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31

ZOEY

The cabin feels different tonight. Lighter. The threat that hung over us for weeks is gone, and the mountain air outside carries only the clean scent of pine and early frost. Kellan and I sit close on the couch after dinner, talking about everything that has changed. How I no longer measure my worth by ticket sales or chart positions. How he no longer keeps the world at arm’s length out of fear of loss. We talk about permanent plans without looking over our shoulders. A real home here. Quiet mornings. A life that belongs only to us.

“I want that with you,” he says, gray eyes warm. “All of it.”

“I want it too,” I answer. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The certainty feels easy now. We move to the bedroom without any of the earlier urgency. Clothes come off between soft laughter and lingering kisses. He lays me down and takes his time, mouth on my breasts, hands stroking the curves of my waist and hips like he is memorizing me all over again. When he settles between my thighs his tongue is unhurried, licking through my folds and circling my clit until I come against his mouth with a soft, happy sigh.

He rises over me, lips shiny with my wetness. His cock is hard and heavy, the base already beginning to swell. I guide him to my entrance. He pushes in slowly, letting me feel every thick inch. The stretch is familiar and perfect now. When the knot presses against me I breathe out and take the rest of his cock. He sinks deep until we are fully joined, the knot locked inside, filling me completely.

We stay like that, smiling at each other. “You feel like home,” he murmurs.

“You are home,” I tell him.

The thick shaft and swelling knot create a deep, steady pleasure that builds without rush. His hands stroke my sides, my breasts, my hair. The pace stays unhurried, full of the simple joy of being able to take our time.

When I ask for more he gives it, hips rolling with controlled power while the thick knot tugs deliciously against my entrance with every movement. The stretch is constant, the pressure perfect, each slow drag lighting fresh sparks deep inside me. I come again almost at once, walls pulsing hard around his cock and the swollen knot. He never stops. He keeps the same measured rhythm, rolling through every contraction, drawing the pleasure out in long waves until I am soft and glowing beneath him, breath broken, body loose and sated.

He kisses me once, deep and unhurried, then rolls us in one smooth motion so I am astride him. The knot stays locked inside me through the turn. I sink down fully, taking him to the hilt, and the new angle makes me gasp. His hands settle on my waist, thumbs stroking slow circles over my skin. Gray eyes hold mine, warm and open, full of quiet love and fierce satisfaction.

I begin to move. Slow, rolling hips that grind my clit against the hard plane of his body on every downstroke. The friction is exquisite. The knot tugs and presses with each rise and fall, keeping me stretched and full. His fingers tighten just enough to guide without taking control. I brace my hands on his scarred chest and find a rhythm that lets me feel every inch of him.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice low and rough with lingering growl. “Take what you need. You look so beautiful like this.”

I lean forward, changing the angle, and the next grind sends a fresh coil of pleasure tightening low in my belly. His thumbs keep stroking, steady and grounding. The scent of him surrounds me, pine and woodsmoke and the deeper musk of our joined bodies. I ride him with deliberate care, savoring the way the knot holds us together, the way his eyes never leave mine.

Another orgasm builds slower this time, richer. I chase it with longer rolls of my hips, grinding harder on each descent. His hands slide up my back, then down again, encouraging. When the pleasure finally breaks it rolls through me in warm, pulsing waves. My walls flutter and clench around the knot. I moan his name and keep moving through it, softer now, until the last spark fades and I collapse forward onto his chest.

His arms come around me at once, holding me close while the knot keeps us locked. One hand strokes down my spine. The other cups the back of my head. His heartbeat thumps steady under my cheek.

“I love you,” he says against my hair, the words quiet and certain.

I press a kiss to the scar on his collarbone and answer the only way that matters right now, tightening around him once more and staying exactly where I am.

32

KELLAN

Rebecca catches the last useful intercept four days after Cross's teams withdraw, a fragment of communication routed through channels his organization apparently believed were secure enough to risk one final internal conversation before going dark completely. She brings the transcript to the den at first light, expression carrying something between relief and grim satisfaction.

"You need to hear this," she says, spreading the printed transcript across the table where Zoey and I are finishing breakfast. "Cross had a call with someone inside his own organization. Legal counsel, from the sound of it."

I read through the transcript twice, understanding settling slow and complicated as the full picture comes into focus. Cross's people pulled financial records tied to Simon Graves during their final investigation, standard due diligence checking whether the original stalker had any connection worth exploring further. What they found instead was a paper trail neither Cross nor anyone else apparently expected, wire transfers and encrypted communications proving Simon had been in contact with someone inside Cross's organization for months before the operation on this mountain ever began.

"Simon didn't just get lucky finding Zoey's location," I say, reading the relevant section aloud. "Someone actively cultivated him. Reached out while he was already awaiting trial, offered him something, money probably, in exchange for details about Zoey. Her habits, her security patterns, anything useful for locating her once she went into hiding."

"So the organization created their own bait." Zoey's voice carries something cold and furious underneath the careful control. "They didn't just take advantage of information Simon happened to have. They deliberately recruited an obsessed, dangerous man to help them locate me specifically."

"Looks that way." I continue through the transcript, Cross's own voice captured mid-conversation, tight with something that reads as genuine alarm rather than professional concern. "Cross's legal counsel is telling him this exposure is catastrophic. Recruiting a convicted criminal to track a stalking victim, using her as deliberate bait for an unrelated investigation, none of that survives legal scrutiny if it ever comes to light. He's looking at real liability, maybe criminal liability, depending on how deep his own involvement in that decision actually went."

"What does he do about it?"

I read the final exchange, Cross's voice noticeably different by the end of the transcript, all the methodical calm that's defined this entire operation finally cracking under the weight of what he's uncovered. "He orders everything destroyed. Every record connecting his organization to Simon, every document related to this operation's origins. Complete deniability, effective immediately."

"He's protecting himself," Zoey says quietly. "Not because he suddenly developed a conscience about using me as bait. Because he realizes how badly this exposes him personally."