Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
DAHLIA
The fire’s burned down to coals by the time I hear the door open again.
Cold air rolls through the cabin, followed by Denver’s uneven footsteps. He moves like a man running from ghosts and finding them waiting inside.
I keep still, breathing slow beneath the blankets. I’m not asleep. But if he thinks I am, maybe he’ll stay. Maybe the storm outside will lose its echo in here.
Floorboards creak. Metal clicks. The poker against the hearth, a coat set on the hook. He’s going through the motions: feeding the fire, stoking the silence, pretending everything’s normal.
Then, the soft rustle of fabric, the quiet breathing, the steps in his nightly ritual. When the mattress dips, my pulse stutters. He lies down on his side of the bed, careful, distant, like proximity alone might undo his restraint. The air between us hums, no Bear to keep us apart.
I wait until his breathing evens, then whisper, “Denver.”
He stills. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t.” My throat’s tight. “Couldn’t sleep.”
A pause. Then, quieter. “Me neither.”
I turn, facing him through the dim glow of firelight from the bedroom hearth. His eyes catch the glow, haunted and beautiful.
“You ran out,” I murmur. “I thought maybe you regretted—”
“Never,” he says hoarsely. “Not possible.”
I swallow hard, summon the courage that got me up this mountain in the first place. “Can I tell you something scarier than the storm?”
He nods once.
“I’m terrified of what happens if I don’t tell you how I feel.” The words tumble out on a shaking breath. “That I’ll miss this—miss you—and end up back where I started, alive but not really living.”
Something flickers across his face, pain, disbelief, hope tangled together.
“Sunshine…” he whispers, the nickname a rough prayer. “I’m not good at this.”
“Then let me be,” I say, reaching across the narrow space between us. My fingers brush his jaw, scratch through his beard. “Just … be here.”
He exhales, shaky, then catches my hand, pressing it against his chest. His heart drums fast beneath my palm, shivers of longing thrumming between us. “You scare the hell out of me,” he admits.
“Good,” I breathe. “Means we’re both alive.”
The dam between us breaks. He rolls toward me, gathering me close, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that’s nothing like the first—no apology, no doubt. Just need and belonging.
The world narrows to heat and heartbeat, to the roughness of his hands and the soft insistence of my body answering his. Every touch is a confession, every sigh a promise that neither of us has to run from anymore.
His work-hardened hands glide over flannel. “No pants?” he grumbles, mouth tipping up at the edges.
“Not tonight,” I whisper, voice wobbling.
He lifts an edge, sliding beneath. My arms wrap around his neck, drawing him tight against me. This moment—him. It’s all I need.
Our mouths collide, impassioned, reckless. His tongue sweeps into me, devouring, like a hungry man before a feast. He moans, and it unleashes something in me. Feral, bold, desperate.
“God, I crave you,” I pant between kisses, tugging at his boxer briefs. His silky beard brushes my collarbone, shivers of desire quaking through my core.
The back of my hand glances over a rough ridge of flesh. He stiffens.
“Did I do something wrong?”
“No,” he murmurs. “But my scars … my leg. Not used to being touched…”
He says it like a wounded pain could deter me. Pulling back the blanket, he reveals the angry, raised, red lines running the length of his torso. The ones he tried to hide on the porch with a hand. He eyes me warily, face stone.
My hand comes up, traces one mark, trying to feel the pain beneath it. “Denver,” I whisper.
“Yeah,” he says, gravel-voiced. “Too ugly for you?”
“Never,” I echo his earlier words. “Not possible. But—” I bite my bottom lip, eyes pooling.
His hand comes up, snags under my chin to look me in the eyes. “Why are you crying, Sunshine?”
I shake my head, mouth hot and thick. “The thought of you … hurting. I hate it.”
“Don’t want to make you cry. But don’t want you to think I’m something I’m not.” His hand finds his leg, rubbing where it ends, just above his knee. “A lot to take in. Too much?”
“Not at all,” I sigh, leaning forward, slinking down in the bed to kiss each scar.
He tenses beneath my whisper-soft touch. Hand fisting, like he doesn’t know what to do with it. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” I say quietly, feathering over each red spot. My hand comes up, swipes gently over his leg where it ends.
“Don’t want you to think I’m ugly or weak,” he confesses, and my head darts up, eyes finding his.
“These marks show how strong you are. That you’re a survivor. A hero.”
“You want me as-is?” he asks, as if it’s an impossible thought.
“Every part of you.”
He growls low, dangerous, hands sliding to my waist, pulling me up to face him, gripping my naked flesh beneath the flannel. His lips find mine, insistent, tender, like I can feel his walls crumbling.
“Haven’t let anyone see me without the prosthetic. Never let anyone touch me but doctors.”
My chest aches at the loneliness threading his words.
“Didn’t think I was good enough for any woman. Too broken. Not whole.” He stops, eyes me with a gentle smile, cupping my cheek, thumb rubbing over its flush. “Let alone the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
“Den—”
“I’m serious. Why I was so grumpy the first time we met. Knew time around you would be my undoing. Show I’m not as tough as I look.”
“That you have a tender side?” My heart thrums as my fingers caress his hard, muscular chest. “That’s my favorite part of you.”
He tries to keep his face unreadable, but I can tell my words hit.
“Belongs to you now,” he grumbles, kissing my forehead and my eyebrows, my eyelids, temples, cheeks. “Only you.” The tip of my nose, my chin, and then my lips again. Deep, sensual, soul-stirring.
My heart thrums, fire whizzing through me like sparklers. Never in a thousand years did I think my cabin challenge would lead here. To happiness after so much sorrow with Maya’s passing.
My hands rove over his firm flesh. No walls between us. No scars, no painful pasts. Accepting each other just the way we are. “I need you so much.”
He stills, eyes scrutinizing mine. “Are you sure? Cause if you and I do this, I’ll never be able to let you go.”
“Don’t let me go, then,” I whisper, nuzzling his cheek, running my hand through the silk of his beard.
His kiss turns furious, sparks incinerating between us. The air electric with need. He grinds me hard against him. It’s not enough. I need to feel him. I need him inside me.
“I’m clean,” I whisper. “And on the pill.”
He swallows loudly. “I’m clean, too. Want me raw or wrapped?”
“Raw,” I pant. “Nothing between us.”
His hands grip me tighter, his pulse thudding against mine—steady, certain, alive. “Nothing between us ever again, then.” He reaches down, slides out of his boxers, and my heart lodges in my throat.
The words feel more than right. They anchor me. For once, someone wants to belong to me—not escape or run at the first hint of commitment.
“Too far?” he asks.
“Not far enough,” I whimper as his hands slide my panties to the side, fingers running through my slick need. He exhales a low, rough sound that hits me everywhere. “You want me, Sunshine. Don’t you?” Not egotistical or overconfident, but the words of a scarred and hurt man asking for reassurance.
“Yes, Denver. So much. Please make me yours.”
His thumb rounds my clit, drawing a weighty moan. “Oh God, yes,” I pant. Outside, I smell the metallic scent of rain, soft pattering starting again.
“Yes?” he says like a man finding his bearings. Remembering.
“Yes, please.”
He slides into me slowly with his other hand, finger curling back towards him, hitting my G-spot perfectly.
I arch my hips towards him, gasping. A couple more strokes, and he’ll have me there.
No man has ever turned me on like this before—or known exactly what to do about it.
His thumb circles my clit until I see stars, floating free.
His face dips, mouth latching onto one of my nipples through the flannel.
“Fucking shirt,” he mutters. “Need to taste you.” My fingers fumble with the buttons, too wrecked by his expert fingers to think or act. But I get enough undone that his mouth can sink down enthusiastically over me, sucking, teasing, and lightly biting one nipple before going to the other.
“You taste so good. Feel so right in my mouth like you were made for me.”
His expert fingers stroke me, and I exhale sharply, knowing I was.
“Yes!” I scream, surrendering to the gruff man’s touch, warm gush, and shaking body, coming harder than I ever have.
He works me through it, doesn’t stop until I’m jointless pleasure, beaming at him. He brings his hands up, licks them clean with a deep growl of pleasure. It sears through me, an act of pure devotion.
“My new favorite treat,” he whispers with a lopsided grin.
“Better than Mexican hot chocolate?” I ask, arching a brow.
He nods. “Spicier, too.” He grunts, grabbing my neck and pulling me into him for another long, breathless kiss. “Tell me what you crave, Sunshine. There’s nothing I won’t give you.”
His voice is honest, authentic, nothing to doubt, nothing to fear. His heart hums beneath my palm, beating out the echo of his words, cheeks flushed, eyes simmering.
“I need all of you,” I whisper against the shell of his ear, tracing it with my tongue, savoring the way he shivers when I tease his earlobe, biting and sucking.
His hands grip my hips as he slides into me inch by inch. Too thick, too long, absolute perfection. His sigh shudders, and he turns his head to the side, taking a meditative breath.
I moan against the stretch, feeling complete in ways I never have before. His naked flesh against mine, where a thousand sparks continue to ignite, sets the sliver of air between our bodies on fire.
He pulls back, slides again, slowly, sensually, from tip to balls until I can’t think, I can’t speak. Giving, taking, then giving again. All heat and strength and muscles rippling as he brings me to the edge again, walking the knife point of self-control.
“God, Dahlia, your pussy feels like wet silk. The only place I want to be.”
And his cock? Pressed inside and driving over my G-spot again and again, it’s a decadent sin and a portal to heaven.
His big, calloused hands grip my hips, squeezing tight as he pulls back and slams into me again, speed picking up, demand rocking through his hips.
I moan and scream, floating and free-falling all at once.
Lost in his thrusts and the way he makes me whole.
Desire builds to a crest. Rising, rising, rising until I can’t take anymore. Breath coming too fast, body quivering too much, unintelligible sounds offered into the still night as my pussy grips him, spasming, shaking, riding ecstasy.
“Oh, God, Dahlia,” he groans as he draws closer, hips thrusting, body quaking. I fracture around him first, unraveling. A warm gush, and then he follows behind, coming into me hard, filling me with wave after wave of heat as his body shivers.
Our panting breaths fill the room, accompanying the crackle of the fire. His body shivers against mine, toned arms drawing me into the kind of embrace I need forever.
Silence settles. Not weighty or awkward but reverent, sacred. Beyond words, beyond separation, somewhere in the space where Denver and I are one.
His hands find my hair, stroke my locks as he whispers, “Don’t know how to make this work with you. But can’t let you go.”
“How about I stay, then?” I whisper, palming his face and feathering it in kisses.
He nods, eyes pooling with warmth and tenderness.
When the fire finally fades to embers, I lie tangled against him, his arm draped heavy over my waist, Bear snoring somewhere near the hearth. Rain taps faintly against the roof—gentle now, almost grateful.
I trace the lines of his scars with my fingertips. “Still scared?” I whisper.
He answers against my hair, voice low and sure. “Yeah. But not enough to let you go.”
Maybe that’s what this mountain’s been trying to teach me.
Sometimes the scariest thing isn’t the storm—it’s staying when the clouds finally clear.
Outside, the storm moves on. Inside, everything finally feels still.