11. Hannah
Hannah
I turned off the shower, steam curling around me like fog off alpine ridges. For the first time in days, I felt clean—not just scrubbed of dirt, but stripped down to something bare. Raw. Honest.
I reached for the towel and hissed as pain flared in my ankle. Off-balance, I caught the wall.
"You okay?" Caleb’s voice came through the door, rough and immediate.
"Yeah," I called back, then hesitated. "Actually… would you mind handing me the towel? It’s just out of reach."
The door cracked open. A hand appeared, towel in hand. But I didn’t take it right away.
Our eyes met through the steam.
Golden light blurred the space between us. I didn’t hide. He didn’t look away. His gaze darkened—not just with hunger, but reverence.
"You’re beautiful," he said. Like it surprised him. Like saying it cost something.
I stepped closer. Took the towel, but didn’t wrap it around myself. My fingers brushed his chest, where flannel gave way to bare skin.
"You make me feel safe," I said. "Especially now."
His hand rose, cupping my cheek, brushing a droplet from my skin.
"I don’t know what I’m doing," he murmured. "But I want to do it with you."
"Then stay," I whispered. "Not just tonight. In this. In us."
He leaned in. Kissed my forehead. My temple. Then my mouth. Slow. Intentional.
I wrapped the towel around myself. He helped me back to bed, steady and gentle—not because I needed rescuing, but because I wasn’t alone.
He guided me beneath the covers, brushed my damp hair back.
He started to pull away.
I caught his wrist. "Stay."
His brow furrowed. "Hannah—"
"Please."
My voice settled something in him. He slid in beside me, slow and careful. But I didn’t want careful.
I turned into him, hand slipping beneath his shirt. His breath caught as my fingers drifted down.
"We made it," I whispered.
"For now."
"Then let’s make this count. No fear. I choose you."
His hand cupped my cheek. Eyes locked.
"Are you sure?"
I kissed him. "Yes. I want you."
He kissed me back like a man who hadn’t touched truth in years. I pulled his shirt over his head, hands roaming across scars and strength. All of him. Mine.
He undressed me slowly, reverently, unveiling me like something sacred. When his mouth closed over my nipple, I gasped, arching into him. His beard scraped. His tongue soothed. Every flick and drag made me ache.
"Caleb," I breathed.
He kissed down my ribs, over my stomach, to the waistband of my shorts.
"Let me taste you."
I nodded, breathless.
He slid everything down, kissed the inside of my thigh, then found me. His beard tickled. His mouth opened.
His tongue stroked deep, slow. Then fast. He groaned like I was all he’d ever craved.
"Sweet. Fuck, Hannah."
He licked with precision, sucking and circling my clit until I was panting, writhing, begging. When he slid a thick finger inside me, it sent me over. I shattered, screaming his name.
He kissed his way back up, let me taste myself on his lips.
"You’re fucking incredible," he whispered.
He positioned himself between my thighs, gaze searching.
"I love you," I said. "I want to feel you. All of you. Now."
"God, Hannah. I love you too."
He entered me slowly, inch by inch. Stretching me. Filling me. Perfect.
"Jesus," I gasped. "You feel... so good."
He moved in deep, deliberate thrusts, each one wrecking me in the best way. My legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer.
His mouth moved across my skin—my throat, my breasts, my name on his lips. My nails dug into his shoulders.
"You’re mine," he growled. "I’ll never let you go."
"Don’t. Please. Never."
He shifted, hit the perfect angle—and I shattered again, sobbing his name.
That undid him. He thrust once, twice more, groaned, and came inside me, burying himself completely.
We collapsed, tangled. Slick with sweat. Hearts pounding.
His arms around me. My heartbeat against his.
"Still sure?" he rasped.
I kissed his shoulder. "More than ever.”
Our fingers laced. Breath slowed.
“Let’s make it count,” he said. “All of it.”