Chapter 3
MEGHAN
Somewhere between the third cup of terrible instant coffee and the fire’s warmth finally seeping into my bones, I stopped being afraid of Wolfe’s silence.
It wasn’t coldness. I could see that now. It was the way he’d positioned me closer to the fire without saying anything. The way he’d given me the last of the coffee and pretended not to notice. He showed things instead of saying them. And once I understood that, I started noticing everything.
He listened when I talked about my classes, my degree in early childhood education, my plans to teach at the elementary school once I finished. He didn’t interrupt or offer advice or look at his phone. He just watched me with those dark eyes, like every word mattered.
I told him about Teddie, about our little cabin, about growing up in Wildwood Valley and never wanting to leave.
I told him about Mrs. Norris and the house sitting gig and how I’d been hoping to catch up on schoolwork during the storm.
I talked more than I’d talked to anyone in months, and he absorbed all of it without making me feel like I was too much.
“What about you?” I finally asked. “What brought you to Wildwood Valley?”
He was quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled between us.
“Needed somewhere quieter,” he said. “Somewhere I could breathe.”
It wasn’t much, but it felt like a gift—a sliver of himself that he didn’t give away easily.
The hours slipped by. At some point, I’d moved from the floor to the couch, and he’d moved from the armchair to the other end of the couch. Not close enough to touch, but closer than before. The fire had burned down to embers, casting the room in a soft orange glow.
I didn’t know when the tension shifted. Maybe it had been building all along and I’d just been too cold to notice. But now, warm and safe and looking at this man who’d shown up in a blizzard to save me, I felt something I’d never felt before.
Want. Real, undeniable want.
“I should tell you something,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turned to look at me, waiting.
“I’ve never been with a man before.” I swallowed hard. “I’m a virgin.”
He went completely still. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind outside and the soft pop of the dying fire.
“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m not expecting—”
“I know.” I held his gaze. “But I want to.”
The words hung in the air. His jaw tightened. I could see the battle playing out behind his eyes—the part of him that wanted to be careful, to keep his distance, struggling against something else entirely.
“Meghan.” My name sounded different in his mouth. Like a warning and a prayer wrapped together.
“I’ve been waiting my whole life to feel like this,” I said. “I don’t want to wait anymore.”
I stood before I could lose my nerve. My hands were shaking as I reached for the hem of my sweater, but I didn’t hesitate. I pulled it over my head and let it fall to the floor.
His eyes never left mine.
I reached behind my back and unclasped my bra.
The straps slid down my shoulders, and I let them drop, baring my breasts to the flickering light of the fire.
His gaze dipped, finally breaking from my eyes, and the way he looked at me—like I was something sacred and sinful all at once—sent a rush of heat through me that had nothing to do with the flames.
My fingers trembled as I hooked them into the waistband of my leggings. I pushed them down, along with my panties, in one slow motion, stepping out of them until I stood completely naked before him.
The air was cool against my skin, but his stare burned. He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just drank me in as if I were the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As if I were the only one.
“Come here,” he said at last, his voice hoarse, rough with restraint.
My feet moved before my mind caught up, closing the small distance between us until I stood between his parted knees. He sat forward on the couch, his large hands settling on my hips, thumbs brushing the curve of my waist like he was memorizing me.
“Part your legs, Meghan.”
The command was low, undeniable. I obeyed, widening my stance, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.
He shifted closer, his broad shoulders easing between my thighs for better access.
His lips started at my knee, warm and deliberate, kissing a slow path upward—soft presses that turned into open-mouthed tastes, his breath hot against my skin.
I shivered, not from cold, but from the anticipation coiling tighter with every inch he claimed.
When he reached the apex, he paused, looking up at me with eyes so dark they seemed to swallow the firelight. Then he slid one thick finger inside me, slow and sure, and I gasped at the unfamiliar stretch, the perfect fullness.
He watched my face as he began to move, curling that finger just right, and then—oh god—his tongue swept over my clit in a deliberate stroke.
My head fell back, a low moan escaping my lips as pleasure sparked through every nerve.
I savored it, the wet heat of his mouth, the steady rhythm of his finger, the way he knew exactly how to tease and soothe and build.
Even with my eyes closed, I could feel him watching me—intense, possessive, like he wanted to memorize every reaction.
My hands moved without thought, lifting to cup my breasts. The weight of them felt different under my own touch, sensitive and heavy. I brushed my thumbs over my nipples, circling the tight peaks, and a fresh wave of heat flooded me.
Why had I never done this before? It felt so good—electric, almost forbidden. But maybe it only felt this good because of him, because of what he was doing to me down there, his tongue relentless now, flicking and swirling as his finger thrust deeper.
The dual sensations built fast, overwhelming me.
My legs started to tremble, and I had to drop my hands to his shoulders, gripping the hard muscles for balance as he curled his finger again—hitting a spot inside me that made stars burst behind my eyelids.
Pleasure I didn’t even know existed ignited, sharp and sweet and all-consuming.
I came with a cry that echoed off the walls, my body clenching around his finger, my knees threatening to buckle beneath me. He held me steady through it, his mouth gentle now, drawing out every last shudder until I was boneless and breathless.
Slowly, I stepped back, my chest heaving, the fire’s glow painting us both in gold and shadow. His eyes met mine, dark and hungry, lips glistening.
“What do we do next?” I whispered.