Chapter 21 #2
So I breathe, even when my head is starting to hurt.
I let the air in slowly, deeply, hoping it’ll steady me.
I stare down and keep my focus on the shape of Sterling’s large hand in mine—how we fit, how warm he is, how much of him he offers to me.
He’s here. This is the present. This moment is happening right now, and I can hold it, so that my past won’t take me back.
Sterling is here, with me, right now, and I can hold on to him. I’ve spent so much time trying to reclaim the pieces of myself I lost. But tonight, I don’t want to chase the ghosts of my past and demand answers from them to fill the painful blank spaces of my mind.
I take another deep breath and look up, already losing myself when our eyes lock again. I blink, trying to find the words.
“I want to know…one day.” I squeeze his hand, moving closer to him until there’s barely any space between us. “But I’ve spent too much time trying to remember everything I lost. So even if it’s only for today, I don’t want to be lost in my own mind. I want to be here with you.”
He breathes out through his nose, the sound faint, but his shoulders ease.
While I wait for his words, I watch him.
The fire paints him in shades of warm amber.
His eyes are molten silver with dark, dilated pupils pointed at me.
His lips look soft, shaped perfectly, as if they were meant to fit mine.
I don’t know it for sure yet, but I feel it in my heart, like I was destined to stare at Sterling.
He’s the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen.
“Sterling…” I breathe out. “I don’t even know how many days it’s been since you brought me here. Since you gave me a roof, a warm bed, food and tea you make with your own hands… You take care of me like no one ever has.”
I watch the way his gray eyes swim.
“I don’t want to think about the past,” I whisper. “I want to be here. With you.”
There’s a long stretch of silence. Then slowly, so slowly, his fingers tighten around mine. It feels as if he’s been waiting for permission. So I nod a little, never wavering my gaze from his.
He pulls me gently into his chest, his other arm slipping around my waist. And I go with it easily.
My body fits against his like I was always meant to be right here with him.
I rest my cheek over his heart, feeling the steady thrum beneath his shirt.
His scent’s fresh air and faint oak, and I breathe it in, feeling lighter.
“I’m here,” he murmurs into my hair. “With you.”
I lift my head to meet his eyes. They’re too comforting to look away from, now more than ever.
Then he leans in. Oh. I barely have a second to react before his lips brush against mine.
They’re so soft, though tentative, as if he’s offering me time to pull away.
But I don’t want to. I don’t want space. I want this.
Him. I want him.
My breath catches, my pulse thunders in my ears, and before he can second-guess himself, I press in closer, closing the distance. Sterling lets out what sounds like a satisfied sigh, and then he’s kissing me like he’s starved for it, starved for me.
His hands slide onto my cheeks, cradling them gently. I still feel the restraint in his body, how tightly wound it is beneath his careful control. But I don’t want careful. Not now. Not ever. Not from him.
I dip my head and deepen the kiss. He makes a sound low in his throat, quiet and surprised. Maybe he wasn’t expecting me to meet him with equal hunger. But I do. I want this—him—so much that it hurts. He’s all fire and heat that sinks into me, unspooling deep in my chest, setting my heart alight.
His hand moves from my cheek to my jaw, to the nape of my neck, threading into my hair as his lips press in more.
It’s slow and consuming. Every press of his lips against mine asking if I’m still with him, if I want more.
I do. I truly, deeply do. So much so, that when I feel his heart beating against mine, it’s as if everything is right in the world.
Here with Sterling, while I’m wearing his flannel, basking in the warm comfort of his cabin.
Melting like molten heat against his lips.
And surrendering everything in his arms.
My hands curl into his shirt, holding on like I never want to let go. He pulls back slightly, resting his forehead against mine, both of us breathless. But he could steal all my air away. I’d happily let him.
“Elle,” he whispers. My name’s a plea falling from his lips.
I look up, seeing his gray eyes raw and shaken. “You don’t have to hold back with me,” I whisper, fingertips brushing the line of his jaw. “I want this, Sterling. I want you.”
His breath stutters. Then in a second, he kisses me again, guiding me to lean back on the couch. I sink down. He follows, bracing himself above me, one hand beside my head, the other at my waist.
He kisses me slowly, deeper than before. My fingers slide into his hair, and I pull him even closer, if that’s possible.
His lips part against mine, his tongue unhurried but claiming.
It sends a thrill through me that makes my toes curl.
His hand cradles the back of my neck, thumb stroking my heated skin.
Time feels like it’s stopped. There’s nothing else but this kiss, this pull between us, this impossible want that’s been building inside me for too long.
At some point, he breaks the kiss, both of us breathless again. “I…” he starts, but he swallows it down, his jaw flexing like he’s fighting the words back before they can spill out of him.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I whisper. Because I already know. I’ve known for a while now. I feel it in the way he looks at me, that I’m more than a broken thing he’s patching back together.
Sterling lets out another soft sigh. His hand nearly grips. His body firm against mine. His breath shaky as he brushes his mouth over mine again and again, as if he’s afraid of rushing. But I don’t want gentle. Not right now, when I’ve had a taste of his sweet, warm kisses.
So I give him what I can—what I want—threading my fingers into his hair and tugging, only a little.
A silent gasp escapes him, and that’s when I feel his control teetering.
His hand at my waist tightens, pulling me against him until there’s undeniably nothing left between us.
His other hand comes up to cradle the side of my face again, his thumb dragging against my cheek in a way that makes my pulse jump.
This kiss is everything we’ve kept bottled up. It’s all the near-touches, the glances that lasted too long, and the silent moments that always crackled with more than words.
He pulls back a bit, enough to breathe, and I can feel the tremble in his breath.
“You don’t have to be so careful,” I murmur, brushing my thumb across his lips.
His eyes close for a second. “Yes, I do.” There’s an ache in his voice, a sound of pained caution.
“No,” I whisper, “You don’t have to be. I want this, Sterling.”
His name is still on my lips when he kisses me again.
His mouth crashes into mine with need and desperation.
I open for him, breathless as his tongue grazes mine.
Warm, searching, and sending a bolt of heat straight through me.
My hands roam under his shirt, against his back, over the hard lines of muscle that flex beneath my fingers.
I feel his fingers at my waist. His touch glides over the thin fabric of my shirt—his shirt—up my ribs, every brush sending sparks along my skin.
His breath breaks by my lips, and I feel his full-body shudder. “Elle,” he whimpers.
I moan. My fingernails drag lightly against the nape of his neck.
He lets out a shaky breath. Angling my head, I eagerly give him more, and he takes it, his lips trailing down my jaw, to my throat, lingering there, breath hot against my skin.
I grind against him, his grip on my waist almost bruising me.
Sterling gasps, his breath uneven. “You’re killing me,” he whispers, so strained.
He lifts his head, his eyes burning into mine. His fingers slide up my side, tracing along my ribs, sending more shivers through me.
“You have no idea…” he whispers again, “how bad this could get.”
“I want you to show me.”
Sterling kisses me again, much more rougher this time. I meet him with just as much fire. My hands slide up his chest, with nothing between us but breath and fabric.
I feel the shivers in him as his lips devour mine. He pulls back just enough for our mouths to hover, our breaths mingling again. His fingers brush my cheek, tracing the edge of my jaw, so gentle it’s nearly torture. He’s still searching and seeking permission I never want to stop giving him.
“Elle…” he says, more shaken than before, like he’s fighting something inside himself. His gaze flicks past me, toward the coat rack. Then he asks, “Can I use the scarf?”
My breath’s still caught from his kisses. “The scarf?”
He nods. His hand drops from my cheek to flex restlessly at his side. “To cover your eyes.”
That steals the air from my lungs. I should ask why, but then I see that same flicker in his eyes from before, the barest hint of vulnerability.
It reminds me of that night when he took off his mask for me.
How exposed he must have felt. How much it must’ve cost him to show even that much.
Maybe this is like that. Maybe this is his way of showing me everything… without being seen.
So with a determined nod, I say, “Yes.”
Another small release of tension rolls off his shoulders.
He stands, walking over to the coat rack with that same soundless grace he always moves with.
I watch him take the scarf, running his fingers over the silk fabric.
He turns back, scarf in hand, gaze locked on mine.
If this is what he needs to stop holding back, then I want it. I want him.