Chapter 3
Chapter three
Tilly
Iwake with the taste of him still on my lips.
My mouth feels tender, slightly swollen, and when I run my tongue across my bottom lip, the memory of last night’s kiss floods back with enough heat to make my face flush.
The mattress beneath me supports my lower back in a way my sagging apartment bed never has, and for the first time in months, nothing hurts.
Golden light filters through unfamiliar curtains.
The quilt smells like cedar and woodsmoke, and my body feels heavy in the best way, muscles loose and warm.
I stretch, testing my spine. The constant knot between my shoulder blades has reduced to a dull ache instead of the sharp pull I’ve grown used to.
The bedroom has oak furniture fitted so precisely I can’t find the seams, a dresser against one wall, and through the window, snow falling in thick, lazy flakes. A new toothbrush sits in its package on the bathroom counter. The small gesture makes my chest ache.
When I open the bedroom door, Davin stands at the stove in a thermal shirt stretched across his shoulders and jeans hanging low on his hips. His feet are bare on the wood floor. Seeing him relaxed and domestic in his own space makes my stomach flip.
He turns at the sound of the door, and his eyes track over me in one slow sweep. Not leering. Checking.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough with sleep.
“Morning.” I slide onto a bar stool at the kitchen island. “You didn’t have to let me sleep in.”
“You needed it.” He pours coffee into a mug and sets it in front of me with cream and sugar. “How’s your back?”
“Better, actually. That mattress is amazing.”
“Good.” He turns back to the stove where eggs are cooking in a cast-iron pan. “Storm’s still going. Roads won’t clear until tomorrow at the earliest.”
The news should make me panic. Instead, sitting in his warm kitchen watching him cook, all I feel is relief.
“I should call someone,” I say. “Let them know where I am.”
“Already handled. I called the bookstore this morning. Mika said word got out after we left the auction together.”
The casual competence makes my throat tight. “Thank you.”
He plates eggs with toast and bacon, setting a full breakfast in front of me before taking the stool beside mine. Not across from me. Beside me, close enough that his knee brushes my thigh when he shifts.
I hadn’t realized how hungry I was until food sits in front of me.
I eat without speaking, too focused on the simple pleasure of a hot meal I didn’t have to make myself.
Davin eats beside me, his presence solid and unhurried.
He doesn’t fill the silence with small talk.
He just exists next to me, and somehow that’s exactly what I need.
When my plate is empty, I set my fork down. “I need to be honest about something.”
His expression doesn’t change. “Okay.”
“My last relationship didn’t end well. I spent those years being told I was too much work.
Too needy. Too exhausting. So I learned to handle everything myself.
” I wrap my hands around my coffee mug, feeling the ceramic warm under my palms. “And now you’re here, doing all these things for me, and part of me keeps waiting for you to realize I’m not worth the effort. ”
Davin sets his mug down and turns on his stool to face me fully. His knee presses against mine, grounding me. “Look at me.”
I do. His gaze holds mine with enough intensity to make my pulse kick.
“You’re not too much,” he says, each word deliberate. “You’re a woman who’s been carrying weight that should have been shared, and you’ve been doing it so long you forgot what it feels like to set it down.”
My eyes sting. I blink hard.
“I’m not here because I pity you,” he continues. “I’m here because I watched you struggle alone for weeks, and it made me decide. You were going to be mine to help. Mine to protect. Mine to make sure you never had to carry everything alone again.”
The possessive language settles deep in my chest, quieting the restless thing that’s been clawing at me for months.
“That’s a lot to put on someone you just met,” I say, but my voice has gone soft.
“I know.” He cups my jaw, thumb brushing my cheekbone and sending a spiral of heat into my pussy. “And if it’s too much, you tell me. But I need you to understand. I don’t do things halfway. When I decide it matters, I commit. And you matter.”
I lean into his palm because fighting this feels harder than surrender.
“I don’t know how to do this,” I whisper. “Let someone in. Let someone help and be okay with it.” Heat prickles behind my eyes. His words feel overwhelming in their safety.
“You don’t have to know how. You just have to let me.”
A single tear spills hot down my cheek before I can stop it. His other hand comes up to frame my face, and he doesn’t tell me to stop or try to fix it. He just holds me while I cry, his palms warm and solid against my skin.
“I’m so tired,” I choke out. “I’m so tired of doing everything alone.”
“I know.” His voice is low, soothing. “But you’re not alone anymore, darling.”
The endearment breaks me open. I lean forward, pressing my forehead against his chest, and his arms come around me immediately. He’s so solid, so warm. I let the weight I’ve been carrying dissolve into his strength. His heartbeat is steady under my ear, grounding me when everything else spins.
He holds me while the tears slow, one hand stroking up and down my spine. When my breathing evens out, I pull back enough to look up at him.
“Better?” he asks.
“Yeah.” My voice is muffled. “Sorry about your shirt.”
“I don’t care about the shirt.” His hand continues its path up my back. “I care about you.”
His face is close enough that I can see the darker flecks in his brown eyes. “You barely know me.”
“I know enough. I know you’re strong and stubborn, and you’ve been fighting alone for too long. I know you deserve someone who sees how hard you’re working and wants to make it easier.” His thumb brushes away the remaining tears on my cheek. “I know I want to be that person.”
“Why?”
“Because the moment I saw you struggling through your shop window, I recognized you. Like I’d been waiting for you without knowing it.”
My pulse kicks hard against my ribs. This is the kind of bone-deep connection I’ve read about but never believed could happen. And yet here I am with a man I met yesterday, and it feels more real than any relationship that took months to build.
“I’m scared,” I admit. “Of how fast this is. Of how right it feels when it shouldn’t.”
His hands slide down to my waist, and he lifts me effortlessly from my stool despite my size, my curves, and sets me on his lap so I’m straddling him.
My thick thighs spread over his, and I’m acutely aware of his size, how small I feel perched on him like this.
His hands grip my waist, thumbs brushing the soft skin just above my jeans.
“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, looking up at me. “But don’t let fear make you run from good.”
I rest my hands on his shoulders, feeling solid muscle under my palms. “What if I mess this up?”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know you’re brave enough to start a business from nothing. Strong enough to carry a weight that would break most people. Smart enough to recognize when it’s worth taking a risk.” His hands tighten on my waist. “So yeah, I know you won’t mess this up.”
The faith in his voice undoes me. I lean down and kiss him, pressing my mouth to his with all the gratitude and fear and desperate hope I can’t name. He groans and kisses me back, one hand sliding up my spine to cradle the back of my head while the other stays firm on my waist.
This kiss is different from last night. Last night was gentle, testing. This is claiming. His mouth moves over mine with purpose, his tongue sliding against my bottom lip until I open for him. He tastes like coffee and darker things that send heat straight to my pussy.
I shift on his lap, trying to get closer, and feel him hard beneath me. Want jolts through me so intense that it makes me gasp against his mouth.
He pulls back, breathing hard. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. “Tilly.”
“Don’t stop.” My voice comes out breathy. “Please don’t stop.”
His jaw works. “I need you to be sure. Tell me this is what you want, not just because you’re emotional.”
The care in his words makes my pulse race. “I want this. I want you.”
“Say it again.”
“I want you, Davin.” I hold his gaze. “I want you to touch me.”
His expression shifts. The restraint cracks, and what’s underneath is raw and hungry. His hand slides up from my waist to cup my breast through my shirt, thumb brushing across my nipple. The touch sends sparks down my spine, and I arch into his palm.
“Bed,” he says, voice rough. “I’m not doing this on a barstool.”
He stands, lifting me with him, and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me to the bedroom like I weigh nothing, his hands secure under my thighs, and kicks the door shut behind us.
He eases me onto the bed with careful hands, then follows, lowering his full weight until every solid inch of him presses me deep into the mattress.
The pressure should feel confining, but instead it wraps around me like safety itself: his chest to mine, hips aligned, thighs bracketing my softer ones.
I breathe him in, woodsmoke and clean skin and something darker now, hungrier.
His mouth finds mine again, no preamble this time. The kiss turns ravenous, with his lips parting wide, tongue stroking deep, claiming my mouth in slow, deliberate sweeps that make my head spin. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are molten.
“May I?” His fingers curl around the hem of my shirt, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin just above my waistband.
“Yes.” The word trembles out.