Chapter 22 #2
I pulled him closer, nails digging into his shoulders, grounding us both in the reality of the moment.
The heat between us was overwhelming, familiar and feral, built from years of knowing exactly how to undo each other.
There was nothing tentative about the way he slid inside me.
This was memory and muscle and want colliding all at once.
He filled me to the hilt and pulled back, then slammed into me again, keeping his rhythm steady and punishing.
His forehead dropped to mine, our breaths tangling, both of us shaking slightly as if the adrenaline hadn’t fully burned off yet. “Tell me you’re here,” he said, low and urgent.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That did it. He kissed me again, deeper, harder, like he was trying to seal the promise into me.
The world narrowed to heat and pressure and the steady slide of skin against skin, to the way his body moved with mine like it always had—instinctive, unthinking, right.
Every touch said the same thing: I’ve got you.
I’ve always had you. We were lost to each other, to the moment.
My pussy clamped down on him as he pushed me over the edge, yet he didn’t slow down, his thrusts grew stronger as he hit all the right spots inside me.
And when I cried out, he groaned and fell over the edge with me.
When he finally stilled, resting his weight over me, his face buried in my neck, we were both breathing like we’d run miles.
His arms came around me then, not desperate anymore but fierce.
Protective. Like he wasn’t letting go if the world tried to rip us apart again.
“Stay,” he murmured, the word vibrating against my skin.
I wrapped myself around him, holding just as tight. “I’m not running this time.”
I didn’t see myself anywhere but with this man. That much I knew to be true.
After, we stayed tangled beneath the quilt, the early light washing over us. Eric’s arm circled my waist. His breath brushed the top of my head.
“You okay?” he asked softly.
“More than okay.” My voice was quiet. “For the first time in a long while.”
He smiled against my hair. “Me too.”
For a long moment I listened to his breathing, memorizing the steadiness of it. His hand found mine under the blanket.
“Should we talk about the fact we didn’t use protection?” he asked, and I was relieved he was bringing it up.
“I’m on the pill. I’m clean,” I said to him.
“I’m clean too,” he said and his voice cracked. He lifted a hand and caressed my face. The look in his eyes said more than words ever could. “I don’t want barriers between us.”
His words carried weight, but the look in his eyes carried meaning.
“Me neither,” I yawned. My eyes lulled shut as a sense of contentment washed over me.
“You awake?” he murmured.
“Barely.”
“Good. Means I get another minute to look at you.”
I turned to him, my chest tight with something warm and aching.
He brushed a kiss against my temple, then my cheek, then my lips.
Slow, lingering. No rush. No fear. Eventually, we moved to the shower.
Steam filled the tiny bathroom, the warm water washing away the cold from the night before.
Eric brushed a damp strand of hair behind my ear and kissed my jaw.
Gentle moments like that were always the ones that scared me most. Danger I understood.
Kindness was trickier. He made love to me again against the shower wall as my palms braced the old blue tiles.
The space was tight, but Eric took me from behind while his fingers rubbed my clit in circles that sent me over the edge again.
This man had always been my everything. Maybe that’s why I rejected every man who ever hit on me since him.
He had ruined me, and now he was ruining me all over again.
After we both came for a second time that morning, we got washed up and left the shower.
As we dried up, he said, “Festival prep starts soon,” he said softly. “If we’re late, Sandy will smile and then judge us with her eyebrows.”
I laughed because he wasn’t wrong. We dressed in quiet ease, slipping back into an old rhythm without meaning to. My shoulder twinged when I reached for my sweater. Eric saw it.
“You should’ve said something earlier.” He frowned.
“It’s fine.”
“You always say that,” he grumbled.
“It’s usually true.” I shrugged.
He didn’t push. Instead, he held my jacket so I could slide it on without straining. His hand lingered a second longer than necessary, warm against my back before he stepped aside.
Outside, the cold hit my cheeks, crisp and sharp.
The orchard stretched wide and frost-bright, a thin mist hanging low between the rows.
It should have felt peaceful. It used to.
But something inside me tugged tight, like a warning I couldn’t name.
We walked to his truck. The gravel crunched softly under our boots, the only sound in the morning stillness.
Eric noticed. “You okay?”
“Yeah, just thinking.”
He didn’t ask about what, but I thought of my mother and the way she called me Little Thistle, like it was a reminder to stay strong now, especially with my brother losing his mind over me coming home.
We climbed inside the truck. The engine hummed to life, warm air blowing against my legs.
Festival banners fluttered across Main Street as we pulled into town, the gold, burgundy, and deep green were bright enough to look cheerful, bright enough to look safe.
But the quiet beneath the color felt wrong.
People from town were setting up booths, carrying crates, hanging lights.
Everything looked normal. Normal enough that no one else would think twice.
But I could feel it. Like a shift in the air as my skin prickled.
I felt eyes lingering on me, like breath on the back of my neck.
I reached for my seat belt, unbuckling it slowly.
Whatever was going on with my brother wasn’t the whole story.
There was something else bigger brewing, I just didn’t know what or who it could be.
I straightened my shoulders. I was a little thistle.
I was strong. I wouldn’t waiver. I wouldn’t back down, no matter what.