Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
RED
Sasha’s still asleep, one hand resting on my chest. I should've gotten up—made some coffee, chopped firewood, done something productive. I stayed. Somehow, I can’t tear myself away from her and the addictive way she makes me feel.
Morning light steams in through the window. The storm passed sometime during the night. I watched it happen while she slept—the wind dying, the snow fading away to nothing, the silence settling over the mountain.
It’s time for her to leave, but I can’t think of that yet. I can’t.
“Mm, you’re so warm,” she mumbles, burrowing closer to me.
“So now you’re stealing my heat?” I eye her playfully.
She smiles without opening her eyes. “You’re like a furnace.”
I laugh, shaking my head. I’ve never been called that before.
Her eyes open, hazel and sleepy, focusing on my face. “You’re staring at me.”
I don’t deny it; I am staring because she’s fucking beautiful.
“Are you having regrets?” She stretches her arms over her head, and the shirt slips further. I watch as the movement reveals the curve of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone.
“Fuck no.”
“That’s reassuring.” She yawns. “I was worried I’d have to make a run through the snow.”
I smirk at the thought. “You wouldn’t make it fifty feet.”
“So, you’re holding me hostage.”
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
She shifts closer, her head finding the space between my shoulder and jaw. Her hand slides over my ribs and settles there. We lie there while Bear snores near the stove and the fire pops low.
I can’t believe this is so easy, being with her like this. So, I shouldn’t be surprised when I start talking about shit I’ve never told anyone.
“The first guy I lost was twenty-one years old.” My voice sounds strange in the stillness. “This kid—Jackson, had a smart mouth. He used to play the harmonica during patrols, driving everyone insane. He came home when I did with a clean discharge. He seemed fine.”
Sasha doesn’t move or try to fill the silence, and I appreciate it.
“A month later, he drove into a tree going eighty. No note. No nothing.” My throat hurts when I try to swallow. “His mom asked if he seemed okay overseas. I told her he was fine.”
“Was he?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem.” I stare at the ceiling beams, studying the grain of wood I know by heart. “After that, I stopped trying to get close to people. I figured the less I cared, the less it would hurt when they left.”
Her fingers spread over my chest, right above my heart. She can probably feel it hammering.
“Then you showed up in that ridiculous outfit with cookies and questions, and I couldn’t get rid of you.”
“You tried.”
“Not hard enough.” I look at her pointedly. “Now you’re here wearing my shirt, stealing my blankets, making my dog love you more than me. And I don’t want you to leave.”
Her eyes hold mine. “I know.”
That’s all she says, and I wait, assuming she’s going to say more, but she doesn’t, and I feel a rush of something warm and grateful rise in my belly, almost like it’s from my soul.
I lean in close, capturing her lips with mine. She sighs against my mouth, her hand sliding up to cup my face. I roll us, pulling her with me until she’s beneath me, the shirt bunched around her hips, her legs warm against my sides.
I kiss her again, deeper this time, my hand sliding under the shirt to find her soft skin. She arches into the touch, and I take my time learning the curve of her waist, the dip of her spine, the places that make her breath catch.
She pulls my shirt over my head—I strip hers off. There’s no hesitation this time, no shyness.
I reach for the drawer for a condom, but she stops me.
"I want to feel you. No barriers."
I study her. "Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Her trust in me nearly breaks me.
I waste no time in sinking into her pussy bare, and the difference is fucking stunning.
She gasps, her nails biting into my shoulders.
I don't move—I can't, not yet—my forehead pressed to hers while I fight for control.
“Red.”
“Give me a second,” I plead, praying I don’t shoot my load.
I start to move slowly, watching her face, learning what makes her eyes flutter closed, what pulls the sounds I fucking adore from her throat. She wraps her legs around my waist and meets every thrust, and the rhythm we find isn’t frantic—it’s fucking perfection.
Her hand finds mine. I lace our fingers together, pinning them beside her head, and the vulnerability in her eyes matches what’s clawing at my chest.
“Stay with me,” I say, the words raw.
“I’m here.” She tightens around me. “I’m right here.”
When she comes, it’s with my name on her lips and her eyes locked on mine. I follow her over, soaking in this moment—her body, her breath, and the way she holds me like I’m her lifeline.
Afterwards, I don’t pull away. I stay, my weight braced on my forearms, her pulse fluttering against my lips where I’ve pressed them to her throat.
“Are you okay?”
She nods, fingers stroking through my hair. “I’m better than okay.”
I shift to the side, pulling her with me so she’s draped across my chest. The blanket tangles around our legs, but neither of us care.
She props herself up on one elbow. "The noise in your head is quieter when I'm here, isn't it?"
I look at her, surprised she's noticed.
"I pay attention," she says softly. "You sleep better. You don't startle at sounds. Your shoulders aren't always hunched."
My throat swells. "You're the reason why."
I pull her down into a kiss that is intense—even for me.
When we break apart, she settles back against my chest, her ear over my heart.
"The road will be clear soon,” she whispers, like she doesn’t want me to hear her.
But I do.
I've been tracking the weather since before dawn, watching the sky lighten, and the snow taper off. Another day, maybe two, and the pass will be manageable.
"I know."
She's quiet for a long moment, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my ribs. "I should probably head back and check in with Beth. Let her know I'm alive."
She doesn't move, and neither do I.
"Red?"
"Yeah."
"Can we not talk about leaving yet?" Her voice goes small. "Can we just—have today?"
Something in my chest eases at once. "Yeah. We can have today."
She tilts her head up, and I kiss her like we have all the time in the world even though we both know we don't.
"Make me breakfast," she murmurs against my mouth. "And coffee. Lots of coffee."
"You’re demanding."
"You like it."
I do. God help me, I do.
She bites her lip, and I can see her thinking, weighing it all up.
“What about after?” Her voice goes small again. “When I do leave. When you’re back up here alone and I’m down in town and we’re—what? What are we?”
“I don’t know.” The honesty feels bitter on my tongue. “But I know I want to find out.”
She searches my face. Whatever she sees there makes her nod.
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
We get up. She steals another shirt—this one even bigger—and pads to the couch while I start the fire. Bear stretches and yawns, tail wagging when she scratches his ears.
“Traitor,” I mutter.
“He’s got taste.” She grins at me over her shoulder, and the sight of her on my couch, barefoot and happy, does something to me that I don’t have words for.
I make coffee, then find some eggs and cheese.
I like making breakfast for her. Knowing she’s eating well because of me.
When we sit down to eat, she reaches across the table and takes my hand.
“Thank you,” she says.
“For what?”
“For letting me in.”
We eat breakfast and drink coffee and don’t talk about tomorrow.
Not yet.
For now, this is enough.