Chapter 22
LUKE
I’m cutting back through the clearing when a beam of light slices between the trees.
Isla.
I glance at my watch and wince. It’s been two hours.
Fuck.
I knew it was getting late when the sun dropped behind the ridge, but I didn’t realize I’d let the sky go completely black. Isla’s been alone all this time, probably pacing the floorboards thin.
I shouldn’t have walked out like that. I know it. But I couldn’t be around anyone when all I wanted to do was punch a tree until my knuckles split.
The truth? I haven’t let anyone get this close in years. Not since Isla walked away. And now, with her world collapsing—her mother gone—I was terrified she’d see me break.
The flashlight beam swings up and catches my face—dust and sweat streaked beneath my jaw. Isla bolts forward, arms reaching, breath hitching in ragged little gasps. Her eyes, wide in the circle of light, shine raw, burned through with fear.
God damn it. I did this. I pushed her away the moment she tried to come back in.
I’m an asshole.
I open my good arm, and she slips into it like she never forgot how. Her small frame presses against my chest, soft and warm and trembling. My palm flattens between her shoulder blades, holding her as close as I can without hurting her.
“I’m sorry I made you worry,” I murmur into the soft cascade of her hair. It smells of freshly cut lilies and something uniquely hers—tender, bittersweet. “I…didn’t know how to handle the news. And weirdly, I’m not even surprised.”
She tilts back, chest rising with quick, shallow breaths. Silver light lines her face.
“I was lost when I learned Mom died,” she whispers, voice rough as gravel. “I still am. It’s okay not to know your next move.”
“But I still worry about you,” I say, guilt tightening my throat. “And for that, I’m sorry.”
A small, fragile smile warms her lips. “We’re starting over, Luke. That takes time. And considering what we’re both going through…”
Her palm presses over my heart, grounding me. “I think we’re allowed to be a little confused.”
Her steady warmth melts something locked inside me.
I lift a hand to her chin, brushing my thumb under the soft curve, tilting her face up so her eyes meet mine. The world falls away, all pine and night and her breath warming the space between us.
She’s the most breathtaking woman I’ve ever known. Maybe the only one who’s ever truly known me.
And for the first time all damn night, the tightness in my chest eases, not because anything is fixed, but because she came after me.
My palm drifts from her jaw to the nape of her neck, finding the silken tension there. Her hair tumbles through my fingers. I tug gently, and she parts her lips in a quiet gasp.
Her eyes flick from mine to my mouth. Hungry, uncertain, quivering. Then she licks her bottom lip, slow and involuntary. That tiny movement steals the breath from my lungs.
After ten years of yearning, my restraint snaps.
“I can’t wait anymore,” I murmur, voice low as distant thunder.
Her fingers dig into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me flush to her. My chest roars with the life that she’s awakened. I cover her mouth with mine in a fierce claim, lips crushing, tongue sweeping past her teeth, tasting her. Every nerve in me ignites.
I grip the soft cotton of her sweatshirt while she locks her arms around my waist, drawing me closer. My boot scrapes against pine needles as I back us toward the cabin door, never breaking that hungry kiss. She arches into me; her breath is warm and sweet on my lips.
I kick the door open and guide us inside, thrusting it shut behind us. The interior glows in firelight, embers flickering against log walls. A woven rug cushions our frantic steps. I pull back for air and study her: lips swollen, eyes shining with lust and something tender—relief, longing, fear.
“You’re so beautiful,” I whisper, voice husky. “So damn beautiful.”
I slide her hand to rest over my heart. She presses, and the pounding there echoes in my bones.
“It hurts,” I admit, soft and urgent.
“Luke…” she moans, heat radiating off her skin in waves.
Without hesitation, I lower us onto the couch. I settle back, and she straddles my lap, her thighs warm against mine. I tug her sweatshirt up over her head in one pull. Then, I lift her T-shirt off, inch by inch, until she’s clad only in a lacy white bra that frames the gentle swell of her breasts.
I let my hands roam: the hollow of her waist, the gentle slope of her ribs, the tender blast of that soft lace.
She shifts, grinding lightly against my hardened cock.
I lean forward, lips brushing across the top of her bra strap before flicking it down.
The fabric falls away, and I cup her breasts in my calloused palm.
Her pulse thrums under my fingertips; delicate peaks harden at my touch.
She bites her lip as I pinch one with my index finger and thumb, rolling it between us.
A low growl escapes me. I capture that tiny bud in my mouth, tongue swirling around it. She lets out a sharp cry, arching into the heat of my face. I suck, bite, and swirl alternately, then switch to the other, mapping every inch with my tongue. Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling me deeper.
It’s as if my body is waking up, flipping an insatiable switch, and the need to taste her, fuck her, own her, is more than I can resist.
My hand slides lower, past the waistband of her yoga pants. My fingers brush the silken heat there—slick, inviting. I pry the fabric taut and shunt her panties aside.
Before she can catch her breath, I thrust two fingers inside her, pumping roughly. She cries out, body shuddering under my hand.
Her hips roll against my knuckles, soaking them through. I curl my fingers, rub her inner walls, seek her pulse of wetness. My thumb finds her clit and draws small circles while she rides my grip.
“Luke…” she gasps, voice ragged as the sky at dawn. “I need you—naked.”
I press my lips to the hollow behind her ear, feeling the rapid thrum of her pulse. “Shh, baby. Come on my fingers first.”
Her hips stutter. A tremor winds through her spine. She throws back her head and unleashes a deep, shuddering cry as her body collapses around my hand. I hold her through the quake, fingers curling ever so lightly to milk every tremor.
When she stills, head lolling, I draw my hand free and guide her slick fingers to my mouth. I slide my tongue along them, tasting her release in slow, maddening licks.
Her eyes find mine—wide, glowing with fire and satisfaction. She parts her lips, and I capture them in a kiss that tastes of everything we’ve waited ten years to share.
On trembling legs, Isla rises. She slides a foot free from her worn canvas sneaker, then the other, peeling away ankle socks to bare pale skin. She hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her yoga pants, sliding them over rounded hips and down silky thighs, before doing the same with her panties.
At last, she stands before me—hair tousled, cheeks flushed, every inch of her seeming to glow in the warm light.
I can’t tear my eyes away. If every hardship in my life led to this moment, I’d choose them all again without hesitation.
She arches one perfect brow. “You’re staring.”
“You’re perfect,” I murmur.
A slow smile curves her lips. “Then let me stare next.”
Without another word, Isla drops to her knees on the plush rug. She tilts her head back, heavy-lidded eyes locking onto mine. The sight of her there—vulnerable yet so in control—has my blood pounding, cock straining against denim.
She unlaces my scuffed leather boots, fingers brushing my ankles as each boot comes away with a soft thud. She peels off my socks next, kneading at my calves with gentle fingertips before standing.
I rise to meet her as one careful hand slips beneath my jacket; the other works to undo the Velcro straps of my shoulder brace. When she tugs my shirt up and over my head, a jolt of pain stabs my ribs, but I clamp my mouth shut so she won’t hesitate.
She stands before me now, fingers trailing my abs before she unbuttons my jeans and eases down the zipper in a slow, tantalizing glide. My cock jumps, hungry for release.
“Dammit, woman,” I rasp, leaning back into her touch. “If you don’t get my cock out soon, I’m going to come in my pants.”
A mischievous laugh ripples from her chest. She hooks slender fingers in the waistband of my boxer briefs, then tugs both briefs and jeans down in one fluid motion—the cool air of the room ghosts across my skin.
Isla straightens and steps back, eyes dark with want. I sink onto the couch, legs splayed, and wrap my hand around my cock. The head is slick with precome, and I pump it twice, watching her swallow at the sight. Her bottom lip slips between her teeth.
“Do you have any condoms?” She asks, throat tight with longing.
I shake my head, exhaling a frustrated laugh. “Haven’t needed them in years.”
A nervous laugh escapes her. “Same with me.”
She runs a fingertip along my thigh. “I’m on the pill.”
My heart hammers so loud I can feel it in my ears. The memory of our first time as teenagers—tentative, veiled by latex—flashes through me. Bare skin against bare skin is almost more than I can bear.
“Jesus, Isla,” I groan, lifting my hips. “Get over here and ride my cock.”
Her eyes light up. She steps forward, hair brushing my chest as she straddles me, and the world narrows to the electric press of her warmth against my hardness.
My finger traces her, slick and warm. She hovers just above, her thighs trembling slightly on either side of mine.
Our eyes lock as I position myself beneath her, the leather couch creaking with our shifting weight. For a heartbeat, we connect—just barely—and I freeze, lungs emptying in a rush.
My head drops back, throat exposed, as Isla’s breath catches. She lowers herself with agonizing control, the sensation drawing a low sound from deep in my chest until I’m buried to the hilt.
Her body trembles as I fill her, the sofa creaking beneath us. I grip her hips and start a slow, hard rhythm. Each thrust sends a soft slap into the hush of the room, fueling the fire in my veins. She rolls her hips to meet mine, a soft moan catching in her throat.
“You—” My voice breaks. “So good.”
Her thighs tighten around my hips, pulling me deeper.
My hand slips between us, fingers brushing her swollen clit as I hammer into her. She arches back, hair splaying down her back, eyes clamped shut against the mounting heat. I angle my hips up to hit that spot I know will shatter her.
Her walls flutter around me, her breath coming in broken gasps, and then she unravels—her cry a ragged symphony as she spasms around me.
I fuck her through her orgasm, driving myself to the edge. My own release bursts free inside of her as I groan her name, filling her to the brim.
We slump together in the wet aftermath, heaving breaths mingling. My fingers tangle in her hair; her hands brush my cheek.
No words pass between us—only the steady pounding of two hearts finally at rest, at least for a brief moment.
But even with her in my arms, something sharp coils low in my gut—because peace this good is always the first thing to get taken.