Chapter 10 #2
He didn't. He moved slowly at first, each deliberate thrust sending shockwaves through both their bodies.
The mattress creaked beneath them, a rhythmic counterpoint to their ragged breathing.
He locked his calloused hands on her hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there, anchoring her against the storm they were creating together.
Asha met every thrust with fierce determination, her body arching into him.
She pulled him closer until their sweat-slicked chests pressed together, her strong legs locked around his waist like iron bands.
Her nails carved burning trenches down his back, marking him as thoroughly as his scars already had.
She took everything he gave and demanded more with wordless sounds that filled the cabin, her body a live wire beneath him, electric and gloriously unafraid.
He was close, dangerously close, pressure building at the base of his spine like a gathering thunderstorm.
He gritted his teeth until his jaw ached, forcing himself to slow, to savor the velvet heat of her.
He found her mouth in the half-light, kissed her deep enough to drown in, tasted the salt of exertion on her lips.
He held her as tight as he dared without bruising, feeling the rapid flutter of her pulse everywhere they touched.
She came first, sudden and violent as summer lightning, her whole body arcing off the bed as if electrified.
She bit down hard on the muscle of his shoulder, muffling a cry that might have woken the entire ranch.
He followed her over the edge not a second later, hips jerking uncontrollably, breath leaving him in a rush that felt like falling from a great height with no parachute, nothing but open air and surrender.
They stayed tangled together afterward, neither willing to break the connection, sweat cooling on their flushed skin in the night breeze from the window.
He felt her heartbeat against his chest, racing then gradually slowing like a wild horse being gentled, her breath hitching in little aftershocks as she came down from the heights.
He rolled to the side, pulling her with him.
She curled into his chest, head tucked under his chin.
Her hand found his, fingers lacing like they were made for it.
The moonlight painted her skin silver, lit the old scars like roadmaps.
He traced one with his thumb, then another, memorizing the landscape.
They didn’t talk. Didn’t need to.
He closed his eyes, the taste of her still on his lips.
Hours later, the moon had slipped behind the trees and the room was dark except for the faint silver from the open window. The air inside was warm with their breath and the leftover heat of skin on skin, but the wind coming off the hills had cooled the sweat, raising goosebumps along Asha’s arms.
She lay on her side, pressed against Gavin, a single quilt tangled around their legs.
His arm was heavy across her waist, hand splayed open over her belly like he was holding her in place.
She didn’t mind. The weight was grounding.
For the first time in a long time, she was content to just stay put.
His thumb drew lazy circles on her hip, the touch light enough that it made her shiver.
She rolled closer, tucked her head under his chin, her nose full of the sharp smell of detergent and the old, sweet stink of ranch air.
Under the quilt, her hand rested on his chest, fingers tracing the outline of the scar there, slow and methodical.
Gavin was the first to break the silence. His voice came out a half-whisper, like he was worried the moment might fracture if he said it too loud.
“You cold?”
She shook her head, hair brushing his chin. “Not even close.”
He grunted, a satisfied sound, and pulled the quilt higher, tucking it under her arm.
For a while, they just lay there. It could have been minutes, or an hour. Neither cared.
“You ever think about just walking away from all of it?” Asha asked the question she’d been struggling with for a while.
He didn’t answer right away. She could feel the question sink into him, settling somewhere deep.
“Every fucking day,” he said, finally.
She smiled, hidden in the shadow of his neck. “What would you do? If you weren’t some bigwig corporate guy who called the shots?”
He flexed his hand on her belly, fingers drumming that old pattern—three, two, three. “Never thought I’d make it past thirty,” he said. “But now…”
He let the thought die in the dark. She let it go for now.
“What about you?” he asked.
She took a breath, held it, then let it out with a sigh. “That job offer in Colorado is still waiting for me. It’s good work. It won’t be a lot of pressure, but it won’t be easy. Working with wounded and adjusting veterans never is. But the pay is really good.”
He was quiet. Not stiff, not angry, just… waiting.
“I don’t know if I want it.” Saying the words out loud was one of the scariest things she’d done in a while. Isn’t this what she’d been hoping for? Had Gavin really changed her so much?
“You don’t have to decide tonight, right?”
“I know.” She pressed her face against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. Steady, strong. “Suddenly, the decision’s become a little bit harder,” she quipped. “But it’s what I’ve been wanting.”
He didn’t say anything, but the arm around her tightened, just a little.
They fell silent again. The quiet wasn’t charged. It was just there, like a new animal they’d learned to trust.
Asha drifted on the edge of sleep, eyelids fluttering. She felt him brush a strand of hair from her forehead, the touch gentle. For a second, she imagined what it would be like to wake up in this bed every day, to let herself get used to the idea of someone needing her back.
The thought didn’t scare her as much as it used to.
She mumbled, “Don’t let go.”
“Not a chance.” Gavin was only going to be a fool once. Now that she was in his arms, he would do his damndest to keep her there.
She fell asleep like that, heartbeat slowing to match his, arms and legs knotted in the tangle of the quilt.