Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Tabitha
The storm doesn’t wait for us.
It cracks open the night in jagged lines of white, rattles the windows, shakes the cabin to its bones. But Henry doesn’t wait either.
“I don’t want safe,” I whisper against his mouth. “I want you.”
Something breaks in him then.
One second his lips are slow, almost cautious, tasting me like I might break if he presses too hard. The next he’s crushing me back against the rough cabin rug, his mouth devouring mine, his body all heat and weight and hunger.
It’s a kiss that doesn’t ask. It takes. It claims.
And I’m here for it.
Thunder booms overhead as he shoves his hands up my shirt, skimming hot over my ribs, my breasts. His breath is ragged, his teeth scraping against my bottom lip.
“Henry,” I gasp, arching up to him.
Clothes vanish. His and mine. They’re pulled, yanked, tossed somewhere in the shadows where lightning flickers and makes us look half human, half animal. My back scrapes on the rug, but I don’t care. His skin is fever-hot, every muscle rigid as if he’s been holding this back for years.
He thrusts into me hard, fast, the stretch shocking me even though I knew it was coming. My cry is swallowed by his kiss.
This isn’t slow. This isn’t reverent.
This is raw. Furious.
Every slam of his hips feels like he’s keeping the storm outside alive. The windows rattle, the beams groan, and Henry drives into me like he’s daring the storm to be more severe than we are.
I claw at his shoulders, dig my nails into his skin that’s slick with sweat.
He doesn’t stop.
His rhythm is merciless. It’s brutal and beautiful all at once. He drags me higher, higher, until lightning splits across the sky and I come apart beneath him.
The sound I make is primal, nothing like me, nothing I’ve ever heard from my own throat. His groan follows. It’s rough and broken, as if letting go is the hardest thing he’s ever allowed himself to do.
We collapse. The storm rages on, but inside we’re a tangle of limbs and harsh breaths, hearts pounding like we’ve just outrun something bigger than both of us.
I tell myself I won’t fall asleep in his arms.
I do anyway.
Morning comes and I rise, finding Henry’s shirt and wrapping it around me. I pad barefoot to the kitchen and heat water on the kettle for tea. Once it’s ready, I pour some into a mug and add a tea bag.
The silence is too loud. It’s different now. No longer charged by the storm.
Charged by something else entirely.
Henry moves behind me, and even without looking, I feel him. The scrape of his arm against mine as he passes is enough to light me up again. A graze of knuckles. That’s all it takes.
“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep. From last night.
“Don’t be,” I whisper back, but my throat is dry.
He pours himself water, adds a tea bag, the silence stretching like a rubber band about to snap. My chest feels tight. My body remembers everything.
Last night wasn’t the first time.
The night after the wedding. His mouth on mine, his body heavy over me, but different. Slower. Careful. I wanted more, craved the desperation I knew was buried under his control, but he didn’t give it. He made love like a man afraid he might break me.
Last night, there was no fear. Only fire.
I sip my tea, careful to avoid burning my tongue.
Then my phone buzzes.
The sound makes me flinch. It skitters against the counter, screen lighting up with words I don’t want to see.
Checking in again. Still up for coffee?
Lance.
My rescuer.
My stomach dips. I slam the phone face down, breath short. My pulse is too fast. I don’t reply. I can’t reply.
Henry sets his mug down harder than necessary. Tea sloshes. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.
The silence between us is different now. Heavier.
I glance up.
He’s looking at my phone.
His jaw is a hard, tight line. His eyes are darker than they were last night, the blue storm still in them.
Heat curls low in my stomach, but it’s tangled up with guilt, fear, and something else I can’t name.
I want to say it’s nothing. I want to say Lance doesn’t matter. But I’ve already said these things, and even so, my voice won’t work, not with Henry looking at me like that.
The storm outside might be over.
Inside? I’m afraid it’s just beginning.