I shake my head. “No. Nothing happened. I’m okay.”
But the words don’t land. She can feel the storm under my skin even when I try to swallow it down. She taps my heart—too fast, too hard—and lifts questioning eyes to mine.
She’s right. I’m not steady. Not at all.
It’s amazing how quickly and accurately we read each other after so short a time together.
I take her hand and hold it over my chest, slowing her tapping with my thumb. “Breathe. Just breathe with me.”
Her chest rises against mine, uneven at first, then syncing to my rhythm. She stays so close I can feel her heartbeat—quick, anxious, trusting me to calm it. And that trust destroys me.
Her fingers slide up into my beard, tender, hesitant, like she’s trying to soothemenow. That small act hits deeper than she could ever know.
“I’m okay,” I lie softly. “Just tired.”
She narrows her eyes. She doesn’t believe me. Of course she doesn’t.
She writes again.
SCARED?
The truth stalls the air in my lungs.
I nod. Barely, but I nod.
Her expression softens. She touches her forehead to mine, her breath warm on my lips, her fingers curling at my collar, anchoring me the way I anchor her.
It almost breaks me.
Because she doesn’t know what I’m scared of. She doesn’t know the paper in my pocket holds the past she might choose over me. She doesn’t know that one flyer made me realize how much losing her would carve me clean apart.
She just knows I’m hurting—and she wants to fix it.
“Sweet girl,” I whisper, my thumb brushing her cheek. “I need to tell you something. Not tonight. Not while you’re shaking. But soon.”
Her brows pinch. Fear bubbles up.
I hold her face in both hands. “No danger. No pain. Just… a truth.”
She brings her lips to my throat—soft, careful—a tiny gesture that melts my heart. And for a moment, everything in me goes still.
I pick her up, carrying her inside, her arms tight around my neck, her trust wrapped warm around my chest. I don’t know how to tell her she has people looking for her. I don’t know how to tell her I’d walk into hell before I let anyone take her from these mountains.
I lay Briar down on our bed like she’s made of morning light. The fire has burned low, painting her skin in soft gold and shadow. She reaches for me immediately, small hands sliding under my shirt, pulling me down until my body covers hers. There’s no fear in her touch tonight—only need, only the quiet certainty that I am hers to hold.
Her legs part for me without hesitation, knees falling open so I can settle between them. I kiss her slowly, deeply, tasting the trust she’s learned to give me. When I slide inside her, it’s gentle, one careful inch at a time, until I’m buried to the hilt in tight, welcoming heat. She sighs against my mouth, a soft broken sound of relief, and her arms wrap around my back like she never wants to let go.
We move together in the quiet rhythm we’ve found—slow rolls of my hips, her body rising to meet every thrust. There are no words for a while, just the slick slide of skin, her quiet gasps, and the steady beat of my heart against hers. I keep one hand cradled at the nape of her neck, the other stroking her cheek as I look into her eyes.
“You’re safe,” I say between kisses. “You’re home. You’re mine because you choose it.”
Briar trembles beneath me, her walls fluttering around my cock as pleasure builds soft and deep. When she comes, it’s with a sigh on her lips—quiet, reverent, real. I follow her over the edge, spilling inside her with a low groan, holding her close as our bodies pulse together. I stay buried deep, letting her feel every twitch, every drop, grounding her the only way I know how.
Afterward, I don’t pull out. I simply roll us so she’s draped over my chest, my cock still warm and thick inside her, my arms locked around her small frame. Her breath evens against my skin, and I let myself fall backward in time to when my world tilted on its axis.
Because I know this: If she chooses another life… I won’t survive it clean.
I hold her closer, burying my face in her hair, and let the truth settle. “I’m right here, sweet girl.”
