Chapter 38
sarah
Ican’t sleep. Not because of nightmares—though they’ve been my constant companion for years—but because, for the first time in a decade, I feel relief.
It’s fragile, like a foal learning to stand.
I sit on Cade’s porch swing, wrapped in one of Tillie’s quilts, the night quiet except for the low creak of the chains and the whisper of the wind through the cottonwoods.
The mountains loom in the dark. Their permanence soothes me.
Cade steps out and eases onto the swing beside me, his body warm against mine, the scent of soap and cedar clinging to him.
“You should be sleeping,” he says gently.
“I can’t.” My heart’s still a little raw. “But for once…it’s not fear keeping me awake.”
He slips his arm along the back of the swing.
“Talking to Marnie today”—I draw a cleansing breath—“I realized how much I needed to say it out loud to someone who believed me.” My throat tightens with emotion, a good one, like hope.
“I feel…lighter. Like maybe the healing has finally begun. I can’t believe it took this long, you know? That I was so weak.”
He turns toward me. The porch light glows soft on his face, on the lines of regret and the shadows of the day.
“You’re strong, Dove. Stronger than anyone I’ve ever known.”
Tears prick, but they don’t burn this time. They’re warm, almost sweet. “I don’t feel strong. I feel like I’m broken into so many pieces I’ll never be whole again.”
“Then I’ll help you put the pieces back together,” he says simply, drawing me to him. “One at a time. However long it takes.”
The quilt slips from my shoulders as I lean into him. His heartbeat is strong against my cheek.
“I stopped believing in fairytales,” I confess. “I also stopped trusting I’d ever heal. Ever be whole.”
“And now?”
I nuzzle him. “Now, I’m choosing to let hope in.” His heart starts beating a little faster.
I smile at the evidence of his vulnerability. His hope.
After a while, the mountain air becomes cooler. “Let’s go inside,” he suggests.
The words aren’t suggestive. They’re an invitation. One I intend to accept.
“Yes, let’s go inside.”
He holds my hand as we walk in. He takes me to his room. It’s quiet, familiar in its simplicity. No shadows of the past here. Just him. Just us.
When he peels back the bedcovers, a pang of hesitation grips me. My body’s memory is far too potent, too vivid—each scar of hurt, betrayal, and raw fear itching anew. Yet his gaze hooks onto mine—not with lust or impatience, but with reverence.
“Dove.” His roughened fingertips graze the tender skin of my arms, igniting a wildfire of shivers.
As our lips crash together in a dance that’s both soft and urgent, his hands map out my curves while mine yank at his shirt like a lifeline.
The tantalizing brush of his fingertips against my bare skin is sheer electricity, etching unseen patterns down my spine.
His mouth brands a searing path of open-mouthed kisses down my throat, over the swell of my breast.
His hands cradle my breasts and tweak my nipples into throbbing peaks. Then, slowly, he disappears where the waistband of my pajamas starts, sliding them off.
I tremble like an aspen leaf, a low whimper slipping past my lips, an echo of primal yearning.
He pushes me against a wall; our bodies become one chaotic tangle of raw passion. As we chase sensation across each other’s skin, our breaths hitch in ragged harmony.
His hands are calloused and rough from years of hard labor, and they move over my skin like they’re worshipping me.
His fingers trace the curve of my hip, teasing the edge of my lace underwear, before slipping beneath the fabric to stroke the wet heat between my thighs.
I arch into his touch.
“You’re soaked.” His voice is a deep, sinful rumble. “Always so fucking wet for me.”
We undress each other, exploring our bodies.
He’s a man now. More muscle. More sinew. Harder. Older. But he’s still Cade. The boy I loved. The man I’m falling in love with.
He leans into me, his cock grinding against me, making me ache with need.
I can feel the heat radiating from him, see the primal hunger in his eyes as he stares down at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world.
“I want you,” I whisper, my voice trembling with desperation as I grip his cock. Hard and dripping with pre-cum.
“Yeah?” His voice is hoarse.
I look down at my hand, pumping him. “I want to taste.”
I remember the first time I tried and how it took a lot of tries before I figured out how to make him come with my mouth; just as it took him a few tries to lick me in a way that made me come. We learned how to make love together, how to fuck, how to have sex.
It was playful between us then, but now, there’s so much hunger that it’s more than play.
I go on my knees, sinking to the floor, wanting to taste him.
My hands wrap around the base of his cock, my tongue darting out to lick a salty bead of ejaculate from the tip. He groans, his hips jerking forward as I take him deeper into my mouth, my lips stretching around his girth.
“That’s it, Dove.” His fingers tangle in my hair, and then he moves with slow, deliberate thrusts. “Take it all.”
I gag, tears springing to my eyes, but I don’t stop. Don’t let him pull away either.
I’m in control. I need to be in control.
I love the way he fills my throat, the way his erection pulses against my tongue, the way he mutters filthy promises of what he’s going to do to me.
“You’ve got to stop, baby, or I’ll come,” he pleads.
I let him pull away as I gasp for breath.
“Your lips are swollen.” He traces them with a finger. “So beautiful.”
He hauls me to my feet, his hands roaming my body as he kisses me, his tongue plunging into my mouth with savage intensity. He can taste himself on my tongue, and it’s erotic as hell.
“Turn around.”
I know what he likes, what I used to like. He loves to eat me from behind.
This is like making love with someone I know very well, but it’s still new and full of promise.
He kneels behind me and cups my ass. “Dove. I can smell you.”
I push my hips out and he begins to lick me, eat me, taste me, devour me.
It’s intense, and I start moaning loudly, crying out. Then he slides a finger inside me and begins to pump.
“Come for me now, Dove, because when I’m inside you, I’m going to blow in seconds.”
I look back at him and smile. “Too old to go twice in a night?” I tease.
He smacks my ass. And then pinches my clit before pushing two fingers inside me, stretching me, filling me, rubbing against my G-spot.
I scream, my body convulsing as I fall off the edge.
He all but hauls me to bed and slides over me.
The tip of his cock teases my entrance, nudging against my soaked folds before he thrusts into me in one brutal stroke.
“Fuck, Dove. You’re so tight.” His hands grip my hips as he pounds in and out with reckless abandon. “I’m home, my Dove. I’m home.”
I feel it, too—a sense of homecoming.
I come undone beneath him again, my orgasm crashing over me like a tidal wave. I scratch his back as he fucks me through my release, his cock throbbing inside me as he chases his own.
“Come for me,” I beg, my voice broken and pleading.
His thrusts grow erratic until he finally buries himself deep inside me, his cum spilling into me in hot, pulsing waves. He collapses, his body trembling as he holds me close, his cock still inside me, still twitching with the aftershocks of his release.
“You’re mine,” he whispers against my ear, his voice dark and possessive.
We hold each other, drifting into sleep.
I wake up to Cade filling me again, slowly, pausing to kiss me, whispering hushed words of love.
I’m not afraid to be with him. Fear has no business here. Neither does shame.
I’m having sex with Cade because I want to. Because it feels good. Because I trust him. This is the man who stood by me while I tore his family name to shreds, the man who helped me do it. And that’s how I know—deep down in my bones—that he’ll never fail me again.
My legs coil around him, toes curling as riotous pleasure courses through me—a knotted need pulls tighter and tighter.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes—not born from pain but from the sheer comfort of Cade’s solid embrace. Our bodies groove together with a newfound trust, each stroke nudging us closer to the edge until ecstasy claims us.