Chapter 24 #2
“Yes.” The word left me before I could think.
And then his mouth was on mine, and he was kissing me as though his life depended on it.
There was nothing tentative about it this time.
No hesitation, no careful testing of boundaries.
His lips claimed mine with a kind of urgency that made my whole body tremble, like we’d both been starving and only just now allowed to taste.
The kiss was fierce, desperate, all heat and unspoken words.
His hand tightened at the back of my neck, anchoring me, while the other pulled me flush against him, erasing every inch of space between us.
I let go. Completely. My fingers curled into his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping me upright.
The world narrowed to the press of his mouth, the rough edge of his breath, the unrelenting tenderness hidden beneath the hunger.
It wasn’t just a kiss—it was everything we hadn’t said, everything we’d been denying, breaking free all at once.
And God, it felt like coming home.
I sank into him, my chest tightening with something that felt too big, too real to name.
And that was when thunder cracked across the lake, sharp and violent, tearing the moment apart. Lightning split the sky, and an instant later the heavens opened up, and rain poured in sheets, sudden and cold, drenching us in seconds.
Laughter and squeals rose from the fire as people scattered for cover. Dean grabbed my hand, holding onto me tight. “Come on,” he said, and we both began to run.
We slipped through the mud, laughing when we almost fell, breathless as the storm swallowed us. By the time he shoved the cabin door open, we were soaked, leaving puddles everywhere we stepped.
George trotted over with his toy in his mouth, tilting his head to the side like we’d both completely lost it.
Dean bent to scratch his ears, then kicked off his shoes by the door. “Don’t look at me like that,” he told him. “I would’ve noticed the storm coming if—”
He stopped cold, then his gaze lifted to mine.
My laugh stalled, caught in my chest, and turned into something else entirely.
His shirt clung to him, rain-darkened and molded to every line of muscle on his body.
His hair was slicked back, water still tracing along his jaw.
And when he looked at me now, there was no teasing in his expression.
Just that steady, intent focus—like the storm hadn’t just soaked us, it stripped something bare between us.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For tonight. For spending so much time with my family. For… all of it.”
The way he looked at me made it hard to breathe. Then his jaw tightened, like there was something on his mind he wasn't sure he should say.
He stepped closer, his hand lifting to the side of my face, his thumb resting at the corner of my mouth like he needed the contact to steady himself.
“You have no idea what you do to me.”
The words landed heavy—quiet, unguarded—and my breath hitched before I could stop it. I should’ve said something. Anything. Instead, I stayed still, afraid that if I moved even an inch closer, neither of us would stop.
His mouth curved, slow and restrained, like he knew exactly how close we were to crossing a line.
Then he let his hand fall.
“Go take a shower,” he said gently. Not dismissive. Protective. Like he was choosing the harder thing.
“If you don’t get out of those wet clothes…” His words trailed off as his gaze dipped, just briefly, over my body. “You’ll catch a cold.”
I blinked, my pulse still racing. “You’re worried I’ll catch a cold?” I repeated, trying to regain my footing—even though my heart was pounding.
I understood exactly what he was doing. Creating distance. Because if he didn’t—
Something warm flickered in his eyes. “I’m worried about a few things,” he said quietly.
I nodded, understanding more than he’d actually said out loud. “Okay.”
I took a step back, then another. “But don’t think I’m showering because you told me to.”
His grin was instant. “I would never.”
The playfulness in his voice nearly undid me. I hurried the rest of the way to the bathroom, his quiet laughter followed me as I closed the door—not teasing, not making fun. Just there.
A minute later, steam filled the shower, and heat loosened the chill from my skin. I closed my eyes and breathed. But even then, I couldn’t rinse him away—the care in his voice, the way he’d stepped back instead of forward, the weight of all the tension between us.
That part clung to me.
Long after the water was turned off.
By the time I stepped back into the room—barefoot, a towel twisted around my hair—the cabin had settled into silence. The lights were off, the only sound was the steady patter of rain against the windows.
I moved carefully through the space, my eyes adjusting to the shadows—and then I saw him.
Dean was stretched out on the couch in the living room, shirt discarded, pajama pants slung low on his hips, towel hanging from his neck like he’d meant to shower when I was done and never quite made it that far.
His chest rose and fell in slow, even breaths, his face softened by sleep.
He looked younger somehow. Like the boy his family loved to tell stories about.
Something tugged low in my chest.
I pulled a blanket from the chair in the corner and draped it over him, careful not to wake him. George padded over, rope toy hanging from his mouth, and looked between the two of us before letting out a quiet huff.
“Mind your business,” I whispered, scratching behind his ear.
But I knew what he meant.
What we were doing was dangerous.
My throat tightened, and before I could stop myself, I reached out and brushed a strand of hair back from Dean’s forehead. His face turned slightly into my touch, instinctive, but he didn’t wake.
I slipped into the bed a moment later, though sleep didn’t come easily. My heart was still racing, every nerve alive with the memory of his mouth on mine, the storm wrapping around us, the way he’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
The rain whispered against the windows as I drifted off—into dreams of Dean Weston.
Dreams that felt less like fantasy…
And more like the beginning of something I wasn’t sure I could walk away from, even if I tried.