Chapter 7 Dahlia
seven
Dahlia
Tomorrow.
The thought sits heavily in my chest as I arrange wildflowers in Thorne's cabin. Tomorrow I have to drive back to Vancouver, back to my shop, back to appointments and orders and city noise. Back to a life that suddenly feels like it belongs to someone else.
Two days. That's all it took to turn my world upside down.
I place a vibrant purple lupine next to a piece of gnarled driftwood Thorne collected years ago.
The contrast is perfect—soft against hard, color against texture.
My mind races with possibilities, designs unlike anything I've created before.
In just these few days, Silver Ridge has awakened something in me, a wellspring of creativity I didn't know I possessed.
"Beautiful."
I turn to find Thorne watching me from the doorway, his eyes fixed not on the arrangement but on me. My heart does that ridiculous flutter it's been doing since I met him.
"I've had good materials to work with," I say, gesturing to the wooden pieces he's given me.
He crosses the room in a few strides, coming to stand behind me. His hands rest on my shoulders, thumbs tracing circles at the base of my neck. "Want to show you something."
"More wood?" I tease, leaning back against his chest.
"Something better."
The meadow stretches before us, a riot of wildflowers swaying in the afternoon breeze. Purple lupines, orange paintbrush, yellow balsamroot, and dozens of other flowers I can't name carpet the ground in a natural tapestry that takes my breath away.
"Oh my god," I whisper, overwhelmed by the beauty. "It's incredible."
Thorne watches me, something soft in his normally stern expression. "Thought you might like it. Only blooms like this when the weather is right."
I wander into the meadow, careful not to crush too many flowers. As a florist, I've spent my life arranging cut blooms, but there's something magical about seeing them like this—alive, wild, perfect in their natural state.
"I could create an entire collection inspired by this," I say, ideas flowing faster than I can process them. "Wild arrangements, using your wood pieces as bases, capturing this exact feeling."
"You could do that here," Thorne says quietly.
I turn to face him, my heart pounding. "What?"
"Stay." Just one word, but loaded with meaning. "Set up your shop in Silver Ridge."
"Thorne, I can't just—"
"Why not?" He steps closer, intensity radiating from him. "You said yourself your creativity's never been stronger. There’s a building on main street that’s perfect for a flower shop."
The scary thing is, I can see it. I can picture my business here, reimagined for this community. Wilder. More authentic. And infinitely more fulfilling.
"My customers are in Vancouver," I say, but even to my own ears, it sounds like a weak excuse.
"You'd find new ones. Festival brings tourists. Bennett ships his art and furniture all over Canada. You could do the same with your arrangements."
He's thought about this. Planned it. The realization sends a wave of emotion through me.
"It's so fast," I whisper. "We've known each other for three days."
Thorne takes my hands in his, his calloused palms warm against my skin. "Sometimes you just know."
And the thing is, I do know. Somehow, impossibly, I know that what we have is real. That it's worth taking a chance on.
"I'm in love with you," I say, the words bursting out before I can second-guess them. "I know that sounds crazy, but I am."
For a moment, he's perfectly still. Then his hands frame my face, so gentle despite their strength. "Not crazy," he says, his voice rough with emotion. He kisses me, and it's different from our previous kisses, full of promise. "I want a life with you," he murmurs against my lips. "Here. Together."
"Yes," I breathe, suddenly certain. "Yes."
His hands slide down my body, kindling that now-familiar heat between us. All around, wildflowers sway in the mountain breeze, witnesses to a passion that feels as natural and wild as they are.
I tug at his shirt, needing to feel his skin against mine.
He helps me pull it over his head, revealing the broad chest that has become my favorite place to rest my head.
My dress follows, then the rest of our clothes, until we stand naked in the center of the meadow, surrounded only by mountains and sky and flowers.
"Look at you," Thorne growls, his eyes traveling over my body with unconcealed hunger. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
His words make me bold. I reach for him, wrapping my fingers around his hard length. My hand barely encircles his impressive girth, and the realization of how completely he fills me sends a rush of wetness between my legs.
"Show me," I challenge, stroking him slowly. "Show me how much you want me."
With a primal groan, he lowers me to the ground, using our discarded clothes as a makeshift blanket.
The sun warms my skin as Thorne moves over me, his massive body blocking the light.
His mouth trails fire down my neck, across my collarbone, capturing one nipple then the other.
I arch into his touch, desperate for more.
His beard tickles my sensitive skin as he moves lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses across my stomach.
"Thorne," I gasp as he settles between my thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them wider. "Please."
"So impatient," he murmurs, his hot breath teasing my most sensitive flesh. "We have all the time in the world now."
The first stroke of his tongue against my pussy sends pleasure spiraling through me. He devours me like a starving man at a feast, his strong hands holding my hips as I writhe beneath him. When he slides two thick fingers inside, I come apart with a cry that echoes across the meadow.
Before I've fully recovered, he's moving up my body, positioning the swollen head of his cock at my entrance. "Mine," he growls, eyes locked with mine as he pushes inside in one powerful thrust that takes my breath away.
He moves within me, his thick cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside me with each powerful thrust. I've never felt so utterly filled, so completely claimed.
The contrast of his powerful body and gentle touch, of soft flowers against my back and hard earth beneath, heightens every sensation.
"Never letting you go," he pants, his control slipping as his thrusts become more urgent, the thick ridge of his cockhead hitting that perfect spot deep inside me. "Never."
"Don't," I plead, meeting him movement for movement. "I want this. Want you. Want your cock. Forever."
"Come with me," he demands, his voice straining. "Want to feel your pussy squeeze my cock while I fill you with my cum."
His words push me over the edge. I shatter around him, my inner walls clenching and pulsing around his thickness as I cry his name.
He follows immediately, driving deep one final time with a guttural groan.
I feel every pulse, every hot jet as he comes inside me, marking me as his from the inside out.
The sensation of being filled so completely triggers another wave of pleasure that leaves me trembling in his arms.
Afterward, we lie amid the wildflowers, sweat cooling on our skin as our breathing returns to normal.
"I'll go back to Vancouver," I say finally, tracing the contours of his chest. "But only to wrap things up."
"How long?" he asks, his arm tightening around me possessively.
I press a kiss to his chest, breathing in his scent of pine and sweat and sex. "As little time as possible. Then I'm yours. For good."
The possessiveness in his eyes should bother me. Instead, it makes me feel cherished in a way I never have before. Wanted. Needed. Essential.
As the afternoon sun bathes us in golden light, surrounded by a tapestry of wildflowers, I've never been more certain of anything. Sometimes life's biggest turns come when you least expect them.
Sometimes you have to get lost to find exactly where you belong.