Her expression softened in a way that made my chest tighten. I leaned forward and kissed her again, slower this time, needing her to feel everything I wasn’t ready to put into words.
Her mouth answered mine without hesitation, her fingers tightening in my hoodie as she pulled herself closer. I forced myself to pull back before I forgot where we were.
Avery’s voice came again, louder this time. “Please do not make me witness foreplay.”
Mila rolled her eyes, cheeks warming. “Eat your food.”
Chase lifted his burger. “I’m eating.”
Theo’s mouth curved. “He’s always eating.”
Jax pointed toward the copse of trees. “If you two need privacy, go that way.”
Chase waggled his brows. “The beach is romantic. Sand in places you don’t want sand is also romantic.”
Theo shoved him again. “Do not speak.”
Mila laughed, and the sound hit me in the chest. It did not come often enough anymore. When it did, it always felt earned.
I lowered my mouth to her ear. “Walk with me.”
She didn’t ask where. She stood and reached for my hand immediately.
I stood and laced our hands together, then guided her away from the circle toward the edge of the trees, where the firelight faded into darker pockets of night.
Behind us, the group’s voices blurred into a warm hum. The ocean grew louder the farther we walked. The sand shifted under our shoes, cool and soft, the air carrying a bite near the shoreline.
Mila’s hand stayed in mine, her thumb rubbing lightly against my knuckle as if she was reminding herself I was still here.
We reached a spot where the beach curved enough to hide us from most angles. The fire’s glow still flickered against the sand, but the space felt private in a way Blackwood rarely allowed.
Mila stopped and turned toward me, her hair lifting in the wind. “You have been too quiet today,” she observed.
“I’ve been careful,” I answered.
Her eyes narrowed slightly. “Careful with me.”
I exhaled slowly. She wasn’t wrong. I lifted my free hand and brushed a strand of hair back from her face, letting my knucklesgraze her cheek. The touch was gentle, but my body pulled tight with the need to hold her closer.
“I want you to have days that don’t feel like this,” I admitted.
“You are not responsible for fixing everything,” she said quietly.
“I’m not trying to fix everything,” I replied. “Just trying to make room for better.”
She swallowed then stepped closer, closing the last inch between us.
Her hands traveled up my chest, fingers pressing into the fabric, finding the shape of me under it. “You already do,” she whispered.
I held her gaze then let my palms settle on her hips, thumbs moving slow over the curve beneath her sweater. The motion steadied both of us.
“What do you need tonight?” I asked.
She didn’t answer quickly. She looked at me as if she was working through something heavy. Finally, she lifted her chin. “I need to stop feeling as if everything good comes with a consequence.”
My throat squeezed. “It does not.”
Her mouth curved faintly. “That’s not how Blackwood works.”
