And it's not just sex. Not just bodies finding pleasure in the dark.
It's a promise.
A vow.
A thing with weight and meaning and teeth.
Ivy's nails dig into my back as I thrust into her, her hips meeting mine with every movement, her breath coming faster, her body tightening around me like she's trying to pull me deeper, closer, until there's no part of me that isn't hers.
"Rogan," she gasps. "I?—"
I know.
I can feel it in the way her body clenches around mine, the way her breath stutters, the way her hands scrabble at my skin like she's trying to hold on, like she's afraid of what's coming.
Like she's afraid of how good it's going to feel.
I reach between us. Find the place where we're joined and press my thumb there, circling, adding pressure until she's crying out, her body bowing off the hay, her release crashing over her in waves that pull me under with her.
I follow a second later. Bury my face in her neck as I come, my body shuddering with the force of it, the rightness of it, the way it feels like coming home after a long time lost.
We stay like that for a long moment. Breathing each other in. Skin cooling in the damp air. Hearts slowing to something like normal.
Ivy's fingers trace idle patterns on my back. Up and down my spine, over my shoulders, like she's memorizing me too.
I lift my head. Look at her.
She looks back.
And I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, that this changes everything.
We don't talk about it.
Not yet.
Instead, Ivy pulls the tarp down from the rafters. Shakes off the water. Drapes it over us like a blanket, the canvas rough but dry enough to matter.
I tuck her against my chest. She fits there like she's always belonged, her breath evening out against my collarbone, her fingers curled in my shirt that we put back on when the cold started to bite.
"This doesn't solve anything," she murmurs.
"I know."
"We still have to deal with Webb. The money. The rezoning."
"Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," she agrees. Her eyes drift shut.
I watch her fall asleep. The way her face softens, tension melting from her jaw. How her lashes cast shadows on her freckled cheeks in the dim lantern light.
Outside, the rain finally stops.
The silence feels bigger than the storm.
I close my eyes. Let exhaustion pull me under.
Morning light brightensthrough the barn slats like knives.
