Chapter 29 March 22, 2025
-Corbyn-
Sadie’s fingers traced along his arm as he pulled her closer, one of his hands tangled in her hair, the other settling on her waist. Corbyn felt his pulse quicken, and for once it wasn’t from the all-too-familiar feeling of panic, but something more profound, like finding a haven in a storm.
They had been standing like this for minutes now, the need for air forcing them to pull apart after another heated kiss. When she looked up at him, her eyes were soft, and he found himself leaning his forehead against hers without conscious thought.
“Corbyn,” she reached up to frame his face. The gentle touch grounded him in this moment, allowing him to believe this was real. She was here with him, her skin soft against his, and so much better than anything he’d ever imagined.
He caught her hands, holding them against his face for a heartbeat.
“I’ve wanted this,” he said quietly, “wanted you for weeks now.”
“I know,” she said, a small smile playing on her mouth. “So have I.”
He captured her lips with his once more, but this kiss was different from their desperate moments that had brought them here.
This was exploration, slow and deep, a promise built on discovery.
His hand traveled down her side to her waist once more, fingertips brushing the strip of skin where her sweater had lifted.
He felt her shiver at the delicate contact as goosebumps rose on her flesh.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching,” she whispered against his mouth. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”
He huffed a laugh, whispering back, “Who said I was trying to be subtle?”
She pulled him in for another kiss, and this time, his hands were bolder.
They slid under her sweater to span her back, relearning the language of touch.
A soft sigh, and the hint of a moan, escaped her lips.
It made his body hum with need. When her fingers went to his shirt buttons, though, he pulled back suddenly.
“Wait,” he said as she reached the third button. At her questioning look, he took a breath. “I know you’ve seen them before, but I…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
“But what?” she asked softly, her fingers stilling on his shirt. When he didn’t answer immediately, she added, “We can stop if you’re not ready.”
He shook his head, not willing to entertain that idea. Instead, he finished unbuttoning the shirt himself, muscle memory compensating for his left hand’s weakness.
She didn’t gasp, and she didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched her fingers trace the air above his skin, not touching, but close enough to feel her warmth.
“May I?” she asked, looking up to meet his eyes, seeking his permission.
He nodded, remembering how she’d touched his hand that day with the arnica cream, how gentle she’d been. Now he stood still, letting her explore.
“That morning by the pool,” she said quietly, her fingertips finding the most prominent scar.
“I need you to know that the scars weren’t all I saw.
They weren’t even the first thing I noticed.
” She looked up at him. “I saw your strength. Someone who keeps going despite everything. Who still swims and stays active. Someone who still pushes forward.”
He shivered—the nerves there were damaged, sensation dulled in some places, hypersensitive in others. His voice was rough when he answered, “You looked away so quickly. I thought…”
“I looked away because I was trying to be professional,” she said, her fingers growing bolder as they mapped the geography she’d only glimpsed before. “Because you seemed so guarded, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“I was. But not anymore,” he told her, catching her hand and resting it over his heart. “Not with you.”
She rose to kiss him then, her lips claiming his. She only lingered there for a moment before he felt her lips trail along his jaw, pressing soft kisses across his skin. She followed the line of his throat, her teeth grazing his skin.
“Sadie,” he breathed, his body going taut.
She continued tracing downward, her mouth finding the place where neck met shoulder, then lower still.
The first scar she encountered was where the fire had kissed his skin more gently.
It was pink and smooth, the texture like silk that had been crumpled and pressed flat again.
He felt her lips coast over the marred flesh, a soft touch that had him tense for a moment on instinct before his body relaxed.
The next was angrier, where the flames had bitten deeper. It was ridged and ropy, the skin puckered and tight across his collarbone. This one she traced with her tongue, and a low moan escaped him at the sensation, at the way she was claiming every inch of him.
Finally, she reached the scar over his heart. There, the flames had been the hottest. The skin here was a landscape that spun a story of survival, mottled and rippled like candle wax. She pressed her lips there, lingered, felt his chest rise and fall with shuddering breaths.
Something cracked open in his chest at that touch, that complete acceptance.
“These are stories too,” she whispered. “Stories of survival. Of strength.” She looked up at him, her eyes hooded, pupils blown wide. “Of a man who could have given up but has decided to live.”
His voice was a raspy whisper and he breathed, “Sadie…”
She looked up at him through her lashes. “Bed?”
“God, yes.”
They moved together, her sweater finally joining his shirt on the floor, and the sight of her in the moonlight made his mouth go dry. All that creamy, pale skin he’d imagined more times than he cared to admit was more beautiful than any description he could craft.
“You’re staring,” she said, but there was pleased warmth in her voice.
“I’m committing every detail to memory,” he told her, allowing a devilish half smile to tug at his lips.
He pressed her into the bed, but when he moved to cover her body with his own, his left hand gave out on him—trembling, then buckling beneath even that slight pressure. The familiar flash of frustration burned through him, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Damn it,” he breathed, his jaw tightening as he shifted his weight.
When Sadie’s eyes met his, though, he saw no pity in them, only understanding.
“Here,” she whispered, moving deliberately until his stronger side could bear most of his weight, her body arching to meet his. “Better?”
“Perfect,” he said, and meant it. It would be different than before, but she was here, warm and willing beneath him, and that was all that mattered.
He lowered his mouth to her throat while maintaining this position; no longer merely receiving but participating in their dance of desire. Her pulse fluttered under his lips, and when he nipped the spot where neck met shoulder, she gasped.
“Still good?” he asked, hyperaware of his weight, his balance.
“Better than good,” she breathed, her hands mapping the mostly unmarked skin along his back. “Don’t stop.”
He didn’t. He took his time learning her—every detail of her body—a slow exploration filled with soft sighs and sharp intakes of breath as they teased one another’s skin with their fingers and tongues.
He marveled at the tender spot behind her ear that made her sigh when his lips brushed it, and the curve of her collarbone that had her arching her back when he gently bit down.
His body might move differently now, requiring thought where there once was instinct, but it still wanted her with an intensity that almost frightened him.
They undressed each other with care; each new expanse of skin revealed felt like a gift. When nothing remained between them, he paused, braced above her on his good arm, drinking in the sight of her in the moonlight.
His voice was rough with want when he asked, “Are you sure?”
She pulled him down for a kiss that left no room for doubt, and then whispered against his lips, “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Still, he held back, his forehead pressed to hers.
“Are you?” she asked this time, her eyes searching his face.
“Completely.”
“If something hurts, if a position isn’t working, you tell me immediately,” Sadie said, her hands framing his face. “No suffering in silence, no pushing through pain. We’re in this together, which means you have to trust me enough to be honest.”
He swallowed hard. The vulnerability of it, the partnership she was offering, he had never expected to find someone who made him feel like this again. And if by some miracle he did, he had certainly never expected they would want him in return.
“I promise.”
The faith in her eyes undid him. When he finally joined with her, he watched her face for any sign of discomfort or regret. Instead, he found desire and something that looked very much like love.
They moved together, taking their time exploring what worked. When the skin along his ribs protested a certain angle, she shifted with him without comment. For weeks, they had been building toward this moment, and he intended to savor every touch and every feeling.
“You’re thinking too hard,” she murmured at one point, her fingers brushing the hair away from his eyes.
“I want this to be good for you,” he admitted, hips stilling for a moment.
“Corbyn.” She kissed him quietly. “You’re here. You’re with me. Trust me, it’s already good.”
Time loosened around them. The moonlight traced across the floor as they explored each other with hands and mouths, whispering words. When she moved above him, the sight of her in the silver light made his breath catch.
“Still with me?” she asked, reading something in his expression.
“Completely,” he said, and meant it. His hands found her hips, the right one steady, the left lighter but still present, still participating. “God, Sadie, you’re…”
Words failed him as she moved, as they found rhythms that had nothing to do with his limitations and everything to do with connection. When she shattered above him, her face transformed by pleasure, Corbyn felt the last of his walls crumble.
His own release followed, overwhelming after years of isolation. She held him through it, whispering his name like a prayer, and he might have wept if he’d had any breath left.
After, they lay tangled together, both breathing hard. His ribs ached, and his left hand had gone partially numb, but the discomfort felt distant, unimportant compared to the woman in his arms.
“Are you okay?” Sadie asked, tracing careful fingers over his chest. “Was it… did I…”
“It was perfect,” he interrupted, catching her hand. “I’ll have a few aches tomorrow, maybe, but it was worth every single one.”
She smiled, settling against his side with a contented sigh that made his chest tight.
“For someone worried about what he could do…” she murmured, her fingertips tracing the edge of a scar on his shoulder, her touch featherlight yet grounding.
He pressed a kiss to her hair, breathing in the faint scent of her shampoo—citrus and something uniquely Sadie. The simple intimacy of it struck him more profoundly than the passion they’d just shared.
The telltale thump of Riley settling against the door interrupted their silence.
“He’s judging us,” Corbyn chuckled softly.
Sadie traced a line across the smooth skin of his forearm. Her laugh tickled his neck, sending a shiver through his body.
“Let him,” she laughed, and he could feel her grin against his chest.
Corbyn held her tighter, pulling her close. All his careful analysis, all his planning, meant nothing against this simple, quiet certainty: here, now, they were real, regardless of what the coming weeks might bring. The future could wait.