Chapter 9
Chapter
Nine
DENVER
Morning slides in soft and glimmering through the pines.
No storm, no generator hum, no chaos—just wind threading through needles and the low crackle of what’s left of last night’s fire.
She’s still asleep.
Her hair spills across my chest, cheek pressed over the spot where my heartbeat usually hurts.
Not today.
For a long while, I just lie there, cataloging the ordinary miracles—her steady breathing, the warmth where our skin meets, the faint scent of pine soap and honey that’s somehow become her.
Didn’t think I’d wake up beside anyone again. Didn’t think I wanted to.
But seeing her here, tangled in my sheets and sunlight, makes me feel like a man stepping into daylight after years underground.
Bear pads in, stretches, then noses the edge of the quilt. I give him a look.
“Five more minutes,” I whisper.
He huffs, settles by the bed like he understands somehow.
Dahlia stirs. “Coffee?” she murmurs without opening her eyes.
“First things first,” I say, sliding beneath the sheets, following sensual curves down to my new favorite spot.
One hand splays her pussy lips open. She gasps as I lean in, swirl my tongue over her clit for the first time. The only flavor I crave.
“What are you doing?” she purrs, raising the blanket and looking down at me.
I shrug. “Spice for the mountain man. You said it yourself.”
Her giggle catches in her throat as I dive into her. Desperate for more of her slick heat. Her hips arch toward me, movements slow and steady. I suck her into my mouth, pulsing my tongue. She whimpers, gives me more of that sweet honey.
Her hips follow my mouth as I slide a finger inside, find the rough spot at the front of her pussy where all the nerves are.
I stroke her gently yet firmly, feeling every quake and shudder, noticing how she grows slicker and wetter with each pass.
Until my beard’s covered in her juices, and her legs quiver.
She’s close. So fucking close. I have to be the man who takes her there. Every. Damn. Time.
“You’re my new addiction,” I growl, pulling my finger free to lick clean. I run my tongue along her drenched folds, savoring how every muscle tightens. Her lower abs squeezing.
“Oh, Denver,” she screams, fingers tangling in my hair, pressing me hard into her. She grinds on my face, and I fuck her with my tongue until she begs me never to stop.
My chest puffs with pride. May be scarred. May only have one leg. But I can make Dahlia happy. I can make her my world. Make worshiping her my lifelong goal.
Two fingers slide into her this time, tongue swirling and lapping mercilessly. Sucking her between my teeth, ratcheting her to the breaking point. I have to wreck her.
Her walls spasm, sucking my fingers in as she explodes with a hot gush, body shaking, abs flexing. Her hips thrust toward me, legs squeezing my head. I don’t stop until she’s panting, sated, melting into the sheets.
I lick my fingers clean. Then, swipe a hand over my beard, licking some more as I crawl back up her body with a rumbly laugh. “Trying to keep you here for good. Working yet?”
“Yes,” she croons, bedroom eyes and a sexy smile. She wraps her arms around me, pulling me tight against her. Like I’m all she needs.
Her mouth takes mine, tasting herself. So fucking taboo. My cock leaks pre-cum at the thought. I turn, hovering over her with one arm, bracing against the bed. She wraps her legs around my waist, hips rocking towards my steel-hard cock, begging me to take her.
“Want to fuck you ’til you can’t remember your own name … or how to find the Wheeler place again,” I tease.
She pants between kisses. “Just need to remember your name, so I can scream it, right?”
“Got me figured out,” I grunt as I slide into her. So damn wet, I’m ready to explode. It puts a dangerous sting at the back of my eyes to be wanted this much. Turns my naughty words of claiming soft and sweet.
Not fuck her. Love her. Show her with every cell in my body, every part of my being, how she makes my soul hum.
I wrap my hands in her silky locks, palm her face as our eyes lock.
I move slow. Taking my time, enjoying every inch.
Dipping my head to lick and suck her nipple.
Tease and bite it before switching sides, all the time moving steady inside her.
Angling her hips so that my head slides over her happy place again and again until her fingernails gouge my back, and she unravels again.
Panting, screaming, milking everything I have to give her.
I slam into her hard, finally letting go, spilling my hot seed. I get so fucking lost in her, I drown. Don’t want to come up for air again. I crave her more than breath or life.
“Love you, Sunshine,” I whisper, unable to hold back those words even if she’s not ready for them yet.
Her eyes round. “You don’t waste time, do you?”
“Not one of those douchebag guys who can’t commit. I know what I want when I want it. Doesn’t happen often.”
Her hand comes up, cupping my cheek, stroking my beard. Tears fill her eyes, and she laughs, airy and light as birdsong. “Never thought my cabin adventure and honoring Maya would lead me to you. To this.”
She leans up, presses her forehead to mine. “Love you, too, Hero.” Her voice is sleep-rough and soft as smoke.
That nickname still wrecks me. So do her words. Voice raw, I go for distraction. Need a moment to pull it together. “Coffee?”
“Don’t know if I want you to leave.” She grabs my ass with both hands, drawing me deeper. Talk about a fucking invitation.
“Coffee later?” I ask.
“Much later. I need more of you first. Much more.”
For the first time in years, I fall quiet without feeling alone.
After Dahlia snoozes off, I slide from bed carefully, slip on my prosthetic, tug on jeans.
Down the hallway, I bring the living room fire back to life, measure grounds into the old enamel pot.
The smell rises rich and earthy, winding through the cabin like memory.
When I return, she’s sitting up, wrapped in my blanket, bare shoulders kissed by morning light.
“Let’s see if third time’s a charm. Coffee?”
She chuckles. “The best head and best sex ever. Now coffee? You’re spoiling me.”
“Trying to keep you.”
“For the record, it’s working.”
“Good,” I say, sitting next to her. I hand her a mug, then stroke her gorgeous curls. “Like it when you have your hair down. Fucking stunning.”
Her face beams.
“Smells heavenly,” she says, taking a sip.
“So do you.”
She blushes, then grins. Steam curls between us. “For a grumpy, silent type, you’re pretty wordy today.”
“Inspired.”
We drink in silence, the kind that feels full instead of empty.
Finally, she speaks. “You were right about the quiet. It’s … loud, but in a good way.”
I nod, watching the way she studies the world outside the window—mist lifting off the trees, sunlight glancing off wet bark. “Takes getting used to. City noise hides things. Mountain quiet tells on you.”
Her gaze flicks to me. “What’s it telling on you now?”
“That I’m happier than I should be.”
She sets her mug down on the nightstand, fingers tangling into my beard as she pulls me in. “You’re allowed to be happy, Denver.”
“So are you.”
The truth sits between us, raw and solid.
After breakfast—eggs, toast, laughter that feels too easy for two people still figuring out what comes next—we walk down the trail to the Wheeler cabin. The air smells of rain and sawdust; puddles mirror the sky.
“Think it’s salvageable?” she asks.
“Anything can be fixed if you’ve got patience,” I tell her.
“Do you?”
I meet her eyes. “Used to think I didn’t. Guess I learned some.”
She smiles at that, and it hits me—how much I want her to stay, not because she needs rescuing, but because the place feels different with her here. Brighter. Real.
She runs a hand along the warped doorframe. “You think we could rebuild it together?”
We.
That word lands like an anchor and a promise all at once.
“Yeah,” I say quietly. “We could.”
Wind picks up through the trees, carrying the scent of pine sap and wet earth. She shivers, and I tug her close on instinct. She fits there like she was meant to.
“Guess the challenge isn’t over,” she says into my shirt.
“Nope.” I brush a kiss against her hair. “But this time you’re not doing it alone.”
She leans back to look at me, eyes shining. “You sure about that, mountain man?”
I grin, slow and certain. “Never been surer.”
We stand there a long while—two stubborn souls, one ruined cabin, and a brand-new beginning rising out of the wreckage.
Maybe solitude had its season.
Maybe this is what comes after. Seen and whole again.