That’s all it takes.
My release slams into me, rough and blinding. I bury my face in her neck and spill inside her with a low, broken groan, grinding deep, every muscle locked tight as I mark her with everything I’ve got.
When I finally collapse beside her, pulling her into my chest, I don’t say a word.
I just hold her.
Because nothing in this world ever felt more right than being buried deep inside her, branding her as mine.
Her body’s still warm against mine, slick with sweat, legs tangled in the sheets like she’s not ready to let go. The kind of silence that follows something real. Something raw.
She’s not asleep, I can feel it in her breathing, the way she shifts just enough to keep touching me.
Neither of us speaks.
Minutes pass.
Then I ask it. Because I need to. Because the question’s been clawing at the back of my throat since the first time I saw her in short sleeves.
“You gonna tell me who gave you those scars?”
Her breath catches. Soft. Sharp.
I don’t push. Just wait. Thumb grazing the slope of her waist. Anchoring her here with me.
Finally, her voice breaks the quiet. “My stepfather.”
I close my eyes. Jaw tight.
“Started after my mom died,” she says, barely above a whisper. “It was small at first. Looks. Words. Then burns. His cigarettes, when he was drunk. Then when he wasn’t drunk anymore.”
My arm tightens around her. Not to hold her down, just to hold her safe.
“I ran six months ago,” she says. “Bounced around, town to town. Then I landed in Lovestone Ridge. Took the job at the coffee truck. And for the first time in a long time... I felt normal.”
She’s not crying. Just staring at the ceiling like the memories are etched into the beams above.
“You survived hell,” I murmur, voice gravel-deep. “And you still smile like it didn’t burn you down.”
She turns toward me, eyes shining but dry. “And you? Your scars?”
I exhale slow. Press a kiss to her forehead.
“Mostly war.”
Her fingers tighten where they rest on my chest.
“My dad and my brother both served. Neither made it home. Mom didn’t last long after that. Her heart just gave out. I figured I was next. Enlisted young. Saw things no one should. Did things I don’t talk about.”
I let the silence stretch for a beat. Let it speak for what I won’t say out loud.
“I thought I’d die over there too,” I admit. “Part of me even wanted to. But I didn’t. I came back. Ended up in Lovestone Ridge. Didn’t know what the hell I was looking for until I found the Damned Saints. They were rough. Broken. Same as me. But they made space.”
She shifts closer, her palm pressing warm over my heart.
“You don’t tell people that, do you?” she asks softly.
“Never.”
