He snorted. “They teach you how to kill a man in Girl Scouts, too?”
I pressed the towel harder. “Not officially.”
We were both quiet after that, the only sound the pop of the fire and the slap of wind against the cabin walls.
After a minute, I said, “I never asked you to save me.”
He turned his head, eyes flicking over my face like he was reading something written there. “Didn’t do it for you. Did it because it needed doing.”
I wanted to call him a liar, but I couldn’t. The world was full of monsters who did things for fun or power or ego,but Augustine was a different breed: a man who did things because the alternative was unthinkable.
I let my hand rest on his ribcage, tracing the map of old scars, new bruises, and the latticework of muscle underneath. My fingertips buzzed from the heat of him.
“I never asked for a knight in shining armor,” I said, voice low.
He caught my hand in his. “Good thing I’m just a bastard on a stolen bike.”
Our eyes locked. I was the first to look away, but he didn’t let go. He squeezed my fingers, then guided them up to his mouth and kissed my knuckles. It was soft. Gentle, even. So different from the world I knew, it made something in me want to shatter and spill out on the floor.
The blanket fell away. I didn’t care. I climbed into his lap and kissed him, slow at first, then with all the hunger I’d kept corked up for way too long. He tasted like cigarettes, whiskey, and rain, with the faintest bitter edge of old pain.
His hands were everywhere—tangled in my hair, tracing the curve of my back, kneading the bruises on my hips like he could rub away the years of damage. He undid my jeans with a casual flick, not greedy, just efficient. I felt the zipper part, and I pressed my hips to his, grinding until I felt the heat of him through denim and wet lace.
He rolled us onto the rug, careful of his wounds, but I could tell he’d have crawled across broken glass for this. I wrapped my legs around him and dug my nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent moons in his flesh.
“I need you, Mel. I need to be inside you. I need to feel your climax around my cock.”
“Do it then, you bastard,” I whimpered. “Set me free.”
The fire cast everything orange and gold. Every time lightning flashed, it stuttered his silhouette across the room, like there were a thousand versions of him, all hungry for the same thing. All hungry for me, and I was so wanting to feed his hunger.
He slid a hand between my thighs, testing, coaxing, fingers working until I was panting into his shoulder. It was nothing like I’d ever had before—nobody had ever cared if I liked it, if I wanted it, if I needed it more than air. Augustine touched me like I was precious. Dangerous, but precious.
“Fuck me up, baby,” I said, and Augustine buried his mouth against my neck.
“I want the entire fucking forest to hear my name coming out of your mouth, Mel.”
When he finally pushed inside me, I gasped. The stretch hurt, but I wanted the pain; I wanted to feel everything. He moved slow, every thrust careful, deliberate, and every timeI clenched around him, he whispered something filthy in my ear that made me shiver.
“You’re so fucking warm and wet,” he said. “So fucking tight.” He pushed harder. “Say it, Mel. Say my name.”
He didn't have to ask twice, and when his hands ripped away my bra, I screamed his name at the crescendo of a deep and powerful thrust.
“That’s it,” he said, and I pressed down harder.
His left hand stayed on my breast, pinching my nipple, my moans thrashing against the cabin walls, his right hand snaking between us, fingers pouncing on my clit.
“Fuck, Melissa,” he said, and my name on his lips was like golden honey.
I didn’t give a fuck what happened next, or in an hour or the next day. I wanted this moment, a moment of being taken by a man who cared more about my needs than his own.
We fucked like it was the end of the world. Maybe it was. Maybe we’d both die out here, two more names on a list of casualties nobody would ever bother to update. But for those minutes, the storm was just white noise, and the only things that mattered were the heat of the fire, the friction of our skin, and the way he looked at me like I was a miracle.
He made me come first.
“Look into my eyes,” he said as I shook, and I did. I looked so deeply that I became lost in the chaotic world that was Augustine Williams. My rescuer. My white knight. My savior.
He finished with my name on his lips, not a shout but a quiet, reverent thing. I came again seconds after, biting his neck to keep from screaming, clutching him so tight I thought I’d break him.
