Chapter 39 - Wolfson
I don’t remember the first day I felt cold. But I remember the first day I felt warm.
It wasn’t sunlight. It wasn’t Monty’s high-end heating system. It wasn’t even my family rescuing me from arctic hell.
It was a runaway bride in white satin, sprinting down the street, skirt bunched in her fists, rage and hurt and defiance in her eyes.
The moment I saw Dove, her hair flying around her as if she were born from lightning, burned through me so fast I didn’t even know what it was. I only knew it melted the cold that had lived under my ribs since forever.
That warmth simmers through my veins now as I float on my back in the pool, listening to her cut through the water beside me.
Summer wraps the island in lazy softness, the dark sky streaked with starlight. The air smells like ocean salt, wet stone, and the faint sweetness of the lotion I rubbed into Dove’s skin after our shower this morning.
She surfaces with a slow push of her hands through her hair, looking like a retro pin-up rising out of the water.
The black-and-white halter bikini hugs her figure as if grateful for the job. Just one of the many rockabilly pieces I ordered during my online shopping bender.
Zero regrets.
“You’re staring.” She wades toward me, her hips swishing beneath the water. “Is this swimsuit your favorite?”
“You are my favorite.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve never owned this many clothes in my life.”
“That’s why I fixed it.”
“No one needs twenty bikinis.”
“Correction.” I sink beneath the water, letting my lips skim the surface as I drift toward her.
“You needed exactly that. You also needed that vintage skirt that swirls when you walk. You needed those boots for the next saloon door you kick open. You needed those tiny shorts that make it so damn easy for me to access heaven. And don’t get me started on the body jewelry. ”
“I admit your taste in fashion is exquisite. But the sheer amount of clothing you bought…” She splashes my face. “It’s excessive, you weirdo.”
“Your beauty is excessive.” And I’m fucking drunk on it.
After I bought half the Internet, I made her try on every single item in a private fashion show.
Spoiling her satisfies the newly awakened, possessive beast inside me that requires constant proof that she’s here, safe, and mine.
She’s clothed because I put clothes on her, fed because I put food in her mouth, and protected because I dragged her into my cave and locked the door behind her.
I glide closer and fit myself between her knees. Her thighs instinctively wrap around my waist. Warm. She’s so fucking warm.
“You know…” I brush a wet strand from her cheek. “I like taking care of you. Even if you don’t need it.”
“I like letting you. Even if I pretend I don’t need it.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth because if I kiss her fully, we’re not talking anymore. And we need to talk.
It’s been two days since we had sex the first time. Two days mostly spent naked, in bed or out of it, her breath tangled with mine, her nails in my shoulders, and my name in her throat.
My cock aches at the memory, ready to go again.
But tonight holds a quiet that invites a deeper connection. Rather than flinching from it, I feel strong enough to face it.
Maybe because of yesterday’s session with Dr. Thurber.
He’s a good listener. He doesn’t try to fix me in the first five minutes or talk to me like I’m a feral animal. He just waits and lets me speak when I’m ready.
And this time, I surprised myself. I shared things. Not everything, not the worst pieces, but enough to break away some of the stubborn plaque in my chest.
He told me my nightmares make sense. My panic spikes make sense. My breakdown after touching Jag… That makes sense, too. No shame or judgment. Just a man saying, You survived hell, Wolfson. Your brain reacts because it remembers.
Not gonna lie. I hate how exposed these sessions make me feel, how he sees the things I don’t say, and how he names feelings I’d rather pretend I don’t have. There’s a mountain of shit I need to work on. The anger, the guilt, and the stupid fixation on Jag Rath that I can’t shake.
I want to be better for Dove. The best version of myself. And whatever the hell this magnetic pull toward her stepbrother is… It’s not helping.
“You’re thinking too loud.” She taps my forehead with a wet finger.
“I want to ask you something. A few things.”
“Ask.” Her legs tense around me, her voice calm, but not casual. Never casual.
“I want to understand you.” I ease my head back to look at her.
“Which part?” Her chin lifts, guarded.
“All of it. Everything. But first and foremost, how are you? Be sincere. Really. How are you?”
“I’m fine.” At my arched brow, she sighs. “Okay, I’m… Tired. Jumpy. Half-hopeful, which I hate. Half-terrified, which is normal.”
“Why are you scared?”
“Because I feel safe. That scares the hell out of me. Safety has never lasted in my life. It usually comes right before something terrible.” She chews on her cheek. “I feel like I’m learning how to breathe again. It hurts. Everything hurts. But you make it hurt less.”
“What else?”
“You make me hungry in ways I don’t understand. I’m confused. And overwhelmed. My past sits in my bones like pockmarks. But I’m here. With you. Which means something I can’t name yet.” She releases a thready breath. “That’s the truth.”
Her honesty knocks the wind out of me. I want to wrap her up, hide her from the world, and swear on my life she’ll never have to brace for pain again. But I know better. She doesn’t need a cage. She needs a place to land.
“Thank you for telling me.” I graze my lips along her cheek.
“I don’t want the easy Dove. I want the real one.
The messy, uncertain one. The one who’s still figuring things out.
” I rest my mouth on her temple. “For the record, I’m not going anywhere.
So feel whatever you need to feel. I’m right here. ”
“I know, and I can’t express how grateful I am for you.” She cups my cheek, her exhale teasing my lips. “My turn to ask something.”
“Fire away.”
“What’s the quality you admire the most in the person you like the least?”
“The people I like the least are dead.”
“Someone alive.”
Well, that narrows it down. The contact list on my phone is a short one, and most of them are Strakh employees. But there’s one name missing, and he pisses me off in a way that feels… Annoyingly, dangerously satisfying.
Fucking Jag.
I know what I admire the most about him, but the moment I say it, she’ll see right through me.
Except this is what I wanted. Talking. Honesty. No secrets between us. She gave me her truth, and now I owe her mine.
“Okay. Here’s what I admire… His loyalty and sense of duty, even knowing how deeply he’s twisted those qualities into obsession. He won’t stop. Never. He’ll burn the world for his obsession and destroy himself in the process.”
She looks away, knowing exactly who I’m talking about. “His sense of duty kept me alive all these years, but it’s also the very thing that ruined me.”
“You’re not ruined.”
“My scars…” She coasts a hand down my damaged chest. “They live beneath the surface, unseen.”
“We need to talk about him, darling. Tell me how he hurt you.”
“I knew this was coming.”
“He’s in your head, in your choices, and the reason you jump when you hear footsteps behind you.”
“He’s my past.”
“And your future. Whether you like it or not, he’s not going away. The question is… Do I fit there with him? Or am I just a place to hide for a while?”
“Wolf…” She licks her lips, eyes dropping to my throat before lifting again. “I’ve been surviving for so long that even thinking about the future feels like picking a lock in the dark.”
“That’s fine. I’ll sit in the dark with you. But I need to know what you feel for him. I need the honest answer, the one you don’t want to give me.”
“Okay. Jag was…” She holds out her hand, ticking the list off on her fingers. “My guardian. My superhero. My protector. My only family. My prison.” She lowers her arm. “But he’s not mine. Not anymore.”
“What do you feel for me?”
“I feel…” Her breath leaves her in a quiet rush. “Like I’m choosing something for myself for the first time.”
“You choose me?” I grip her hips.
She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she tightens her legs around my waist. “I choose you.”
“I’m never letting you go.” The warmth hits so hard it’s painful. “Not a chance.”
“You say that like I’m planning an escape.”
“Are you?”
“Depends.” She drags her nails down my neck. “Are you a religious man, Wolfson Strakh?”
“I tried.”
“You tried to be religious?”
“There was a time when all I wanted was to have a friend in Jesus. But when I needed him most, when I needed to feel seen, to feel love, the Only Begotten Son had forgotten this son. And that book his devoted followers love to quote? It cheers on incest, shames anything queer, treats women like property, and sucks the balls of the patriarchy. Also, God isn’t real.
” I shrug. “So yeah. I’m your friendly, neighborhood heathen. Still want me?”
“Yes and amen.” She kisses my lips. “We’ll be heathens together.”
“Sweet unholy yes. Let’s start a cult. Church of Now-a-day Heathens. I’ve always wanted to be a priest. You can be my priestess. We’ll do his and her robes, matching tattoos, forbidden sex rituals, the whole damn thing.”
“Say no more. I’m never leaving you.”
“Cool.” Holding her against my chest, I paddle lazily around the pool. “So you and me. What do you want it to look like? Tomorrow? Next week? After that?”
She stares at me for a long time, the water rippling around us, her thighs clutched to my hips, and her swimsuit clinging so sinfully it makes my pulse throb.
Finally, she says, “I want to stop running.”
“From him?”
“From everything. I want to figure out who I am when I’m not fighting to stay alive.”
“Then let’s find out.” I run my hands along her thighs where silky skin meets the seam of her bikini bottoms. “What do you love? What are your favorite things?”
“I love engines. The rumble, the electricity, all that sexy power. I love thunderstorms for the same reason.” Her eyes hold mine, open and trusting. “And I love the way you look at me.”
“For the same reason?”
“Definitely.”
Her breathy answer doesn’t help the chub I’ve been fighting since she put on this damn bikini. I glance at the main house, knowing my family won’t be home from the distillery until late.
“What do you need right now?” I nuzzle her neck.
“You. Closer.”
“Then there’s only one question left.” I pull the string that holds her top and watch the scrap of material float away from her breasts. “Have you ever had sex in a pool?”
“No.” She reaches into my swim shorts and curls her fingers around me, claiming me.
I drag her out of her bikini and claim her right back with a need that feels like fate is finally sharpening its teeth.