Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
“Good.”
“I won’t pull away tomorrow.”
“Good.”
“I won’t treat you like something fragile.”
“I’m not.”
His hand slides down my thigh, stopping just above my knee. Not crossing lines. But close.
“I will protect you,” he says.
“I don’t need protection.”
“You’ll get it anyway.” The possessiveness in his tone makes my stomach flip.
“You’re not my nanny anymore,” he continues.
“Is that official?”
“Official.”
“And what am I?”
His thumb presses into my thigh, grounding. “You’re mine.”
The words send heat straight through me.
“Say it again,” I whisper.
He leans in, mouth brushing my ear. “You’re mine.”
A shiver runs through me.
“And I’m yours,” he adds. “If you’ll have me.”
I wrap my arms around his neck. “I already do.”
The storm outside rattles faintly against the windows. The world feels suspended.
“You still sure this isn’t wrong?” he murmurs against my mouth.
“If loving someone who makes me feel like this is wrong,” I whisper back, “I don’t want right.”
He studies me one last time. Then he nods once. Decision made.
He kisses me again, slower now, deeper, not frantic but consuming in a way that makes my pulse thrum. His hands roam carefully, reverently, mapping without rushing.
When he finally pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “I should’ve done this sooner.”
Chapter 14
Sawyer
“You’re staring,” she finally breaks the tension humming between us.
“I know.” I say as she stands in my kitchen barefoot, eyes shining like she hasn’t just rearranged my entire life.
Her mouth curves. “Should I be worried?”
“Yes.”
She laughs softly. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been holding back since you walked through my door.”
Her pulse flickers in her throat.
I stop a breath away. Close enough to feel her warmth, close enough to see the way her chest rises. “I’m done holding back.”
Her fingers curl into the hem of her shirt like she needs something to anchor her.
“You’re sure?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I answer honestly.
Her brows lift.
“But I’m choosing you anyway.”
That lands. I see it in her face — that shift from playful to something deeper. Her gaze drops briefly to my mouth. When it lifts again, it’s steady.
“Then don’t treat me like something fragile.”
I reach up and slide my hand into her hair, thumb brushing the side of her neck.
“I’ve never thought you were fragile.”
“Good.”
“I’ve thought you were dangerous.”
A slow smile curves her lips. “Dangerous how?”
“You walk into my house and make it feel alive again.”
“That’s not dangerous.”
“It is when you’re a man who forgot how to live.”
The words hang between us.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pity.
She steps closer.
“I never wanted to replace anything,” she says softly.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to erase her.”
“You don’t.”
“You don’t have to choose between loving her and loving me.”
My chest tightens.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not simple,” she says. “It’s brave.”
My hand slides from her hair down her back, resting at her waist. “You think I’m brave?”
“I think you run into burning buildings for strangers.”
“That’s different.”
“No,” she says firmly. “It’s not.”
Silence stretches.
The air between us shifts again — no longer tension sparking. She reaches up, fingers brushing the scar at my collarbone. The one the fire left.
Her touch isn’t hesitant.
It’s curious.
“You don’t scare me,” she says quietly.
“You should be scared of me.”
She smirks. “Why?”
“Because when I finally decide I want something, I don’t do it halfway.”
Her breath catches slightly.
“I noticed.”
I slide my hand to the small of her back, pulling her flush against me.
“Say it,” I murmur.
“Say what?”
“That you want me too.”
Her hands press against my chest, not pushing me away. Just feeling.
“You know I do.”
“I want to hear it.”
She exhales slowly. “I want you.”
The words are soft but certain.
“How much?” I press.
Her gaze flickers, heat rising in her cheeks.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“No.”
Her hands slide up over my shoulders. “I want you enough that leaving felt like tearing something out of me.”
That does it.
I lower my forehead to hers.
“I don’t want you because you healed me,” I say quietly. “You stood there. You let me be angry. Let me be broken. Let me be quiet.”
Her fingers trace the back of my neck.
“I don’t need you perfect.”
My mouth brushes hers slowly.
This time there’s no rush. No edge of panic. No fear of crossing a line.
We already crossed it.
Her lips soften under mine, opening slightly when I deepen the kiss. Her hands grip my shirt like she’s anchoring herself, but she leans into me fully.
I move slowly.
Deliberately.
Mapping the feel of her without urgency.
She exhales against my mouth, a sound that travels straight through me.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
“You’re intense.”
“I warned you.”
She huffs a quiet laugh against my lips. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
My hands roam her back, her waist, her hips — not grabbing, not taking — just feeling. Learning. Letting the moment stretch instead of ignite too fast.
This isn’t about hunger.
It’s about arrival.
She pulls back slightly, searching my face.
“You’re here,” she says softly.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not pulling away.”
“No.”
Her hand slides to my jaw, thumb brushing the rough line of my beard. “You feel different.”
“How?”
“Like you’re not fighting yourself anymore.”