I look into her eyes for permission, and the trust that she’s gazing back at me with nearly breaks me. When I thrust forward, burying my whole length into her, it’s with care and longing. I give her a moment to adjust before I start moving.
The world is falling apart outside this mountain, but tonight, it’s just us. I stay anchored in the present—in the way she fits against me, how her hands cling when she needs reassurance, the way her breath changes when I slow things down instead of pushing forward. I keep my movements controlled, letting the connection build instead of burn out.
She meets me there, matching my pace, trusting me with a vulnerability she doesn’t offer lightly. I don’t rush her or myself. I stay with her through every shift, quiet sound, and moment where emotion threatens to spill over into something we’re not ready to name yet.
Pulling her up, I shift positions so that she’s on my lap bouncing off me, this position allowing me to be in much deeper. She wraps her arms around my neck for support, her nipples brushing against my chest with each thrust. When I feel her walls clenching around me, I lean in and kiss her just as we fall off the edge together.
When it’s over and the intensity ebbs into something softer, Kate rests against me, her head tucked under my chin, breathing steady and warm. The house is silent around us, the night deep and watchful beyond the glass.
I lean back onto the bed with her on top of me, staring up at the ceiling, aware of the weight of her, the knowledge that a child sleeps safely down the hall, and the promise I made earlier still settling into my bones.
19
KATHERINE
Rising from a foggy dream, I wake up reaching for warmth that isn’t there. My hand meets cold sheets, the space beside me untouched, already cooling like it’s been empty longer than it should be. Of course, he’s gone. He always does this.
I sit up slowly, the ache in my body a reminder that last night happened.
“Idiot,” I mutter to myself for being foolish enough to believe last night was different.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, the cold floor biting into my feet, and press my palm to my sternum like I can physically push the feeling of abandonment down. I should have knownbetter. Ryder disappears. He leaves rooftops, hotel rooms, and countries. He justleaves.It’s his thing, and I should be used to it by now, but I am not.
Pulling one of his shirts around myself, I get to my feet and step out into the hall, deciding to check on the one man who’s guaranteed to always be by my side—at least until he stops depending on me to feed him. I check the room I left him in last night.
“Julian?” I call softly, opening the door only to find the crib empty.
Before I can overthink, I hear his giggles echoing from somewhere deeper in the house. I follow the sound down the wide corridor, past the open living area, and toward the back where the glass walls curve outward.
I’m met with the sight of Ryder crouched on the floor, shirtless, hair loose and falling into his eyes, one arm securely around Julian’s middle. My son is balanced against his chest, chubby legs kicking happily, his tiny hands buried in thick, dark fur.
Two massive dogs flank them, making me stop short. My body reacts before my brain does, every protective instinct screaming to life. “Ryder—“
He looks up immediately. “Kate.”
The steady and calm tone in his voice halts me mid-step.
“He’s fine,” he reassures, adjusting his hold on Julian. “I’ve got him.”
The dogs look up too—alert but relaxed. They are big and beautiful in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
Ryder gestures with his chin. “Rook. Ash.”
Julian squeals, grabbing at Rook’s ear with zero fear, laughing like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him. Rook doesn’t even flinch, just leans closer, tail thumping slowly against the floor.
“I—“ My voice comes out thin. “They’re… really big.”
Ryder’s mouth twitches, but it’s not quite a smile. “They know how to be gentle.”
As if to prove the point, Ash lowers himself onto the floor, resting a massive head on his paws, eyes fixed on Julian with something almost reverent.
“You took him without waking me,” I scold, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
Ryder studies me for a beat before replying. “You needed sleep.”
“You could’ve said something.”
“I didn’t want to wake you, and he was already up,” he simply explains.
