Chapter 11 Aspen
Aspen
The storm picks up again, hammering Devil’s Peak like it wants inside—wind slashing, snow screaming against the windows—but it’s nothing compared to the storm building between us.
One loud knock sounds at the bedroom door before Thorne barges into the room we’ve been sharing.
He looks intense, like something raw and primal is coursing through him.
I shift my thighs back and forth, my body betraying me.
I’m angry at this man for his possessiveness at the Halloween party earlier tonight, but I want him more.
Thorne stands across the room, breath harsh, jaw clenched, eyes blazing like I handed him his worst nightmare wrapped in lace and attitude.
I don’t know who speaks first.
Maybe it’s me. Probably it’s me.
“Say something,” I demand. “Anything.”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “You make everything complicated.”
I laugh—sharp, wild, a little too honest. “Me? You’re the one who walked out and left me wondering if I imagined this. If I imagined you.”
His eyes snap to mine, hard and lethal. “You think I left because I didn’t feel this?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I bite back. “Maybe because you treat desire like a sin and emotions like a hostage situation—”
He closes the distance in three savage strides.
I back up because my nervous system short-circuits in his presence. Not out of fear. Out of survival. Every time he’s close, everything inside me goes molten, traitorous.
“You drive me insane,” he growls, crowding me against the mantel. The fire crackles at my back, hot like him. “You don’t listen, you don’t stop, you don’t—”
“—fold,” I finish for him. “I don’t fold. Sorry if that makes me inconvenient.”
His chest lifts, breath heavy. “You are not inconvenient.”
“You act like I’m the enemy.”
“You act like feelings are entertainment.”
“Maybe yours need to be dragged out before they rot,” I snap.
He plants one hand against the wall beside my head, eyes fierce. “Careful.”
I lift my chin, matching his heat. “No.”
The air goes deadly still.
His jaw ticks once before he says, low and dark, “You want to know why I left that morning?”
“No,” I whisper. “I want to know why you came back.”
His eyes drop to my mouth.
Then lower.
Then back to my eyes like he’s two seconds from tearing every lie between us apart.
“I came back,” he says, voice rough, “because you’re in my blood now. And I can’t take one more breath pretending you’re not.”
My heart hits my ribs hard enough to hurt. The fire doesn’t feel warm anymore. It feels dangerous.
“Thorne,” I breathe.
“Don’t say my name like that,” he mutters.
“Like what?”
“Like you already know what I’ll do for you.”
I swallow. “What will you do for me?”
He doesn’t answer—not with words.
He grabs my waist and drags me into him, mouth claiming mine like he’s been starved for a lifetime. It isn’t gentle. It isn’t cautious. It’s a collision—of pride, anger, need. Of everything we’ve tried to hold back.
My hands fist in his shirt, pulling him closer even though he’s already everywhere. His kiss is heat and teeth and truth, and I bite back, take what I want right along with him.
He breaks the kiss only long enough to speak against my lips. “You ruin my control.”
“Good,” I pant. “I don’t want controlled.”
He groans. “No, witch. You want ruined.”
Maybe I do.
Maybe he already has.
His grip tightens on my waist, and without breaking eye contact, he reaches behind me and rips off the black silk ribbon holding my costume corset together.
“Hey—” I breathe, half protest, half gasp, but my voice cracks in the middle when he tilts his head, eyes low and hungry.
“You knew what you were doing when you put this on,” he growls, voice thick. “Parading around in leather and lace like a wicked little temptation.”
My pulse races. “And you knew what you were doing when you looked at me like you wanted to sin.”
His lips twitch, not in amusement—in surrender. He drags one hand from my waist up to my throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding, letting me feel the darkness he’s kept chained. He wants me to know: this is real now.
He slides his thumb beneath my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Last chance, witch. If I keep going—”
“Don’t stop,” I whisper.
Something shatters in him. A restraint. A line. A rule. Gone.
He kisses me again—deeper this time. Devouring. I lose air, sanity, reason. He backs me against the wall until the garland hanging there falls, forgotten. His hands roam—slow, reverent, almost like he hates how much he needs to touch me.
He eases the straps of my costume off my shoulders, baring inch after inch of skin.
His breath hits my collarbone, hot and claiming.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he rasps against my skin.
“I wake up thinking about your voice. I fall asleep tasting your smart mouth. I chopped wood for three hours today trying not to drag you inside and—”
I cut him off with a moan, nails digging into his shoulders. I feel the tremor in his body—he’s barely holding on.
He peels the top of my costume away entirely, dropping it to the floor, and his gaze darkens, sweeping over me like I’m his in a way he doesn’t know how to say yet. His touch is rough—but his eyes blaze with something dangerously close to worship.
“Look at you,” he exhales, thumb stroking slowly over bare skin like he can’t believe I’m real. “Christ, Aspen…”
I swallow, dizzy, heat licking through me. “Say it,” I whisper.
“Say what?”
“That you want me.”
He huffs a broken, hungry sound—half growl, half confession. “Want doesn’t cover it.” His lips brush my ear, sending a violent shiver through me. “I ache for you. I would set this mountain on fire to have you.”
The words knock the breath right out of me.
His hands skim down my sides and find the edge of my skirt. He tugs, dragging it down slowly—obscenely slow—like he’s savoring the undoing of me. The fabric falls around my feet. I step out of it, never breaking his gaze.
He palms the back of my thighs and lifts me effortlessly, carrying me to the wooden side table by the window. He sets me down on it, pulling me to the edge. The storm rages behind the glass, but in here, it’s nothing but heat.
“Lie back,” he commands, voice rough velvet.
I do.
He drags his knuckles along the inside of my thigh, and every nerve in my body sparks alive. His touch is possessive. Slow. Deliberate torture.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs without looking up.
“You’re infuriating,” I breathe, reaching for him.
He catches my wrist, pinning my hand to the table. “Not tonight. Tonight, you don’t get to pretend you’re unaffected.”
“I’m not pretending—”
“Yes, you are.” His voice deepens. “You talk a big game. You mouth off. You test me. But underneath every smart remark, every glare…” He brushes his knuckles dangerously close to heat. “You burn for me.”
My chest rises too fast, too shallow. “Arrogant.”
“Prove me wrong.”
I can’t.
He knows it. His smile is lethal.
I arch to kiss him, but he evades me and sinks lower, dragging slow open-mouthed kisses down my stomach, leaving heat in their wake. He takes his time—too much time—letting me feel how badly he wants to worship and ruin me at once.
“Thorne…” My voice shakes.
“Tell me what you want,” he rasps against my skin.
“You,” I breathe.
His eyes lock on mine, and the edges of his control fray. “You already have me,” he says. “You’ve had me since the second you walked into my world and blew it apart.”
He stands and pulls me flush against him. His body is pure power, a wall of heat and need. His mouth crashes back into mine, his kiss messy and hungry now. Real. Full of everything neither of us said until now.
He carries me to the bearskin rug in front of the fire. Flames paint him in gold and shadow. He braces over me, his breath shaking just once. Just enough for me to know that he’s as affected as I am.
Then I see it—the bare hint of vulnerability behind the savage hunger.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he mutters.
“How?”
“Like you see everything.”
I cradle his jaw. “Then stop hiding.”
He stares for a beat.
Then he breaks.