This time, when we fuck, it isn’t about power or need or punishment. It’s slow, and it’s gentle, and it’s as close to love as I’ve ever let myself get.
I take my time, relearn every inch of him, let myself linger on the spots that make him gasp, the places where his skin jumps under my mouth. He gives back, as always, hands rough on my ribs, mouth hot on my neck.
When I finally enter him, we move together, not like a fight, but like a dance.
At the end, when we’re both spent and breathing hard, I pull him close and let him rest his head on my chest.
For a while, there’s nothing but the sound of our heartbeats, the fire, the hush of the world outside.
He drifts off first, breathing slow and even.
I lie awake, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the Director’s message.
There is nowhere beyond our reach. Enjoy your temporary peace.
I know the peace won’t last. I know that tomorrow, or next week, the world will try to take this away from me.
But none of that shit matters anymore.
I know exactly what I’ll do if they try to take him.
Burn it all to the ground.
When the fire finally dies, I put more logs on and stoke it before wrapping us both in a blanket and carrying him upstairs, his arms loose around my neck, his face soft with sleep.
I lay him in the bed, pull the comforter up, then slide in behind him.
He wakes, just enough to reach for my hand, and laces our fingers together.
I watch him breathe until my own eyes go heavy.
This is what I wanted.
Not peace. Not safety.
Just him.
And I’d kill the whole fucking world to keep him safe.
Chapter Thirteen: Landon
I’mstillcaughtinthe undertow of the dream—something about cold white, the old city, running barefoot through slush while someone chases me with a knife. But my body is warm, too warm for the nightmare to stick. There’s a dense, spreading heat at my hips, like someone’s poured molten gold down the length of my cock.
I’m so hard it hurts.
I flex my fingers in the sheets. My toes dig into the duvet. I groan, the sound floating up from the pit of me, not quite language yet.
Something—someone—is moving between my legs. The drag of skin, the faint scrape of stubble. Then lips, soft and sure, working up and down the length of my shaft. A tongue curls around the head, slick and insistent. The pressure is perfect, just this side of rough, the rhythm never faltering.
I crack my eyes and the room is flooded with the golden glow of sunrise. The window is a square of pure mountain sky. The glass frost at the edges, a faint glimmer where the sun tries to burnthrough.
None of it catches my attention. Not now that I can feel everything as my mind catches up to my body.
Briar.
My head drops back into the pillow, hard. I’m fully awake, but it takes me a second to believe it’s real. I watch his broad shoulders bracket my thighs, muscles shifting under bare skin, the line of his spine a perfect arrow down to where his mouth is devouring me. He’s on his knees, ass in the air, body bent over me.
His hands grip my hips, holding me flat. He’s not hurting, but he makes it clear—no moving, no pulling away, not even if I want to. I don’t want to.
