Chapter 8 Gavin
EIGHT
GAVIN
Aidan’s cry slices through the dark like an alarm.
Not the sharp, panicked kind—thank God—but the hungry, offended wail of a baby who has decided the world has betrayed him and would like to file a formal complaint immediately.
I’m half-asleep, body heavy and warm, Kayley curled against my side like she belongs there. Her hair is spilled across my chest. Her breathing is slow and even, the kind of sleep you only get when your bones finally believe you’re safe.
And that—more than anything—makes my chest ache.
Because I want this.
Not just tonight. Not just in the aftermath of adrenaline and fear.
I want always.
I lift myself carefully onto an elbow, listening. The bassinet is out in the living room—close enough that we could hear him, far enough that we could have… privacy. The memory of Kayley beneath me flashes behind my eyelids, heat stirring low in my gut, and I have to force myself to focus.
Aidan cries again.
Kayley stirs, a soft sound leaving her throat, and her hand finds my arm like she’s searching for an anchor even in sleep.
“Shh,” I whisper, brushing my lips over her temple. “Stay asleep. I’ve got him.”
She mumbles something that might be my name. Might be a protest. Might be a sleepy agreement.
I slide out of bed and pull on sweatpants, moving quietly, the way you learn to move when you’ve spent years in places where noise gets people killed.
The cabin is dark except for the faint glow of the fire dying down and the snowlight leaking in through the window. I pad into the living room and find Aidan red-faced and furious in the bassinet, tiny fists punching the air like he’s ready to throw hands.
“Hey, buddy,” I murmur, bending over him. “I hear you. You’re right. This is unacceptable service.”
He does not care about my charm.
I scoop him up carefully, supporting his head the way Eli showed me. The second he’s against my chest, his crying drops a notch. He snuffles, still mad, but less desperate.
“That’s it,” I whisper. “I’ve got you.”
I step into the kitchen area and grab the bottle we prepped earlier—powder, water, clean nipples.
We’re improvising, but we’re doing it right.
I warm the bottle in a mug of hot water, testing it on my wrist like every decent adult does, even if I spent most of my life testing equipment that could explode instead.
Aidan squirms, mouth rooting at my shirt.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “I know. You’re starving. It’s practically a crime.”
I settle onto the couch with him and bring the bottle to his lips. He latches instantly, sucking like he’s been working overtime for this moment.
His eyelids flutter, his little body relaxing as the hunger eases. The tension leaves his fists. His feet go slack against my thigh.
I rock him slowly, shoulder to shoulder, the way I’ve rocked men with shattered bodies and too much blood. The way I’ve carried weight that never should’ve belonged to me.
But this?
This is different.
This isn’t war. This isn’t trauma. This isn’t a mission with a time limit.
This is a baby who trusts whoever holds him. This is warmth. This is life.
My throat tightens. I look down at his face, so peaceful now, and something in me shifts into place with a final, quiet click.
Mine.
Not in a possessive, selfish way. In a vow way.
In an over my dead body way.
I’ve known Kayley for—what? Two days? And somehow she’s already under my skin like she’s always been there, like my chest has been waiting for her to take up space inside it.
And tonight… tonight we crossed a line I can’t uncross.
We spent the night together.
Not just bodies—though yeah, that too. Not just heat and urgency and the way she clung to me like she’d finally found something solid.
We shared something softer beneath it. Something real.
Kayley trusted me.
Kayley let herself want.
And I’m not naive enough to think wanting comes without cost.
Especially when danger is already circling.
Aidan slows on the bottle, eyelids drooping. I rub gentle circles between his shoulder blades, feeling him go boneless with sleep. When he’s done, I lift him carefully to burp him, the tiny patter of my hand on his back absurdly soothing.
He lets out a small burp that would be funny if I wasn’t so damn emotional about it.
“Good job,” I whisper. “You’re already out here winning.”
He sighs and settles, cheek against my shoulder.
I keep rocking.
And I think—no, I know—that I want this always.
Kayley, sleepy and warm in my bed.
Aidan, safe and fed and breathing easy.
A home that isn’t just a compound.
A life that isn’t just survival.
The thought is dangerous. Because wanting always is how you get hurt. But it’s also how you become a man again. And I’ve been half a ghost for too long.
By the time Aidan’s fully asleep again, the sky outside the window has shifted from black to deep navy. Snow still falls in steady curtains.
I lay him back in the bassinet and tuck the blanket around him, then stand there a second, watching his chest rise and fall.
“Always,” I murmur, more promise than word.
Then I go back to bed.
Kayley is still asleep, but she shifts when I slide back under the heavy quilt as quietly as I can, the mattress dipping under my weight.
The fire’s died down to embers, casting the room in soft, shifting red.
Kayley’s already half-awake, eyes heavy-lidded and dark, hair a messy spill across the pillow.
She doesn’t say anything—just watches me settle on my back, one arm tucked behind my head.
The second I’m still, she moves. Slow, deliberate.
Her thigh slides over my hip, warm and soft, the inside of it brushing the length of my cock through my sweats.
That single touch—her skin against me, the easy weight of her leg claiming space—hits like a match to dry tinder.
My dick twitches hard, already thickening. Fuck.
She shifts closer, pressing her bare breasts to my chest, nipples tight little points against my skin. Her breath ghosts over my throat. “You smell like baby powder and woodsmoke,” she murmurs, lips brushing my collarbone. “Makes me want you.”
I groan low, sliding one hand down the curve of her spine to cup her ass, squeezing gently. “Baby, you keep rubbing that sweet thigh on me like that, I’m gonna lose my mind.”
She smiles against my neck—small, sleepy, wicked—and rocks her hips once, dragging the soft heat between her legs along my growing erection. I’m fully hard now, aching, the thin fabric between us doing nothing to dull the feel of her.
I roll us so she’s beneath me. Her legs part for me like they were made to, thighs cradling my hips. I brace on my forearms so I can look at her—really look. Those big eyes, the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her lips part when I settle my weight just enough to pin her without crushing her.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be. I kiss her slow, deep, tasting the faint sweetness of her lips. “Missed this. Missed you wrapped around me.”
Her fingers thread into my hair, tugging just enough to make me growl. “It’s only been a few hours.”
“I still miss it.”
“Then take me,” she whispers. “Slow. Needy. Like you love me. Even if you don’t.” Her eyes widen. “I know it’s only been a few days.”
I kiss her. Because fuck, I already feel like I do love her.
After the kiss breaks, I reach between us, shoving my sweats down just far enough. My cock springs free, heavy and leaking at the tip. I notch myself at her entrance, rubbing the head through her folds—slow, teasing circles until she’s slick and trembling beneath me.
“Feel that?” I murmur against her mouth. “How wet you are for me already? That’s my good girl.”
She whimpers, hips lifting, trying to pull me in. I hold still, letting her feel every inch as I ease forward—barely inside, then a little more, stretching her open with careful, shallow thrusts.
“Fuck, Kayley,” I breathe, forehead pressed to hers. “So tight. So perfect. Like you were made to take me.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders. “Deeper,” she pleads softly. “Please, Gavin.”
I give her what she wants. Slow, steady, sinking all the way until I’m buried to the hilt. We both go still for a second, breathing each other in. She’s fluttering around me, warm and wet and home. I can feel her heartbeat where we’re joined.
I start moving then—long, rolling strokes that drag every ridge of me against her walls. Not fast. Just deep, deliberate, like I’m trying to carve myself into her memory.
“Look at me,” I say when her eyes flutter shut. “Want to see you fall apart.”
Her gaze locks on mine, glassy and wide. I keep the rhythm steady, one hand slipping between us to circle her clit with my thumb—slow, firm pressure that makes her gasp.
“That’s it, baby,” I rasp. “Feel how deep I am? Feel how much I love being inside you? This sweet little pussy was made for me. Only me.”
She moans, soft and broken, legs tightening around my waist. “Gavin… I’m close…”
“I know, sweetheart. I can feel you squeezing me.” I lean down, kissing her slow and filthy, tongue sliding against hers. “Come for me. Let me feel it. Let me feel my girl come all over Daddy’s cock while I’m buried so fucking deep.”
Her breath hitches. Her whole body arches, thighs trembling, and then she’s coming—quiet, shuddering waves that ripple through her, milking me hard. I groan into her mouth, fighting not to lose it yet. I want to stay right here, locked inside her, feeling every pulse.
When she finally stills, panting, I kiss her forehead, her cheeks, the corner of her eye where a tear slipped free. “You okay?” I whisper.
She nods, smiling through the haze. “Don’t stop. I want to feel you come.”
I start moving again—slower now, savoring every slick glide. My balls draw up tight, heat coiling low. “Gonna fill you up, baby,” I tell her, voice wrecked. “Gonna give you every drop. You want that? Want me to come deep where you’re still shaking?”
“Yes—please—”