Chapter 35
Rhett
I’m nervous.
I raise my hand to knock, then drop it and pace to the other end of the hallway. “This is stupid,” I mutter under my breath. The sanctuary is quiet, everyone else finally asleep after today’s revelations about the Ashen Oath, about Riley, about the choice that’s coming whether we’re ready or not.
But that’s not why I’m here, standing outside her door like some lovesick teenager.
“What the hell is your problem?” I shake my head, stepping back in front of her door. It’s just Bree. Bree, who I’ve known for years. Bree, who I’ve been keeping careful distance from because I’m terrified of making things worse.
I take a breath and raise my hand again to knock.
Then drop it again.
Christ. This is pathetic.
The distance has been eating me alive. The careful space she’s been keeping between us since Phil, since everything went to hell.
I get it—I do. But watching her today, seeing the look in her eyes when Stellan explained what the chamber wants from her…
Not afraid, exactly. Resigned. Like she’s already accepted that she’ll face it alone.
That’s what breaks me.
I raise my fist and knock before I can chicken out again. Soft, but firm enough that she’ll hear.
“Bree?” I keep my voice low. “It’s me.”
Silence stretches long enough that I wonder if she’s ignoring me. Then footsteps, quiet on the stone floor, and the door opens.
She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt that hangs to her thighs, hair mussed like she was trying to sleep. But her eyes are too bright, too alert. She hasn’t been sleeping any better than I have.
“Rhett.” Her voice is careful, neutral. “Everything okay?”
“No,” I say simply. “Can I come in?”
She hesitates, and that small pause cuts deeper than it should. But then she steps back, holding the door open.
Her room is exactly what I expected—warm colors, soft textures, the sanctuary’s way of responding to her needs. Small changes since we first arrived, but it feels different tonight. Smaller somehow, like the space between us is taking up too much room.
She settles on the edge of her bed, tucking her legs under herself. I stay near the door, suddenly uncertain.
“Bree, I—” I stop, run a hand through my hair. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For pulling back. For keeping my distance when you needed me to stay close.” The words taste like ash, but they’re true. “For letting my fear make your trauma worse.”
Her green eyes search my face. “Rhett—”
“I was so scared of hurting you that I ended up doing exactly that.” My hands clench at my sides, heat flickering under my skin. “When Phil—when I realized I should have been there, should have protected you—”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“But I should have stayed closer.” The admission tears out of me. “I should have trusted that you’d tell me if I was too much, instead of deciding for you. Instead of making you feel like you had to handle everything alone.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, studying me with those too-perceptive eyes. “I don’t forgive you yet,” she says finally, and the honesty is brutal. “I’m still angry. Still hurt.”
My chest tightens, but I nod. “I know.”
“But I miss you.” Her voice goes softer. “I miss us. How we used to be.”
“I miss you too.” The words come out rougher than I intended. “God, Bree, I miss you so much it’s like missing a limb.”
Something shifts in her expression—surprise, maybe, at the raw honesty.
But she deserves it. She unfolds herself from the bed, moves closer.
Not touching, but close enough. I close my eyes, taking in her scent.
I can smell her shampoo, and everything else that makes her smell like her. Like my Bree.
When I open my eyes, she’s watching me with something that looks like decision.
“I want you,” she says simply.
The mist around her feet stirs at her words, responding not just to arousal but to the raw honesty in her voice. Silver threads pulse once, like her Ether recognizes truth when she speaks it.
The honesty of it, the permission wrapped in truth, undoes something in my chest. “Are you sure?”
Instead of answering, she closes the distance between us, rises on her toes, and kisses me.
It’s different from before—not desperate or uncertain, but deliberate. She kisses me like she’s choosing me, even with all the fractures between us. Like want can exist alongside hurt, like desire doesn’t require forgiveness.
When she pulls back, her cheeks are flushed, her breathing uneven. “Show me,” she says.
“Show you what?”
“How much you missed me.”
The words break what’s left of my control. I cup her face in my hands, kiss her like I’m trying to pour weeks of regret and longing into the connection. She responds immediately, her hands fisting in my shirt, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us.
The kiss deepens quickly, relief and apology tangled in the desperate press of our mouths. My hands are tentative at first, skimming over her waist, her back, like I’m afraid she’ll change her mind. But when she pulls me closer, when she makes that soft sound against my lips, something in me snaps.
My hands grip her tighter, one sliding up to tangle in her hair, the other pressing against the small of her back. She tastes like mint and something uniquely her, and I can’t get enough.
“Off,” she breathes against my mouth, tugging at my shirt.
My hands shake as I pull it over my head, and she’s already reaching for the hem of hers. When she lifts it away, revealing the soft curves of her breasts, I forget how to breathe.
“God, Bree,” I whisper, my voice rough. “You’re so beautiful.”
Her cheeks flush, but she doesn’t look away. Instead, she reaches for my belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle in her urgency.
“Let me,” I say, but my own hands are trembling so badly I can’t get the damn thing undone.
She laughs—actually laughs—and pushes my hands away. “Here, let me before you break it.”
“Smooth, firefighter,” I mutter to myself, heat creeping up my neck.
“Don’t worry.” She gets my belt undone with efficient fingers, then looks up at me with soft eyes. “I’m nervous too.”
“You are?”
“Of course I am.” She tugs my jeans down my hips. “This matters, Rhett. You matter.”
She helps me out of my jeans when I hesitate, and then we’re both naked, skin against skin for the first time. The sensation is overwhelming—her warmth, the softness of her body pressed against mine.
I lift her easily, her legs wrapping around my waist as I carry her to the bed. When I lay her down, she’s looking at me with something that takes my breath away—want and tenderness and trust all tangled together.
I start at her mouth, kissing her deeply before trailing down her throat. When I reach her breasts, I take my time, learning the weight of them in my hands, the way her nipples peak under my tongue.
“Rhett,” she gasps when I suck gently, her back arching off the bed.
The sound of my name like that nearly undoes me. I worship each breast with reverent attention, my hands moving down, mapping the curve of her waist, the flare of her hips. Her skin is so soft, so warm under my palms.
When I kiss my way down her stomach, she goes very still.
“You don’t have to—” she starts.
“I want to taste you,” I say, looking up at her. “Please.”
Her breath hitches. “Okay.”
I settle between her thighs, and the sight of her—pink and glistening and ready—makes my mouth water. The first tentative lick makes her hips buck, a broken moan escaping her throat.
She tastes incredible—salt and sweetness and something that’s purely her. I’m clumsy at first, trying to figure out what she likes, but I follow her responses. When I find her clit with my tongue, she cries out.
“There,” she gasps, one hand threading through my hair. “Oh God, right there.”
I focus on that spot, alternating between gentle licks and firmer pressure. Her thighs start to shake around my head, and I slide two fingers inside her, feeling how wet and tight she is.
“Fuck,” she breathes, her hips moving against my mouth. “Don’t stop.”
I work her with my tongue and fingers until she’s trembling, until she’s making sounds I want to memorize forever. But when I try to add a third finger, I’m clumsy, and she winces.
“Shit, sorry—”
“It’s okay,” she breathes, but I pull back anyway.
“I’m sorry. I’m still figuring this out.”
“Hey.” She sits up on her elbows, looking at me with those green eyes. “You’re doing fine. Better than fine. Just—” She reaches down, covering my hand with hers, guiding my fingers. “Like this. Feel that?”
I follow her guidance, and when she moans, the sound goes straight through me.
“Yeah,” I say roughly. “I feel it.”
“Good. Now—oh God, yes—just like that.”
But before she can come, she’s pulling at my shoulders.
“I need you inside me,” she says, voice strained with want. “Please, Rhett. Now.”
I kiss my way back up her body, settling between her thighs. My cock is hard and aching, pressing against her entrance. But suddenly, the weight of the moment hits me.
“I need to tell you something,” I say, my voice rough.
Her eyes search my face. “What?”
“I’ve never—” I swallow hard. “With anyone. I was waiting. For you.”
Her pupils dilate, surprise and arousal mixing in her expression. “You’re a virgin?”
“Yeah.” Heat creeps up my neck. “I know it’s—”
She cuts me off with a kiss, deep and possessive. “That’s so fucking hot,” she whispers against my mouth.
The words send fire straight through me. She reaches between us, wrapping her hand around my cock, and I nearly lose it at the contact.
“I want to be your first,” she says, guiding me to her entrance.
When I start to push inside, the sensation is overwhelming. She’s so tight, so wet, so incredibly hot around me. I have to grit my teeth and go slow, watching her face for any sign of discomfort.
“Fuck,” I breathe, stopping halfway. “You feel—this is—”
“Don’t stop,” she says, but there’s amusement in her voice. “You can form complete sentences later.”
I let out a shaky laugh. “Sorry, I just—”
“Rhett.” Her hands frame my face. “Less talking. More moving.”
“Bossy,” I manage, but I push deeper, both of us gasping at the sensation.
“Breathe,” she whispers when I go completely still, buried to the hilt.
“Right. Breathing. That’s a thing people do.” I realize I’ve been holding my breath and let it out in a rush.
She laughs, and the sound vibrates around me in a way that makes me see stars. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m overwhelmed,” I correct. “There’s a difference.”
Focus, Caldwell. Don’t pass out on your first time.
Inch by inch, I sink into her until I’m fully seated. We both go very still, adjusting to the sensation. She feels perfect around me—like her body was made for mine.
“How does it feel?” she asks softly.
“Incredible,” I manage. “Better than I ever imagined.”
“Harder,” she breathes, wrapping her legs around my waist.
I increase my pace, driven by the way she responds to me. The bed creaks under our movement, and the sound mingles with our breathless gasps.
“You feel so good,” I groan against her neck. “So tight. So perfect.”
“Yes,” she pants, her nails digging into my shoulders. “Just like that. Don’t stop.”
I shift my angle slightly, and when I hit that spot inside her, she cries out. Her pussy clenches around my cock, and I know I won’t last much longer.
“Oh gods, Rhett,” she gasps.
“Come for me,” I murmur, reaching between us to find her clit. “Let me feel you come on my cock.”
The combination of my words and my cock hitting that perfect spot inside her sends her over the edge.
She comes with my name on her lips, her back arching, her pussy squeezing me so tight pushes me past the point of no return.
I bury myself deep and come hard, her name torn from my throat as everything in me pours into her.
After, when we’re both still catching our breath, I stay buried inside her, not ready to break the connection. The Ether has settled around us like a cocoon, silver and peaceful.
“That was—” I start, then stop, because there aren’t words.
“Perfect,” she finishes softly, tracing patterns on my chest.
I press my forehead to hers. “I never wanted anyone else. Only you.”
We’re both still breathing hard and wrapped around each other, as she traces patterns on my chest with gentle fingers.
“I’m still angry,” she says quietly.
“I know.”
“And I’m still figuring out how to trust you again.”
“I know.”
She presses a kiss to my collarbone. “But this—us—this is right. Even with everything else.”
I tighten my arms around her, press my face into her hair. “Yeah. It is.”
It’s not forgiveness. It’s not a promise that everything is fixed.
But I’ll do anything to make sure I never lose her again.