I run my hands down the sweat-slicked muscles of his back, marveling at the power contained in his body, at how delicately he used that strength with me.
Eventually, he eases to the side, pulling me with him so that we're facing each other in front of the fire. One large hand strokes my hair back from my face, his expression surprisingly tender given the intensity of what just happened.
"Okay?" he asks again, and I can't help but smile at the concern in his voice.
"More than okay," I assure him, pressing a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. "Perfect."
His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer to his warmth.
Chapter 6 – Joel
I wake to the sound of absolute stillness.
The storm has passed, leaving behind the particular quiet that only comes after nature has spent its fury. No wind rattling the windows, no ice pelting the roof, just the soft hiss of dying embers in the stove and the steady rhythm of Ariel's breathing beside me.
She's curled against my side, one arm draped across my chest, her face peaceful in sleep. The firelight has dimmed to a warm glow that catches in her dark hair, and I can feel the steady beat of her heart against my ribs.
Something in my chest tightens at the sight with a certainty I haven't felt in years.
This is right. She belongs here.
The thought doesn't surprise me the way it should. I've lived alone for years, built my life around solitude and self-reliance. But having Ariel in my space, breathing my air, wearing my clothes—none of it feels like an intrusion.
It feels like the missing piece I never knew I was looking for.
She stirs as I shift to check the stove, her eyes fluttering open to find mine. For a moment she looks confused, disoriented, and then memory floods back. A soft smile curves her lips.
"Hi," she whispers, voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." I brush a strand of hair from her face, noting the way she leans into the touch. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than okay." She stretches against me, and I feel the soft warmth of her body, the trust in the way she moves without self-consciousness. "What time is it?"
"Early. Sun's barely up." I nod toward the windows, where pale light is beginning to filter through the frost patterns on the glass. "Storm passed."
She follows my gaze, and I watch her face transform with wonder as she takes in the view.
The world outside is draped in white, pristine and unmarked except for the delicate tracks of small animals. Snow clings to every branch, every surface, creating a landscape that looks carved from crystal and dreams.
"It's beautiful," she breathes.
"Wait until you see it in full daylight." I ease away from her, already missing her warmth. "I'll get the fire built up."
She sits up as I tend to the stove, unselfconsciously naked, and something primitive and possessive stirs in me at the sight. The bruise on her shoulder where I marked her shows dark against her pale skin, and I have to resist the urge to put my mouth there again.
"Here." I pull one of my sweaters from a drawer and hand it to her. "You'll get cold."
She pulls it on without argument, the wool swallowing her smaller frame. The sight of her in my clothes still does things to me, marks her as mine in a way that goes deeper than logic or reason.
When she catches me staring, she raises an eyebrow.
"Like what you see?"
"You know I do." My voice comes out rougher than intended, and her cheeks flush pink in response.
I make coffee while she explores the cabin in daylight, watching her move through my space with growing familiarity. She touches things cautiosly—the maps on the walls, the books on the shelves, the tools I keep meticulously maintained.
She's learning me through my possessions, reading the story of who I am in the objects I've chosen to keep.
