"Probably not." I stop in front of his chair, looking down at him. "But I want you. I've wanted you since you carried me out of that snowbank, and I'm tired of pretending otherwise."
"Sadie." My name is gravel in his mouth. "If we do this, I'm not going to be able to let you go. You understand that? This won't be a one-time thing for me. I’m not a casual fuck."
"Good." I reach for the top button of the flannel. His flannel. "Neither am I?"
The button slips free. Then another. His eyes follow my fingers, tracking each inch of skin I reveal.
"Are you sure?" The words seem dragged out of him.
"I've never been more sure of anything."
He moves.
One second he's in the chair, the next he's on his feet with his hands in my hair and his mouth on mine. The kiss is nothing like last night. No hesitation. No holding back. He kisses me like he's starving for it, like he's been waiting his whole life for exactly this.
I grab his shirt and pull him closer, needing more contact, more pressure, more everything. He groans against my lips and lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist automatically, my back hitting the wall for the second time in twelve hours.
He carries me to the bedroom without breaking the kiss, navigating his cabin with the same effortless competence he does everything else. The bedroom is cold, the fire in here longsince burned out, but I don't care. I don't care about anything except getting his clothes off.
He sets me on the bed and steps back, and for one horrible second I think he's changed his mind. Then he reaches behind his head and pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion, and I forget how to breathe.
I've seen attractive men before. I live in San Diego. I've dated tech bros and fitness influencers and one memorable surfer who looked like he belonged in a magazine.
None of them looked like this.
Wolfe is all lean muscle and scarred skin, a body built for survival rather than aesthetics. A tattoo winds around his left arm, tribal patterns I want to trace with my tongue. His chest is broad, his stomach flat, a trail of dark hair disappearing into his waistband.
"Your turn." His voice is rough.
My fingers tremble as I finish unbuttoning the flannel. I shrug it off, leaving me in just my bra and leggings, and resist the urge to cover myself. I'm not built like an Instagram model. I've got curves that don't quit and a softness to my belly that no amount of hiking has ever eliminated.
But Wolfe looks at me like I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"Come here." Not a request.
I crawl to the edge of the bed and he meets me there, his hands sliding up my thighs, my hips, my waist. He unclasps my bra with a deftness that makes me wonder how many times he's done this before, then tosses it aside and cups my breasts in his palms.
"Fuck." The word escapes him on an exhale. "You're perfect."
"I'm really not."
"Don't argue with me." He rolls my nipples between his fingers and I arch into his touch, a moan slipping out before I can stop it. "Not about this."
He pushes me back onto the bed and follows me down, his mouth replacing his fingers on my breast. The wet heat of his tongue circles my nipple, teasing, tasting, and I bury my hands in his hair and pull him closer.
"Wolfe. God."
He switches to the other breast, giving it the same attention while his hand slides down my stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of my leggings. I lift my hips to help him, and he strips them off along with my underwear in one efficient motion.
Then he just looks at me. Sprawled naked on his bed, flushed and panting, completely exposed to his gaze.
"Beautiful." He says it like a fact. Like there's no room for argument. "I've been thinking about this since the first night. What you'd look like underneath all those layers."
"And?"
"Better than I imagined." His hand slides between my thighs, and my breath catches. "Spread your legs for me, Sadie."
I do. God help me, I do, opening myself to him without hesitation. His fingers find my center, already slick with want, and he groans low in his throat.
