Chapter 4 #2
We spent the next two hours going through contingencies. Ava was methodical, thorough, asking questions about the team's capabilities, available gear, typical response times. She sketched approach routes on paper, calculated angles and exposure, and identified the most likely safe zones.
Watching her work was like watching art.
She wasn't just competent, she was brilliant. Every decision grounded in logic and experience, every backup plan already thought through. This was someone who'd spent years mastering her craft.
And someone who'd been broken by it.
I saw it in the way her hand tightened on the pencil when we discussed suspended extractions. The way her breathing hitched when I mentioned darkness and enclosed spaces. The trauma was there, just beneath the surface.
But so was the courage.
"Griffin?" She looked up from the map. "You're staring."
"You're impressive."
A flush crept up her neck. "I'm just doing my job."
"No. You're doing it better than anyone I've seen." I moved closer, unable to stop myself. "And you're doing it even though it scares you. That's not just impressive. That's..."
"Stupid?"
"Brave."
Her eyes locked on mine. The space between us felt charged, electric. The fire crackled. Wind rattled the windows. And we stood there, inches apart, the air thick with everything we weren't saying.
"Griffin." Her voice was barely a whisper. "What are we doing?"
"I don't know." I reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I can't seem to stop."
"Maybe..." She swallowed hard. "Maybe we don't have to stop."
"Ava..."
"I know all the reasons this is a bad idea.
I know we just met. I know we're supposed to work together.
I know I'm a mess and you're, you're dealing with your own things.
" She stepped closer. "But I also know that I haven't felt this safe, this seen, this, this alive in months. And I think you feel it too."
I did. God help me, I did.
"If we do this," I said carefully, "there's no going back. We can't pretend it didn't happen. Can't just be professional colleagues after."
"I don't want to be just colleagues." Her hand came up, resting against my chest. "I want, I want to feel something other than broken."
“I know you could walk away right now,” she whispered. “Just… don’t.”
"You're not broken."
"Then prove it." Her eyes met mine, challenging. Vulnerable. "Make me feel whole."
Every wall I'd built crumbled.
I kissed her.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't careful. It was three years of loneliness and hunger and desperate need crashing together in a single moment. Her mouth opened under mine, and she made a sound, half gasp, half moan, that went straight to my core.
My hands found her waist, pulling her flush against me. She was all soft curves and warmth, fitting perfectly in my arms. Her fingers tangled in my hair, holding me close like she was afraid I'd pull away.
Not a chance.
I walked her backward until her legs hit the couch. We tumbled onto it together, mouths never separating, hands exploring. She arched against me, and I groaned into her mouth.
"Griffin..." She broke the kiss, breathing hard. "The loft. Bed."
"You sure?"
"So sure."
We made it up the ladder through sheer determination, shedding layers as we went. Thermals. Shirts. Until we were down to bare skin and desperate need.
I laid her on the bed, taking a moment to just look at her. Curves and strength and beauty. Her hair spread across the pillow. Her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes on mine, dark with want.
"You're beautiful," I said roughly.
"You're overdressed." She reached for my belt.
I caught her hands, pinning them gently above her head. "Slow."
"I don't want slow."
"Too bad." I kissed her throat, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. "I've been thinking about this since the moment I saw you. I'm not rushing."
She whimpered as my mouth found her nipple. Her back arched, pressing into me, and I took my time, learning her body, discovering what made her gasp, what made her moan, what made her say my name like a prayer.
When I finally moved lower, kissing down her stomach, she was trembling.
"Griffin, please..."
"Tell me what you want."
"You. All of you. Now."
I stripped off the rest of my clothes and settled between her thighs. The heat of her against me was almost too much. I had to close my eyes, had to breathe through the overwhelming need.
"Look at me," she whispered.
I did.
"I trust you," she said.
Something in me tore loose, something I didn’t know was still shackled.
I kissed her as I pushed inside, swallowing her gasp, moving slow despite every instinct screaming to take her hard and fast. She was perfect, tight, and wet.
We moved together, finding a rhythm that felt inevitable. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper. Her hands traced the scars on my back, gentle and accepting. And with every thrust, every kiss, every whispered word, something shifted.
The walls I'd built didn't just crack.
They shattered.
"Griffin..." Her voice broke. "I'm..."
"I've got you. Let go. I've got you."
She came with my name on her lips, her body tightening around me, and I followed her over, falling into sensation and safety and something that felt dangerously like home.
After, we lay tangled together, her head on my chest, my hand stroking her hair. The storm raged outside. The fire crackled below. And for the first time in three years, I wasn't haunted.
"We're in trouble, aren't it?"
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. "So much trouble."
Trouble felt like the first right thing in years.
But neither of us moved.
The radio crackled.
"Griffin, Ava, storm's clearing. We've got a four-hour window. Mobilize to Widow's Peak coordinates. Hiker's been spotted. He's alive, but we need to move fast."
Reality crashed back.
Ava sat up, already reaching for her clothes. "Time to work."
I watched her transform, from soft and vulnerable to focused and professional in seconds. This was the woman who'd face down mountains and trauma and fear without flinching.
And somehow, impossibly, she was mine.
At least for now.