Chapter Eight
Rafe
Minutes stretch, but I don’t push. Finally, she uncurls a little. Her hand emerges first, trembling, and I offer mine palm-up. She takes it, and despite her body shaking against me, she clings, burying her face in my neck.
“That’s my girl,” I whisper, stroking her back in slow circles. “You’re home.”
She shifts in my hold, not pulling away but coming closer. I feel the change before I understand it. Her body stops bracing and starts reaching. My chest goes very still. I force it down—now’s not the time for that fire.
But then she lifts her head, our gazes locking, and there’s something new there.
Not panic. Not the hollow obedience I’ve glimpsed in her before, the kind drilled into her by bastards who didn’t deserve to breathe her air.
This is clear, steady. Her hands slide up my arms, fingers tracing the lines of muscle, mapping me, choosing me.
“Briar?” I rasp, working my throat.
She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she moves, deliberate and slow, swinging a leg over me until she’s straddling my lap, her weight settling against me like she belongs there, like she’s always belonged there, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
Fuck. Her hips rock once, tentative, testing, and her eyes stay locked on mine—no darting away, no shame.
This isn’t her falling back on old patterns; this is her reaching for something new. Something real.
She leans in, her forehead dropping to my temple as she makes a decision she already knows the answer to. Then her lips brush my ear, and she whispers, soft, broken, more breath than word: “Yours.”
It hits me hard as stone as it locks into place. My hands tighten on her waist before I can stop them, body going still. God, I need those words more than air, more than the release building in my blood.
But I hesitate, searching her face. “You sure, sweet girl? Not because you think you have to. Not out of fear.”
Every instinct in me surges forward. Every rule I live by slams down just as hard.
I cup her cheek, thumb stroking her skin, giving her space to pull away if she needs. “Tell me this is what you want. For you. Because once I make you mine, you’re mine forever.”
Her eyes soften, and she nods, slow and certain.
No hesitation. Then she moves again—closer, deliberate—closing the space I left.
She takes my hand, guides it to her breast, pressing it there so I feel her heartbeat racing—not from terror, but desire.
“Yours,” she mouths again, grinding down against me, her heat seeping through our clothes.
It’s choice. Pure, unfiltered, and my resolve cracks under the weight of it.
“Christ, Briar,” I groan, pulling her closer.
“You’ve got me. All of me.” I kiss her then, slow and deep, tasting her consent like it’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.
My hands roam, gentle but claiming, mapping every scar, every curve, whispering praises against her skin.
“So brave. So mine.” She arches into me, and I know—this is healing, not harm.
This is us.
I lift her carefully, carrying her gently to the bed.
My sweet girl is precious, unbreakable glass that’s survived hell.
Laying her down, I strip her slow, kissing every inch of skin I uncover, murmuring how beautiful she is, how strong.
Her scars glow in the firelight, and I trace them with my tongue.
I take my time with each one to show her they don’t frighten me.
That nothing about her does. She gasps, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer. Not demanding—inviting.
“You’re perfect,” I say against her thigh, spreading her legs gently.
My mouth finds her center, tasting her sweetness, lapping slow and deep until she’s writhing, her hips bucking up for more.
“That’s it. Take what you need.” She’s soaking, clenching around my tongue, and I add fingers, curling them just right, coaxing noises from her I don’t think she knew she could make.
Briar comes hard, crying out—a sound that’s half-feral, half-free—and I drink it down, holding her through the tremors.
But I need more. Need to hold her. Need to claim her. I shed my clothes, cock throbbing, pre-cum beading at the tip.
“Look at me.” I position myself at her entrance. “Let me see your face while I make you mine.”
Her eyes lift, trusting, wanting. She reaches between us, fingers wrapping around my length, pulling me toward her center.
I push in inch by inch, groaning at the tight heat enveloping me.
“Fuck, Briar.” She’s velvet around me, clenching and gripping tight.
I move in deliberate, deep strokes that rock her body, my hands loosely holding hers above her head, anchoring her.
“Feel that?” My lips brush her temple. “That’s us. No fear. Just this.” She shifts beneath me, hips rising to meet mine, legs wrapping around my waist and pulling me deeper. With that heartbeat, something changes.
She’s not just receiving anymore. She’s asking.
I groan low against her throat. “That’s it, sweet girl. Take what’s yours. I’m right here.”
I ruin her tenderly—long, grinding strokes that hit every spot, my mouth on her neck, whispering dirty praises: “You feel so good.” I’m barely holding myself together. “So good. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
She moans, legs wrapping around me, urging deeper.
Sweat slicks our skin, the bed creaking under us as I build the rhythm, soft but relentless, until she’s shattering again, pulsing around me.
The weight of it—the permission, the trust—crushes me in the best way.
I breathe her in, owning her body while she owns my soul.
I collapse beside her, pulling her into my chest, our bodies slick and spent.
My cock slips free, but I keep her close, leg draped over hers, hand stroking her back in lazy circles.
“You okay?” I ask, kissing her forehead.
She nods, burrowing deeper, but then she shifts, lips parting.
A soft grunt escapes—frustrated, broken.
She tries again, throat working, but nothing comes.
Her face crumples, tears welling as she pounds a fist lightly against my chest, not in anger at me, but at herself.
“Hey, hey,” I soothe, catching her hand, kissing her knuckles.
“Don’t force it. Your voice... it’ll come when it’s ready.
” She’s shaking now, not from pleasure but frustration, that old cage of silence closing in.
I roll us so she’s on top, her ear to my heart.
“You don’t need words to tell me everything, Briar.
I see it in your eyes, feel it in your touch.
” She whimpers, fingers tracing letters on my skin—Y-O-U-R-S—but it’s not enough for her.
She sits up, straddling me again, hands gesturing wildly, tears streaming.
I sit too, pulling her close. “I know, sweet girl. I know it hurts.” Trauma like hers doesn’t vanish with one positive experience; it’s layers, peeling slow.
“But look how far you’ve come. From snarls to whispers.
You’ll get there.” I wipe her tears, rocking her gently.
“And until then? We’ll use what we have.
Your hands. Your pencil. Me.” She relaxes a fraction, nodding, but the fire in her eyes says she won’t stop fighting.
I kiss her deep, pouring reassurance into it.
“I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got time. We’ve got forever.”
She settles against me, and in the quiet, I hold her—my wild girl, healing one heartbeat at a time.