Page 114 of The One Who Never Left: Colter

That was, if he wanted to be a part of her life like that.

You know he does, Sutton’s gut said. Hell, he already acted more like a parent than most dads do.

She took a shaky breath and walked down the hall, rehearsing sentences she hated:

You don’t know what you’re walking into but you deserve a choice.

I never meant to hide anything from⁠—

She clicked the door shut—and there he was. Leaning against the doorframe of the room across from hers in bare feet, boxer-briefs and arms crossed, as if he’d been waiting.

Her stomach flipped.

“Colter,” she started, voice small but steady. “There’s something you need to hear. Something I should’ve told you a long time ago—about Lynlee’s father. Or lack of one. I should⁠—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Because Colter pushed off the wall in one decisive step, caught her by the waist, and drew her into him. His forehead dropped to hers, breath warm, voice rough.

“No talking,” he murmured. “No apologies. I’ve been waiting all damn day to get my hands on you.”

Her pulse tripped hard. “But we need to talk⁠—”

He cut her off, but not with words—with a kiss that landed soft first, like he was asking permission, then deeper when she answered him back. He cupped her face like he’d been imagining the shape of it in his palms since sunrise.

When he finally pulled back, his thumb grazed her lower lip.

“That’s all I wanted,” he said, voice low. “Just to touch you again. To know today was as special to you as it was me.”

Sutton closed her eyes, an exhale shivering out of her. Her truth could wait one more breath.

Because right now—she was being seen. Being chosen and being wanted and she could no longer deny that he’d worked his way into her heart.

“Today was perfect.”

Perfect didn’t touch it. Her tongue in his mouth felt like sin wrapped in invitation.

It took him about two breaths—and a gentle nip at his lower lip—to understand that while he’d been bracing for her to say that the other night was a one-time thing, Sutton Rose, queen of boundaries and emotional seatbelts, had curled herself into him like she’d stopped bracing for impact. If that wasn’t a green light, the way she slid a hand into his hair and pulled his mouth down to hers sure as hell was.

And it wasn’t some polite, PG-13 good-night kiss, either.

Nope. This was a melt-the-paint, take-no-prisoners, I-want-to-fuck-you kind of kiss that erased every kiss he’d ever shared with someone else and told him exactly where things were going if he didn’t screw this up.

Right then, Colter made a decision. He’d follow this woman wherever she led.

No disclaimers. No exit plan.

He’d spent years keeping people at a safe distance, convincing himself attachments were optional, and temporary was easier. But this wasn’t just anyone.

This was a woman, who’d never had a parachute a day in her life and didn’t look like she wanted one now. She just wrapped her arms around his neck, ready to free-fall like gravity was a suggestion. And damned if that didn’t make him want to jump with her.

She shifted, deepening the kiss, and a soft sound escaped her—relief, maybe or finality. He didn’t know. But his hands were already memorizing the lines of her back, the curve of her hips, anchoring her like he was afraid she’d vanish if he didn’t hold on.

Was he terrified? Absolutely.

Was he hooked? No question.

If this was what happened when two adults finally talked instead of running, he was about to become a valedictorian of communication. Maybe even sign up for one of those relationship workshops Vivi kept threatening him with. Because this—this fire-and-honesty collision—was the best exchange Colter had ever had.