My breath hitches, tears burning in the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to look away, to hide. “I thought I needed to prove something to myself. I thought... I thought you’d find someone better.”
He lets out a harsh breath, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes, his expression a tangle of anger and something softer, something that makes my chest ache. “There was never anyone better, Emma. Never.”
Before I can respond, before I can let the truth of his words sink in, Slate’s mouth is on mine, claiming me in a kiss that’s all fire and frustration. It’s not gentle—it's rough, desperate, the kind of kiss that shatters walls. I gasp into it, and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss, his hands sliding into my hair, holding me like he’s afraid I’ll disappear again.
I cling to him, my hands fisting in his hair, pulling him closer until he topples forward, and we crash back onto the bed. The small mattress gives beneath our combined weight, and I arch up into him, feeling the solid heat of his body pressing into mine, the delicious friction of it. The blanket slips away, forgotten, as his lips move against mine with a hunger that’s impossible to deny.
The kiss is everything we’ve held back—years of desire, of regret, of love that never really went away. It consumes me, makes me feel like I’m drowning in him, like he’s the only thing keeping me from slipping away into the storm outside. I pull him closer, wrapping my legs around his hips, needing him closer, needing to erase the space between us.
He breaks away first, panting, his forehead pressed to mine, his breath coming in hot, uneven bursts. His thumb strokes my jaw, rough and tender, and the look in his eyes makes my throat tighten. “This isn’t just about the past, Emma. This is about now. About us.”
My chest heaves with the weight of everything unsaid, and I cup his face with trembling hands, my thumb tracing the rough line of his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble beneath my fingertips. “Then show me, Slate. Show me I’m not just dreaming this.”
He growls low in his throat, a sound that makes my pulse spike, and his lips crash into mine again, his hands sliding under the hem of my shirt, finding the bare skin beneath. I shiver at his touch, the roughness of his palms against my sides, a moan escaping me that he swallows with another kiss, deeper, more possessive.
Clothing falls away, lost somewhere in the shadows, and all that’s left is heat, skin against skin, the rough press of his hands tracing old paths across my body, paths he hasn’t forgotten. He kisses down my neck, his mouth leaving trails of fire along my collarbone, across my shoulder, until I’m writhing beneath him, my breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
I drag him back up to my mouth, my nails digging into his back as I pull him closer, feeling the strength in every line of his body, the way he moves against me like he’s trying to memorize every inch. He groans into my mouth, and I feel the sound vibrate through me, deepening the ache between my legs, making me arch into him, needing more.
“Tell me you’re mine,” he growls against my lips, his voice rough with need, his hand sliding up my thigh, fingers pressing against me in a way that makes my head spin. “Tell me you’re not running this time.”
My answer is a breathless moan, my fingers tightening in his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine. “Yours, Slate. I’ve always been yours.”
The firelight plays over our skin, turning the room into a haze of heat and shadows, the storm outside nothing but a distant roar.
My body trembles from his touch, my senses wild with abandon. Every worry I’ve been carrying melts away, and right now, the only thing that matters is Slate and me, tangled in this space, in this moment.
Slate, his tongue, his hands—it's all I can think about.
“Sweetheart, I just want to make it clear to you–I’ve never been with another woman. I’m a virgin. You’ve always been the only one for me and I’m not sure I can control myself if we keep doing this.” He gestures toward his jeans, where a small wet spot darkens the fabric. He flashes a smile, and I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. I clamp my hand over my mouth, eyes wide.
“I–I–I’m still a virgin too, Slate.”
Slate moves fast, pulling me closer, wrapping my legs around his waist as he nestles himself between my thighs.
“That sweet, juicy peach feels so good against my cock,” he groans, his voice rough, filled with raw need as I grind down on him. The friction between us is electric, and I can feel the power of it, the way I’m unraveling this strong man with every move. His hands are everywhere, roaming over my body, the callouses on his palms scraping deliciously against my skin.
“Your skin is so fucking soft and sexy,” he murmurs, his voice low and hoarse, his hands sliding up to remove my shirt and bra to cup my breasts. He hesitates, his eyes meeting mine, askingfor permission without a word. I give a slight nod, my breath hitching.
I feel safe with Slate. I want him. I need him. I want to forget everything—every fear, every doubt—and just drown in this moment with him.
“Oh, baby,” he breathes, taking my nipple into his mouth. He sucks deeply, his teeth grazing just enough to send a shiver racing down my spine. My body arches into him, and he growls against my skin.
“I love how fucking responsive you are to me,” he growls. Slate drops to his knees on the floor in front of me, grabbing my face gently but firmly, making it impossible to look away. His eyes are serious, intense.
“I don’t want to fuck this up. This thing between us... it’s special. I’m not in a rush. I want you to feel good about us, about everything. I don’t want to scare you off by moving too fast.”
His sincerity floors me. He’s being so careful, so thoughtful, and it only makes me want him more.
“I want you, Slate,” I whisper, my voice shaky but sure.
“You have me, Emma. God, you have me, baby.” He crushes his mouth against mine, kissing me with a kind of desperation that makes my heart pound. It’s a kiss filled with passion, with need, with raw, unfiltered desire. I feel the weight of it, the promise behind it. This isn’t just a moment; it’s something more, something forever.
I kiss him back, hard, pouring all of my fears and insecurities into it, trying to show him that it’s okay, that we’re okay. We’re more than okay.
“I want you, Slate. I need you. Please,” I beg, my voice thick with desperation. I can’t let him pull away, not now.
He growls into my mouth, kissing me harder, more possessively. His tongue invades my mouth, and I melt into him, completely lost in the storm of him.
