Chapter 37
Cade
The gray light of dawn was just starting to bleed around the edges of the blinds in my room, turning the disaster we’d made of my bed soft around the edges.
I hadn’t slept. Not really. I’d dozed in broken, useless pieces, my body exhausted but my mind still trapped somewhere between the sounds she’d made, the way she’d looked at me, and the terrifying knowledge that something in me had shifted so permanently I didn’t know how to put it back.
Bliss was curled against my chest, warm and trusting, her breathing deep and even, one of my arms locked around her waist like some stubborn part of me thought the world might try to take her if I loosened my grip.
My body wanted her again.
It had taken her all night, even after she’d fallen apart beneath me in ways that should have satisfied every starved, selfish corner of me. But the need sitting low in my balls now felt different than it had hours ago. Slower. Deeper. Less like hunger and more like ache.
I stared down at the curve of her bruised cheek where it rested against my arm, at the soft mess of her hair spilling over my pillow, at the faded marks on her skin that made my chest tighten for reasons that had nothing to do with sex.
She was in my bed. In my shirt. Wrapped around me like she belonged there, like she trusted me enough to sleep with her back to my body in a house full of hockey players and noise and chaos.
Something about that nearly undid me.
I’d spent the whole night touching her like I was trying to prove something to both of us.
That I wanted her. That she wasn’t something temporary.
That casual had been the biggest lie either of us had ever tried to sell.
I’d been careful when I needed to be, careful with her ribs, careful with the places that still hurt, but I hadn’t been careful with the truth of how badly I needed her.
It had been in every kiss, every whispered promise, every time I dragged her closer instead of letting either of us breathe.
Mine.
The word still beat in my blood, but this morning it didn’t feel like a claim I wanted to brand onto her skin. It felt like a confession I didn’t know how to survive.
Mine, because I was hers right back.
I shifted behind her slowly, barely moving the mattress beneath us.
Hockey House was quiet for once, the kind of rare, fragile quiet that made every sound feel too intimate.
The hum of the heater. Her sleepy breath.
The faint creak of my bed frame as I pressed closer and let my mouth brush the back of her shoulder.
She stirred a little, a soft sound leaving her throat, and my arm tightened around her on instinct.
“Pip,” I whispered.
Her fingers moved over mine where they rested against her stomach, barely awake as she laced our hands together. “Mmm?”
That sound alone should not have made my throat close.
I kissed her shoulder again, softer this time, letting myself stay there for a second. “I need you.”
The words came out rougher than I meant them to, scraped raw from somewhere I didn’t usually let anyone touch.
She went still for a heartbeat, not tense exactly, just aware. Awake enough to hear what I hadn’t said. Awake enough to know this wasn’t me trying to take more from her just because my body was greedy and she was warm and perfect against me.
“Cade,” she whispered, sleepy and fragile. “I need you too.”
“I know,” I murmured against her skin, because I did.
I knew she had to be sore. I knew I had asked a lot of her body last night.
I knew there were a hundred reasons I should close my eyes, hold her, let her sleep, and pretend my chest wasn’t splitting open because she was here and I still wanted closer. “I know you feel this too.”
I stilled, my mouth against her shoulder, my hand flat over her stomach. “I just don’t know how to stop wanting to be inside this with you.”
She turned her head enough to look back at me through the pale morning light. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, soft around the edges, and so full of trust it almost made me look away.
Almost.
“This?” she asked quietly.
I swallowed, my thumb brushing over the back of her hand. “Us.”
For a second, neither of us moved.
Then something in her face changed. Not big. Not dramatic. Just a tiny, devastating softening around her mouth, like I’d managed to say the one thing that reached past every wall she still had standing.
She shifted carefully, turning just enough that I could see more of her face. My hand slid with her, staying at her waist, not pushing, not rushing, even though my whole body was aching with restraint.
“I always want you,” she whispered. “It’s my pussy that’s fighting the idea.”
A broken laugh left me before I could stop it. It was quiet and hoarse and had no humor in it at all. “Yeah, my cock is raw, but it’s me that doesn’t care.”
Her mouth curved just a little, sleepy and sweet, and that tiny smile did more damage to me than any kiss had.
I leaned in and kissed her because I had to, because there was no version of me that could stay this close to her and not put my mouth on hers.
She kissed me back slowly, warmly, like dawn had poured into her bones and made her soft for me.
When I pulled back, her breath skimmed my lips.
“I’m sore,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.
My eyes closed for half a second. Not because I didn’t know. Because hearing her say it made something protective and possessive twist together inside me until I couldn’t tell one from the other.
“Me too.” I kissed the corner of her mouth. “I’m raw. I know you have to be.”
Her fingers tightened over mine. “I want you. Swollen and tender, I still want you.”
I opened my eyes.
There she was in my bed, sleepy and tender and impossible, looking at me like she knew exactly how deep I was because she was in it with me.
“Pip,” I warned softly, but even to my own ears, it sounded more like a plea.
“I’m just saying,” she murmured, shifting the smallest amount closer, “if you’re going to want me like that, you should probably be very, very gentle about it.”
My chest pulled tight.
The banter was quiet this morning, softer around the teeth, but it was still her. Still my girl. Still the five-foot-two disaster who could hand me her vulnerability and make it sound like a challenge.
I brushed my lips over hers. “I can be gentle.”
Her brows lifted faintly. “That sounded painful for you to admit.”
“It was brutal.” I kissed her again. “Recovering in real time.”
A sleepy little laugh breathed into my mouth, and that was it.
That was the thing that broke me in the best and worst way.
I didn’t want her because she was half-naked in my bed, even though that was its own kind of punishment.
I wanted her because she could still make me laugh with my heart in my throat.
Because she could be bruised and brave and sarcastic before sunrise.
Because she trusted me with the parts of herself she tried to turn into jokes before anyone could see how badly they hurt.
I moved my hand slowly, giving her every chance to stop me.
Over her waist. Her hip. The outside of her thigh.
Not taking. Asking without making her say yes a dozen times like she was fragile, because she wasn’t fragile.
She was sore. She was tired. She was mine in the most terrifying, impossible way, and I wanted to deserve the trust in her body as much as I wanted her body itself.
She sighed when my fingers skimmed between her thighs, her eyes fluttering closed.
I froze instantly.
“Too much?”
“No,” she whispered, pressing back into me a fraction. “So sensitive.”
The word went through me like a blade.
Sensitive.
Because of me. Because of us. Because the night had left proof on both of us that couldn’t be laughed off or turned into a neat little rule for her project. My jaw flexed, and I kissed her temple, keeping my touch light, slow, almost reverent.
“Tell me if it hurts or if it’s too much,” I said.
Her eyes opened, and she looked at me over her shoulder with something soft and teasing and deeply unfair. “It’s never too much?”
I huffed a quiet laugh against her skin. “Don’t start.”
“You started.”
“I’m trying to be respectful.”
“You sound uncommitted.”
“Emotionally,” I said, brushing my thumb over her hip. “You forgot emotionally, Pip. Did I break you?”
Her smile trembled, and for one second, I saw the emotion beneath it. All the things neither of us were ready to name in the gray morning light. Then she reached back and slid her fingers into my hair, pulling me down until my mouth found hers again.
This kiss was different.
I touched her slowly while I kissed her, learning what made her melt and what made her inhale too sharply, memorizing every small reaction like it mattered more than breathing.
She was warm and soft and tender, and I took my time until her hips began to move in tiny, restless circles against my fingers, until her hand tightened in my hair and the sound she made against my mouth turned needy enough to snap the last clean thread of my self-control.
But I didn’t rush. Not with her like this, when she had handed me something more dangerous than permission.
Trust.
I shifted behind her, keeping her back tucked against my chest, her top leg hooked carefully over my hip. My hand stayed on her pussy, steadying her, grounding both of us. When I guided my cock into her, I paused there, breathing hard against the side of her neck.
“Still okay?” I asked, my voice nearly gone.
She nodded, her cheek brushing the pillow. “Yeah. More.”
I kissed the place beneath her ear. “Words, Pip.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I want you.”
My forehead dropped to her shoulder.
Holy fuck.