Chapter Twenty-Three
Something that matters. Abigail’s pulse throbbed in her wrists, the ghost of his grip still warm on hers.
The words lingered, reverberating in her chest like the echo of a bell.
Her thoughts spun, unsteady and dizzy, tangled between the lingering heat of his touch and the jagged memory of what had unfolded in the yard.
Her hand rose almost of its own accord, tracing along the curve of his jaw, the hard line of strength already so familiar.
His eyes closed at the contact, and a shiver ran through her at the subtle surrender in that small movement.
Heat radiated from him, a steady warmth that sent a flutter through her heart as he leaned into her touch.
He lifted the blanket from Abigail’s arms, his fingers brushing along her arms, and spread it carefully across the worn boards of the dock. “Sit.”
His voice came low, roughened with something she couldn’t name.
She sank down, the night’s cool breath brushing her bare arms, and drew her knees close.
He followed, and his shoulder rested against hers, a quiet point of warmth in the chill.
The swamp stretched out before them, mist curling up to whisper against the dock.
Silver moonlight glinted from the water, and fireflies dotted the edges of the cypress knees.
Peaceful. So impossibly still—a stark contrast to the chaos of earlier.
Abigail’s gaze drifted back to him, lingering on the way the shadows played across his face. His eyes were fixed on her, unreadable. Her heart hammered at his nearness, though some small part of her delighted in how natural it felt.
“You’re cold.”
“I’m not.” The lie slipped out too quickly, and he raised one eyebrow.
Before she could protest, he shrugged from his coat and draped it over her shoulders. His scent, an earthy mix of storm-washed linen and something uniquely him, enveloped her. She inhaled, grounding herself in the simple, immediate comfort of it.
His gaze dipped to her mouth, barely a glance, but enough to send heat climbing her neck. She curled her fingers in the edge of the blanket, desperate to steady herself. Every nerve in her body seemed to tighten, straining toward him even as her mind screamed caution.
The moonlight caught in his eyes, turning them a liquid silver she’d never seen before. Not born of grief. Not a simple longing. Something deeper.
His hand brushed hers, the faint contact sending a jolt through her. She didn’t pull back. She couldn’t. The moment held a promise, a danger, a surge of longing that had been simmering under everything they’d endured.
He traced a slow small circle on the back of her hand with his thumb, and she closed her eyes for a heartbeat, savoring the fleeting warmth. When she opened them, he had shifted, his face inches from hers.
“Abigail.”
The husky timbre of his voice rippled over her, and her pulse caught. Her lips parted, drawn toward him as if tugged by an invisible tether. He hesitated only a half breath before closing the distance, his mouth meeting hers, gentle and tentative, testing the fragile boundaries of their restraint.
A kiss that demanded nothing but promised everything.
The world contracted to just the two of them, the dock beneath them, the lantern casting its golden halo, and the swamp as silent witness.
Abigail leaned into him, fingers tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer, needing the solid heat of him against her.
He groaned, threading one hand through her hair, cradling the back of her head.
The soft press of his tongue coaxed her open, and her world tilted as he explored her mouth with gentle urgency, each stroke sending a tingling thrill coursing through her.
She clutched his shoulders, lost in the dizzying pull of him.
A soft moan slipped from her throat and he broke the kiss to rest his forehead against hers.
She stilled as his hand settled on her thigh, his fingers skimming wide in an unspoken question. The contact sent a tremor through her that she could not—did not want to—restrain. Every whisper of caution, every lingering fear from the yard, melted away beneath the steady pressure of his touch.
His fingers pressed through the fabric in a slow glide, tracing the curve of her inner thigh.
Her eyes met his, and whatever fragile permission he’d been waiting for passed between them.
The weight of his touch shifted, guiding her gently until her back rested against the blanket spread over the planks.
Moonlight spilled over her, catching the faint chill of the shadows around them before his body followed, warm and solid.
He settled beside her, half propped on one elbow, as his hand began a slow, reverent pilgrimage.
It skimmed down her leg and beneath the hem of her skirts. A moment later, the night air teased her, first kissing her calves, then her knees. When his fingertips brushed into her curls, he exhaled her name into the night, the husky sound reverberating through her.
Her breath caught, and her thighs parted of their own accord.
He didn’t hesitate, dipping into the heat that had gathered there.
His first touch came as a whisper, the pad of one finger tracing the length of her seam.
A broken sound came from the back of her throat, and she turned her face into his neck.
“Look at me.” His voice cracked with restraint.
She lifted her gaze to his. The instant their eyes locked, he eased one finger inside her.
It claimed her in a slow slick glide, her flesh parting for him, welcoming the shocking, yet exquisite stretch.
A soft squeak caught in her throat as the first knuckle passed, then the second, until his entire length buried deep.
He started an unhurried rhythm—long strokes that dragged over the secret place inside her.
Again, and again. Every withdrawing slide left her empty and aching, and each quick plunge sent sparks skittering along her nerves.
Her thighs trembled around him when he pulled free, only to jerk wide as the broad pad of his thumb settled on the swollen heat of her sex.
An approving sound rumbled through his chest as he began to circle the little nub.
Each slick glide sent sharp pulses straight to her core, the pressure building until it coiled tight and unrelenting.
Abigail arched into him, helpless to resist, and the sound of her own quickening breaths seemed to fuel him.
He slowed his touch to a teasing whisper, his dark gaze burning through her, his mouth slightly parted as if he himself felt the same hunger, the same delicious ache.
When he caught her watching, a wicked, knowing grin curved his lips and he drove his finger back inside, curling hard against her.
She writhed, her heels digging into the wood beneath them, nails biting at his arm as she fought to keep from unraveling. Every thrust stretched the pleasure out until her gasps melted into raw and needy pants.
He rolled over her, his body caging hers as he knelt between her thighs.
With a firm nudge of his knees, he spread her wide.
The sudden rush of cool air at her core sent her pulse throbbing, the sensation making her legs twitch, instinctively trying to close.
He refused to yield, solid muscles forcing her wider, pinning her open.
She should be ashamed. Should be mortified.
She wasn’t.
An instant later, the thick length of him pressed against her, straining through the taut fabric of his breeches.
A low, guttural groan escaped his chest as he dragged himself along her soaked heat.
The barrier of cloth only sharpened her awareness of him, the friction igniting a deeper ache, and her hips bucked up to meet him.
Another thrust, harder this time, grinding against her until she whimpered.
“Tell me to stop,” he rasped. “Say it, and I will.”
“I can’t.” The confession tumbled forth on a breathless gasp.
And it was the truth. Nothing in the universe could have made her utter the words.
His forehead dropped to hers as a shudder wracked his body. “God help us.” He reached between them to free himself and a moment later, the heavy, smooth heat of him pressed against her.
His breath tumbled against her lips as he pulsed against her, the unyielding pressure shifting as he swirled a torturous circle around her entrance. After an aching pause, he gave a subtle rock of his hips and slipped inside, stretching her in a slow, velvet glide that made her toes curl.
The storm in his gaze softened to something so tender it stole the air from her lungs.
He sank in slow increments, giving her time to feel all of him, to adjust, to open for him.
When he’d fully seated himself, buried completely inside her, he stilled.
She trembled around him, the fullness overwhelming and perfect all at once.
And then he started to move.
Slow, deep strokes that dragged over every sensitive place inside her, lighting her up from within.
Each thrust was a promise. A vow. A worshipful claiming that pulled her apart, thread by thread.
She wrapped her legs higher around his hips, pulling him closer, deeper, needing more of that perfect friction, more of him.
He shuddered above her as her body welcomed him again and again.
The way he moved unlocked secrets she didn’t know were possible—an angle that stretched her open in the most satisfying way, a slow grinding circle that dragged the length of him against a spot so sensitive it sent sparks behind her eyes.
The sounds of their joining rose soft and rhythmic through the air, echoing across the dark water like a forbidden song.
Cool mist drifted low, curling around their heated skin, kissing her throat with ghostly fingers that heightened each slick drive.
It felt as though the swamp itself leaned in, breathing with them, making their pleasure its own.