Chapter Forty-four Amethyst
I wake again. Slower this time. Warmer. The room is darker. Evening light. Soft. Gray-blue. Peaceful.
My body feels different. Less pain. More—
Awareness.
Of the sheets. Of the warmth beside me. Of him. Kade.
In the bed now. Not the chair. Lying next to me. On his side. Watching. Always watching. His eyes are dark. Intense. But something else too. Relief. Deep. Profound. Like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. And only now remembers how to exhale.
“Hey," I say.
My voice is stronger. Clearer.
“Hey," he says back.
His hand moves. Finds mine under the covers. Fingers threading through. Holding. “How long this time?"
“Five hours."
Five hours. I slept five hours. Without waking. Without nightmares. Without fear. That’s—
New.
“You should’ve woken me."
“No."
Simple. Absolute.
“You needed it."
I did. My body needed it. Demanded it. And for once.
I could give in. Could surrender. Without consequence.
Without danger. I turn my head. Look at him.
Really look. The wound on his chest. Healed now.
Mostly. A scar forming. Pink. Raised. Permanent.
Evidence. Of what he survived. Of what he risked. For me.
“Does it hurt?" I ask.
He knows what I mean.
“No."
“Liar."
His mouth curves. Small. Brief. Almost a smile.
“Manageable."
I reach out. Slow. Careful. My fingers trace the scar. Light. Reverent. He inhales. Sharp. Not pain. Want. Memory. Relief. Something deeper.
“Amethyst."
My name. Low. Rough. Warning. Or invitation. Maybe both. I keep touching.
Following the line. The ridge of scar tissue. The proof that he’s real. That he’s here.
That we both survived. His hand catches mine. Stops the movement. Holds my fingers against his chest. Over his heart. I feel it. The beat. Strong. Steady. Alive.
“I thought I lost you," he says.
The words are quiet. Barely above a whisper. Like saying them too loud might make them real again.
“When I saw the cabin burning."
His grip tightens.
“I thought—"
He stops. Can’t finish. Can’t say it.
I shift. Closer. The ribs protest. Dull ache. Background noise. I ignore it. Press my forehead to his.
“I’m here."
“I know."
“I’m alive."
“I know."
“I’m not going anywhere."
His eyes close. Breathing uneven. Controlled. But barely.
“Say it again."
The command is rough. Not a request. A need.
“I’m not going anywhere."
“Again."
“I’m not—"
His mouth finds mine. Cuts off the words. Takes them. Claims them. The kiss is different. Not desperate. Not frantic. But—
Intense. Consuming.
Like he’s trying to memorize. Every angle. Every taste. Every breath. His hand moves. Cups the back of my head. Gentle. Careful of the healing cuts. But possessive. Always possessive.
I open for him. Let him in. Let him take. Whatever he needs.
His tongue slides against mine. Slow. Thorough. Claiming. I make a sound. Soft. Needy. He swallows it. Deepens the kiss. His other hand moves. Down my side. Careful. Avoiding the ribs. Finding my hip. Gripping. Holding me. Anchoring me. Mine.
The word isn’t spoken. Doesn’t need to be. It’s there anyway. Between us.
He pulls back. Just slightly. Breathing hard. Eyes dark. Feral. But controlled.
“Tell me if it hurts."
“It won’t."
“Amethyst."
“I need this."
Truth. Simple. Undeniable. I need him. Need this. This connection. This proof. That neither of us imagined it. That we’re both still here. Both alive. Both safe.
He studies my face. Searching. Looking for doubt. For hesitation. For pain. Finds none.
“Slow," he commands. Not a request.
“Yes."
His hand slides under my shirt. His shirt. The one I’m wearing. Warm palm against my stomach. Careful. Reverent. Mapping. He moves up. Slow. Deliberate. Avoiding the bandaged ribs. Finding my breast. Cupping. Gentle.
His thumb brushes my nipple. Soft. Teasing. I arch. Careful. Controlled. But wanting. Needing. More. He leans down. Kisses my neck. Soft. Reverent. His teeth graze. Light. Promising.
“I could’ve lost you."
The words brush against my skin with every kiss. Every touch. Every careful movement. Not accusation. Not guilt. Fear. Raw. Honest The kind Kade almost never shows.
“But you didn’t."
“I could’ve been too late."
“But you weren’t."
The truth neither of us can change.
His mouth moves lower. To my collarbone. To the cuts. Healed now. Mostly. He kisses each one. Gentle. Reverent. Not hiding them. Not pretending they aren’t there. Accepting them. Every scar. Every mark, Every piece of me.
His hand leaves my breast. Moves down. Over my stomach. To the waistband of my underwear.
Pauses.
Asking.
I nod. Lift my hips. Careful. He slides them down. Slow. Gentle. Removes them completely. His hand returns. Between my thighs. Fingers sliding. Testing. Finding me wet. Ready. Wanting. He groans. Low. Guttural.
“Amethyst."
“Please."
One word. All I can manage. He shifts. Moves over me. Careful. So careful. Supporting his weight. Not pressing. Not crushing. His hand guides. Positions. The head of him against me. Hot. Hard. Ready. He pauses. Eyes on mine. Dark. Intense.
Asking. Always asking. Even now. Even when I’m already saying yes. Even when I’m begging.
“Yes," I say. “Please."
He pushes in. Slow. Controlled. Inch by inch. Filling me. Stretching me. Completing me. I gasp. Not pain. Pleasure. Pure. Overwhelming. Perfect. He stops. Fully seated. Buried deep. His forehead drops to mine. Breathing hard. Controlled. But barely.
“Okay?"
“Yes."
“The ribs?"
“Fine."
“Don’t lie."
“I’m not."
Truth. The ribs ache. But it’s nothing. Background noise. Compared to this. To him. To us. To the impossible reality that we’re both still here.
He starts to move. Slow. Careful. Each thrust measured.
Controlled. Deep. His hand slides between us.
Finds my clit. Circles. Gentle. Persistent.
Building. I arch. Careful. Controlled. Meeting him.
Taking him. All of him. His mouth finds mine again.
Kissing me. Swallowing my sounds. My gasps.
My moans. The rhythm builds. Slow. Steady.
Not frantic. Not desperate. But intense. Consuming. Claiming. His hand works. Circles. Presses. Builds. The pressure coils. Tightens. Winds. Ready to snap.
“Kade—"
“I know."
“I’m—"
“I know."
His thumb presses. Circles. Again. I break. Shatter. Come apart. Around him. On him. For him. He follows. Seconds later. Buried deep. Claiming. Filling. Marking.
Mine.
His.
Ours.
The first thing that truly belongs to both of us.
We stay like that. Connected. Joined. Breathing hard. Hearts racing. Together. Finally. Completely. Together. He shifts. Careful. Pulls out. Moves beside me. Pulls me close. Against his chest. His arms wrap around me. Protective. Possessive. Safe.
“I love you," he says.
Quiet. Simple. True.
“I love you too."
His hand strokes my hair. Gentle. Soothing. Grounding.
“We’re safe now."
“Yes."
“Really safe."
“Yes."
The word feels foreign. Strange. Impossible. But I believe it.
“Just us."
“Yes."
Just us. Together. Free. Safe.
Words I spent years believing I’d never have. Yet here they are. Real.
I close my eyes. Let myself sink into him. Into the quiet. Into the certainty.
For the first time in years, I don’t have to survive.
I can simply live.
With him.
Together.
And that—
That’s everything.