Chapter 63 Together Again
Chapter 63 Together Again
Dalton POV
—
I smiled faintly, brushing a wet strand of hair from her face. “Now… we stop pretending we don’t belong here.”
Her answer came in another kiss, deeper this time, more certain. The kind that left no room for questions. My pulse quickened, the warmth between us growing until I couldn’t tell where my breath ended and hers began.
My fingers wrapped around her core. My thumb swirled around her clit, causing her to shudder and moan into my lips.
We moved without thinking, guided by instinct and memory, each touch familiar yet entirely new. My hands slid up her back, her fingers tracing the scar on my shoulder as if grounding me in the moment.
Her shirt clung to her, the faintest tremor in her breath giving her away as I cupped her face again, kissing her like it was the first time all over again.
My fingers dug deeper, one then two inside her. Pressing against her walls, and rocking against her nerves.
When we finally pulled apart, her forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling. The cabin felt impossibly still.
“Dalton,” she whispered, my name barely audible.
I met her gaze, my voice rough when I spoke. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
A small, trembling smile tugged at her lips before she kissed me again, softer this time. It wasn’t desperation anymore, it was understanding.
And slowly, the distance that had stretched between us dissolved completely. Every touch became a confession, every kiss a wordless promise that no matter how broken we were, we still fit.
The rain outside softened into a steady drizzle, like the world was finally at peace with us.
When we finally moved to the bedroom, the air between us was quiet, reverent. There were no sharp edges left, just the soft rhythm of rediscovery, the kind that came after forgiveness.
Clothes were lost somewhere along the way, and words weren’t needed anymore. It wasn’t about lust, it was about finding each other again, piece by piece, heartbeat by heartbeat.
I pressed my shaft against her opening and slid against her. Her need showing clearly. I glided into her smooth and slow. I wanted to feel this, feel her. This wasn’t primal or lust. I wanted to be connected to her.
When her hand found mine, our fingers intertwined, and I knew, this wasn’t about starting over. It was about coming home.
—
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the quiet. No rain. No thunder. No storm pounding against the windows like an echo of everything that had been tearing us apart.
Just stillness. And the soft rhythm of Sloane’s breathing beside me.
Light filtered through the curtains, pale and golden, catching in the strands of her hair spread across my chest. My hand was still resting over hers, our fingers tangled, as if neither of us had dared to let go through the night.
For a long moment, I didn’t move. I just lay there, listening to the soft rise and fall of her breath and the faint crackle from the fireplace that had burned low overnight. The world outside could have ended and I wouldn’t have cared.
Because she was here.
Sloane stirred slightly, shifting closer until her head rested in the crook of my shoulder. Her skin was warm against mine, her touch feather-light. I could feel her heartbeat through the thin sheet between us.
When her eyes finally blinked open, they met mine, still hazy with sleep, framed by the faintest hint of a smile that tugged at my chest.
“Morning,” she murmured, her voice rough and soft all at once.
“Morning,” I whispered back, brushing my thumb along her temple. “You okay?”
She let out a slow breath, thinking. “I don’t know. I think so. Just… tired.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Me too.”
There was no awkwardness, no rush to fill the silence. Just that strange, fragile calm that comes when the storm finally breaks and you realize you’ve both survived it.
Her gaze drifted over my face, lingering for a moment on the scar on my shoulder. She traced it absentmindedly with her fingertip, the lightest touch. “I used to wonder how you got this.”
I smiled faintly. “Car crash. Years ago.”
She nodded, her expression softening. “I used to think it made you look untouchable. But you’re not, are you?”
“Not with you,” I said.
Something in her expression wavered, vulnerability flickering beneath the surface, and then she leaned up and kissed me. Just once. Gentle. Almost questioning.
“I don’t know what happens next,” she admitted against my lips.
“Neither do I,” I said honestly. “But… I want to figure it out. With you.”
Sloane let out a shaky laugh and pressed her forehead to mine. “You’re impossible.”
“I get that a lot,” I said, earning the smallest smile.
For a while, we just stayed like that, wrapped in quiet sunlight and tangled sheets, as if moving too soon might break whatever fragile peace we’d found.
Eventually, Sloane sat up, pulling the blanket with her, and looked toward the window. The forest beyond glistened with morning light, every leaf sparkling with leftover rain.
“It’s beautiful here,” she said softly. “Peaceful.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, watching her silhouette against the light. “It suits you.”
She glanced back at me, her eyes searching mine for a moment before she whispered, “You really do love me, don’t you?”
The words didn’t sting anymore, they felt right. True. “I do,” I said simply. “More than I should. More than I ever planned to.”
Something in her melted then. She reached out, tracing her fingers along my jaw, down to my chest, stopping where my heart beat beneath her touch. “Then don’t hurt me again,” she whispered.
“I won’t,” I said, meaning it. “Not if I can help it.”
Sloane nodded slowly, like she wanted to believe it, and maybe she did. She leaned in one last time, resting her head against my chest as I wrapped my arm around her.
The storm had washed everything clean, the fear, the bitterness, the walls we’d built between us. What was left wasn’t perfect, but it was real.
Outside, the world sparkled like it had been reborn. Inside, so did we.