Chapter 14
Sawyer
“You’re staring,” she finally breaks the tension humming between us.
“I know.” I say as she stands in my kitchen barefoot, eyes shining like she hasn’t just rearranged my entire life.
Her mouth curves. “Should I be worried?”
“Yes.”
She laughs softly. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been holding back since you walked through my door.”
Her pulse flickers in her throat.
I stop a breath away. Close enough to feel her warmth, close enough to see the way her chest rises. “I’m done holding back.”
Her fingers curl into the hem of her shirt like she needs something to anchor her.
“You’re sure?” she asks quietly.
“No,” I answer honestly.
Her brows lift.
“But I’m choosing you anyway.”
That lands. I see it in her face — that shift from playful to something deeper. Her gaze drops briefly to my mouth. When it lifts again, it’s steady.
“Then don’t treat me like something fragile.”
I reach up and slide my hand into her hair, thumb brushing the side of her neck.
“I’ve never thought you were fragile.”
“Good.”
“I’ve thought you were dangerous.”
A slow smile curves her lips. “Dangerous how?”
“You walk into my house and make it feel alive again.”
“That’s not dangerous.”
“It is when you’re a man who forgot how to live.”
The words hang between us.
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pity.
She steps closer.
“I never wanted to replace anything,” she says softly.
“I know.”
“I don’t want to erase her.”
“You don’t.”
“You don’t have to choose between loving her and loving me.”
My chest tightens.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It’s not simple,” she says. “It’s brave.”
My hand slides from her hair down her back, resting at her waist. “You think I’m brave?”
“I think you run into burning buildings for strangers.”
“That’s different.”
“No,” she says firmly. “It’s not.”
Silence stretches.
The air between us shifts again — no longer tension sparking. She reaches up, fingers brushing the scar at my collarbone. The one the fire left.
Her touch isn’t hesitant.
It’s curious.
“You don’t scare me,” she says quietly.
“You should be scared of me.”
She smirks. “Why?”
“Because when I finally decide I want something, I don’t do it halfway.”
Her breath catches slightly.
“I noticed.”
I slide my hand to the small of her back, pulling her flush against me.
“Say it,” I murmur.
“Say what?”
“That you want me too.”
Her hands press against my chest, not pushing me away. Just feeling.
“You know I do.”
“I want to hear it.”
She exhales slowly. “I want you.”
The words are soft but certain.
“How much?” I press.
Her gaze flickers, heat rising in her cheeks.
“You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”
“No.”
Her hands slide up over my shoulders. “I want you enough that leaving felt like tearing something out of me.”
That does it.
I lower my forehead to hers.
“I don’t want you because you healed me,” I say quietly. “You stood there. You let me be angry. Let me be broken. Let me be quiet.”
Her fingers trace the back of my neck.
“I don’t need you perfect.”
My mouth brushes hers slowly.
This time there’s no rush. No edge of panic. No fear of crossing a line.
We already crossed it.
Her lips soften under mine, opening slightly when I deepen the kiss. Her hands grip my shirt like she’s anchoring herself, but she leans into me fully.
I move slowly.
Deliberately.
Mapping the feel of her without urgency.
She exhales against my mouth, a sound that travels straight through me.
“You’re shaking,” I murmur.
“You’re intense.”
“I warned you.”
She huffs a quiet laugh against my lips. “Don’t stop.”
I don’t.
My hands roam her back, her waist, her hips — not grabbing, not taking — just feeling. Learning. Letting the moment stretch instead of ignite too fast.
This isn’t about hunger.
It’s about arrival.
She pulls back slightly, searching my face.
“You’re here,” she says softly.
“Yeah.”
“You’re not pulling away.”
“No.”
Her hand slides to my jaw, thumb brushing the rough line of my beard. “You feel different.”
“How?”
“Like you’re not fighting yourself anymore.”
I press a kiss to her palm. “I’m not.”
Her breath trembles faintly.
“Good,” she whispers.
I guide her backward slowly until her hips meet the edge of the counter. My hands settle at her waist again, firm but steady.
“You sure?” I ask quietly.
“Yes.”
“Last chance to run.”
She smiles.
“I’m not running from this.”
“Good.”
I kiss her again, deeper now, letting my restraint melt without losing control. Her hands move more confidently, sliding over my shoulders, down my chest. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, tugging slightly.
“You’re still too dressed,” she murmurs.
A grin tugs at my mouth. “Bossy.”
“Maybe.”
I step back just long enough to pull my shirt over my head. Her eyes trace over me, unashamed.
“That better?” I ask.
Her lips part slightly. “Much.”
I step forward again, lifting her easily onto the counter. She gasps softly, hands gripping my shoulders.
“I like when you do that,” she says.
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because you stop pretending you’re in control.”
Her eyes flash. “I don’t need control.”
“No,” I murmur, stepping between her knees. “You need trust.”
I press my forehead to hers again. Her hands slide into my hair, pulling me down for another kiss.
This one feels different.
Reverent.
Slow.
When we finally break apart, she rests her head against my chest, listening to my heartbeat. I wrap my arms around her fully, holding her against me.
For the first time in years, loving someone doesn’t feel like betrayal.
It feels like expansion.
Like the house didn’t lose something.
It gained.
I press a kiss to the top of her head.
“You’re not my second chance,” I say quietly.
“What am I?”
“My next chapter.”
She smiles against my skin. “I can live with that.”
I pull back just enough to look at her. “No more halfway.”
“No more almost.”
I brush my thumb over her bottom lip. “You ready to build something real with me?”
She nods. “Yes.”
I kiss her again — slow, certain, unafraid as I weave my hands through her hair, my lips brushing against hers. And then I need more. I lift her into my arms and carry her down the hallway to my bedroom.
I can feel her heart racing, her breath hitching as I trail kisses down her neck, my hand sliding up her waist to lift her shirt over her head.
I lightly dust my fingers over her t-shirt, then cup her breast gently through the cotton, teasing her nipple before sliding a palm under the hem and pulling down the cup and taking her soft nipple into my mouth.
She sighs, her body responding to mine as I nip and knead, her breath becoming ragged.
I work at the button on her jeans, pushing them down her thighs.
I'm too eager to wait, spinning her around and guiding her over my bed.
I knead her soft ass cheeks, yanking her panties down and fastening my mouth on her warm pussy.
I lick her in slow, hard strokes, tonguing her slit and biting gently, adding my fingers to the mix as I sink one, then a second into her.
My hand works against her, my mouth sucking at her soaked slit, until her legs begin to quiver.
I hold her waist with one hand, grinding her pussy against my face until she comes hard, her body shaking and her knees buckling.
I own her body, slamming her against mine, cradling her against me as I spin and guide us back onto the bed.
She kicks off her jeans, and I grip her panties, tearing at the fabric, tossing it aside before I press my cock against her pussy.
She slides against me, the feel of her hot core against my thick cock driving me crazy.
A mix of lust and need floods my system, desire burning brighter, burning deeper.
"Oh my God," she hisses as the tip of my cock presses at her entrance.
"Your sweet pussy is soaked for me, Tessa.
" I spread her ass cheeks, one finger probing her tight ring of muscle as I clamp my teeth onto her nipple.
I pull on it softly, looking up at her. Lightning bolts of awareness shake me.
I know. I know without a doubt. It's her.
The girl of my dreams. The only woman I want in my future. Forever.
"Oh my God," she gasps, her hips urging my cock into her body. My fist tightens at her waist, my lips moving to her other nipple before one fingertip sinks into her ass. She sucks in a violent breath as my cock pushes past her entrance, making her mine forever.
"Tessa—" I suck at her nipple. "Tessa, Jesus, you’re so warm and tight.
So wet and so hot and so perfect for me.
I can't control myself around you—you drive me crazy every damn day.
You're so beautiful and sweet and perfect, the way you look up at me with those big, round eyes.
" I pump harder, my rhythm staccatoing with each word.
"You're mine, Tessa. You've always been mine.
" My hand slips between us, the rough pad of my thumb rubbing her clit in waves.
Her orgasm builds, her eyes shedding tears. She loves me, I can see it in the way she gazes into my soul. And she doesn't even know how much this means, what this is.
"Sweet, sweet Tessa. So beautiful wrapped around my cock, my finger inside that pretty little ass.
I want to claim every inch of you, sweet girl.
Are you ready for me?" I gnash down on my lip, my fingers speeding up against her clit as her orgasm rushes closer, my cock stiffening as I hit a deep spot inside her.
"I want all of you, Tessa. Show me how much this pussy needs me." My words throttle through her, her orgasm coming fast as she falls over, losing herself in me, quaking and shivering and crying in a violent storm on top of me.
My lips trail across her face, hips pumping as I lick away her tears, suck at her throat, and whisper, "I'm yours, Tessa.
" She clamps down on my bottom lip, catching me in a kiss with long, languid strokes that send fireworks up my spine.
She crawls up my body, arching against me, grinding her core against me until another orgasm begins to build.
"I'm gonna lose my mind with you." I suck at her ear, hands sliding between us as I stoke her swollen clit and then come deep inside of her.
I'm mesmerized by the sight of her, her face soft with pleasure, as I push my fingers into her mouth.
My eyes darken with desire as they fall on the heavy flesh of her breasts, cups still pushed down and propping them out.
"Feels like I've waited a lifetime to meet you.
Don't wanna waste a fucking minute." I pull her down, kissing her, molding her against me, sucking all the air out of her lungs. "You're mine now, Tessa.”
Fresh tears trail down her cheeks as she nestles against my hard body. She snakes her fingers across my chest, cuddling closer into me.
“Stay with me tonight–in my bed?" I rumble at her ear.
She answers the only way she can. "Yes, Sawyer."
And for the first time since the fire a decade ago, the heat inside my chest doesn’t feel like something destroying me.
It feels like something alive.