Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
COOKIE
Iwake to the weight of Red’s hand on my body and the smell of coffee.
His shirt, which has now become my bedtime attire, hangs off my shoulders, half-buttoned and way too big, but I’m not complaining. It smells just like him.
He’s propped up on one elbow, watching me like I might disappear if he blinks.
My stomach flutters at the sight of this big, grizzly man who ruined me for anyone else last night.
“Morning,” I say, my voice still croaky from sleep.
“Morning.” He reaches over the side of the bed and produces two mugs.
Coffee!
He must’ve started the pot while I was sleeping.
“You’re a thief.”
I blink sleepily. “Huh?”
He gestures with his chin. “My shirt, the blanket. Half my pillow.”
“Oh, that.” I stretch and yawn. “I’m a greedy sleeper. You’ve been warned.”
He huffs out a breath that might be a laugh and hands me a mug. I take a sip and sigh happily.
“If this is part of your plan to keep me here, it’s working.”
Red’s lips twitch. “You’re easy to please.”
“Only when there’s caffeine and you involved.” I nudge his thigh under the blanket. “How’d you sleep?”
“Better than I have in a long time.”
Aww. He looks so good in the morning—his hair rumpled, his stubble darker, that usual unreadable expression thin enough for me to see through it. But there’s tension in his shoulders. I wish I could kiss it all away.
I sip my coffee and watch him over the rim. “You’re doing that thing again.”
“What thing?”
“The thing where you’re here but also planning to leave.”
He gazes at me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“I didn’t say you were leaving the cabin, Red.” I set my mug on the nightstand. “I said you’re planning your exit strategy. Emotionally—you do it when things get real.”
He goes quiet.
“Last night,” I start, then stop because my throat tightens. “You called me Sasha.”
“You told me to.”
“I know.” I pull the blanket higher, suddenly aware of how naked I am under his shirt. “I’ve never done that before. Let someone use my real name. It felt—” I swallow. “It felt like giving you something no one else has.”
Red sets his mug down. His hand finds me again, his thumb stroking small circles through the flannel. “You did.”
“So now I’m sitting here in your bed, wearing your shirt, drinking your coffee, and I’m terrified.”
His eyes snap to mine. “Of me?”
“Of this.” I gesture between us. “Of how much I want it—how much I want you. I’ve spent my whole life being too much for people, Red. And you—” My voice cracks. “You look at me like I’m not too much. Like I’m exactly right for you, and that scares me.”
He shifts closer until his forehead almost touches mine. “You are exactly right.”
“Don’t say that unless you mean it.” I bite my lip, praying he means it.
“I mean it.” His voice drops. “I mean every word I’ve said to you.”
My stomach flips. “What happens when the storm clears? When I go back down the mountain and you stay up here in your fortress of solitude?”
“I don’t know.”
At least he’s honest.
I nod, blinking hard. “Okay.”
“Sasha.” He cups my face and tilts it until I’m looking at him. “I don’t know what happens next. But I know I don’t want this to end when you leave.”
The words land in my chest like bullets, making everything blur.
“I don’t want it to end either,” I admit, looking up at him.
“Then we figure it out.” He strokes his thumb across my cheekbone. “Together.”
The word settles over me like a blanket. I’ve been alone for so long, I forgot what it feels like to have someone close.
“I’m still scared,” I whisper.
“Me too.”
“You don’t look scared.”
“I’m good at hiding it.” He leans in and presses his forehead to mine.
“But you scare the hell out of me, Sasha. You walk into my life in a ridiculous costume with cookies and Christmas carols, and suddenly everything I thought I wanted—the silence, the solitude, the safety of being alone—none of it means anything compared to this.”
My breath catches. “Red—”
“I’m not good at this, you know, at talking, or letting people in.” His hand slides to the back of my neck. “But I’m trying. For you, I’m trying.”
I close the distance and kiss him, softly at first, just a press of lips. Then his mouth opens, and he deepens it into something that tastes like coffee and promise and the terrifying hope that maybe this could be real.
When we break apart, I’m breathless.
“I need you to know something,” I say against his mouth.
“Tell me.”
“Last night wasn’t just sex for me. It was—” I search for the right words. “It was the first time I felt like someone saw all of me and didn’t flinch. You didn’t try to change me. You let me be.”
Red’s grip tightens on my neck, possessive and protective all at once. “I don’t want you smaller. I want you like this—loud and messy and taking up space in my life.”
A tear slips down my cheek. He catches it with his thumb.
“I’m going to ruin your reputation as a grumpy hermit if I keep crying on you.”
“Good.” His mouth curves, just barely. “I never liked that reputation, anyway.”
Oh God!
I laugh, and he kisses me again. This time it’s slower, deeper, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of my mouth. His hand slides down my spine under the shirt, and I shift closer.
“Sasha,” he murmurs against my lips.
Hearing my real name in his voice creates new memories for me. I love it. “Yeah?”
“Can I have you again? Slowly this time. I want to take my time with you.”
The manners on this man. Asking me politely if he can ruin me.
It’s the rawness in his voice, the vulnerability—it’s not about sex. It’s about intimacy. Connection. The terrifying act of letting someone in when every instinct says to protect yourself.
“Yes,” I whisper. “You never have to ask.”
He kisses me softly, like we have all the time in the world. His mouth moves against mine with just enough pressure to remind me how good he is at this. I sink into it, my toes curling.
His palm strokes down my spine, dragging the shirt up inch by inch.
Every brush of his skin makes my breath catch.
The kiss deepens—not rushed or greedy, though.
It’s like he’s tasting and learning and taking his time.
I shift without thinking, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle him.
His hands settle on my thighs, wide and patient.
“You’re really going to let me have my way with you in your own shirt.”
His eyes darken. “I’m hoping you do.”
I grind against him, slow and deliberate, and the way his hands tighten tells me he feels every inch.
“I want to go slow this time,” he says. “There’s no rush.”
“So, take your time.”
He does.
One hand lifts the shirt over my head, letting it fall onto the mattress. He pauses to kiss the slope of my shoulder, then my collarbone, his mouth moving warm and steadily across skin that suddenly feels too sensitive.
He kisses down my chest with attention that makes me feel worshipped. I arch into him, not shy now, not when he’s touching me like I’m his queen.
When he drags his tongue over the soft underside of my breast and sucks, I shiver hard enough to shake the bed.
“Red—”
“I know.” His hands stroke my body like he’s been dying to do this slower.
I shift, adjusting my knees, and slide down enough to feel his cock beneath me. I rock gently and his head tips back, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Look at me,” I whisper.
His eyes open and lock on mine. The vulnerability there steals my breath—like he’s letting me see straight through to the parts he keeps hidden from the world.
“I see you,” I whisper. “All of you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
For a second, I think he might look away, and retreat behind those walls. But he doesn’t. He holds my gaze like it costs him everything.
We handle the condom together this time, our hands brushing. When I sink down on him, it’s not with urgency—it’s with a full-body sigh, like I’ve been holding my breath and can finally exhale.
“Oh God,” I whisper, hands braced on his chest.
He groans, hands gripping my thighs, and the sound tells me everything words can’t.
We move together, slowly and rhythmically, our hips rocking in lazy waves. It’s not frantic, or even loud. It’s perfect.
I lean down and kiss him. He meets me halfway, one hand at the nape of my neck, the other gripping my waist like I might float away.
“Stay with me,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“I’m here,” I whisper back. “I’m right here.”
His eyes glisten for a moment, and I realize this is what love looks like. It’s not just our bodies joining, but our walls coming down.
When I start to shake, he murmurs my name—my real name—and it makes my heart skip a thousand beats. I cry out softly, passion and elation flooding through me in waves. He follows with a low groan, his mouth catching mine, and we ride it out together.
After, I collapse against him, chest to chest, hearts hammering. His hands never stop moving—soothing strokes, gentle passes down my back.
We stay like that for a long time, quiet except for our breathing and Bear snoring by the fire.
Eventually, Red pulls the blanket over us and kisses my shoulder. He hums, but there’s something heavy in the sound.
I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him. “What is it?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. Then: “I haven’t let anyone this close in three years.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean—” He struggles with the words. “After Martinez died, after everything fell apart, I told myself it was safer this way. Being alone. You can’t lose someone if you never let them in.”
This poor man.
“Red—”
“But you got in anyway.” His hand finds mine, fingers lacing together. “You knocked on my door in that ridiculous outfit and got in, and now I’m lying here terrified because I don’t know how to do this. How to care about someone and not screw it up. How to let you leave without losing my mind.”
I squeeze his hand. “You’re not going to screw this up.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you.” I lean down and press my forehead to his. “I know you gave me your bed and slept in a chair because you didn’t want to make me uncomfortable. I know you fed me and kept me warm and let me into your space even though every instinct told you to push me away.”
“Sasha—”
“I know you, Red. And you’re not going to screw this up because you care too much. That’s not a weakness—it’s the best thing about you.”
His jaw clenches, his eyes shining. He pulls me down into a kiss that tastes like gratitude and fear and something like hope.
When we break apart, he tucks me against his chest with his arms wrapped tight like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
“Thank you,” he whispers into my hair.
“For what?”
“For not giving up on me.”
He melts me. My own little Christmas miracle. Well, a big, grizzly Christmas miracle, anyway.
Who knew someone so grumpy could be so soft on the inside?
I press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “Never.”
Outside, the storm starts to ease.
But inside, wrapped in each other’s arms, we don’t talk about what happens when it stops. Not yet.
For now, this is enough.