pressed to my side.
Belle.
She was curled against me, hair spilled across my chest like silk, her breath steady, calm.My arm was around her waist, holding her close as though my body had claimed her in sleep even when my mind wouldn’t dare.
For one wild heartbeat, I let myself believe this could last.I let myself imagine mornings like this strung together, a thread of days unspooling into a life.Coffee in chipped mugs, her laughter filling these hollow rooms, books piled high, but no longer left to gather dust.A home.A future.
The thought was so sweet it hurt.
Because reality gnawed at the edges almost immediately.Secrets didn’t stay buried.They had teeth.And when they bit, they didn’t just break the skin—they devoured.She didn’t know the worst of it yet.The lies, the betrayals, the truths written in half-burned letters.When she did… this warmth, this peace, it would vanish like smoke.
I pressed a kiss to her hair before gently untangling myself.She stirred but didn’t wake, her hand curling in the blanket like she meant to hold on even in dreams.My chest tightened at the sight.
Barefoot, I padded into the kitchen.The house was cold, quiet but not unfriendly.I pulled the old coffeepot down, filled it with water, measured the grounds with hands that shook more than they should’ve.
The scent rose quickly, familiar and grounding.I clung to it like a lifeline, trying to pretend the simple act of making her coffee could hold back the storm I knew was coming.
The coffeepot hissed and gurgled, filling the kitchen with the bitter, grounding scent of fresh brew.I stood there with my hands braced on the counter, willing myself to believe in the moment—just the two of us, morning light, something close to normal.
