CHAPTER 314

CHAPTER 314
ZION

The drive to the beach house felt endless—winding coastal roads hugging the cliffs, salt air slipping through the cracked windows.

Winter’s eyes had drifted closed sometime after the last town, a small, peaceful smile playing on her lips as she leaned her head against the window.

Her hand stayed on my thigh the whole way, thumb tracing lazy, absent patterns that were slowly driving me out of my mind.

Every small circle, every light press of her fingers, sent fresh heat straight to my cock.

I kept my eyes locked on the road, grip white-knuckled on the wheel, because if I looked at her too long—hoodie riding up her thighs, hair messy from the wind through the cracked window, lips still a little swollen from earlier kisses—I’d pull over onto the gravel shoulder and fuck her against the nearest dune, Hemming’s “be careful” warning be damned.

I shifted in my seat again, trying to ease the ache behind my zipper. It didn’t help.

My balls were heavy, full, throbbing with thirty-five days of pent-up need. I could already picture it: peeling her hoodie off, spreading her thighs on the passenger seat, sinking into her slow and deep until she gasped my name and clawed at my shoulders.

The thought alone made my cock jerk painfully against the denim, a fresh bead of precum soaking through the fabric.

FUCK!

Winter blinked once—twice—head lifting from the window as she peered out at the road, the ocean stretching endless on our left, the cliffs rising sharp on our right.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, voice soft but sharp with confusion, forcing my dirty mind back to the present just as it had started drifting again—picturing her thighs spread wide, hoodie shoved up, my mouth between her legs while she tried not to arch and pull her stitches.

“This isn’t the way home.”

“I know,”

I grinned—slow, predatory—without taking my eyes off the stretch of highway ahead.

“We’re not going home. We’re having a getaway. Harry’s got a beach house—small place right on the coast, private stretch of sand, no neighbors for miles. Just the ocean, the sound of waves, and a few days where no one can find us.

She turned her head to look at me, eyes wide, lips parting like she couldn’t quite believe it.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” I glanced over—and saw the spark of excitement flicker behind the lingering caution.

“We deserve some fun, baby. You deserve to feel the sun on your skin, waves on your feet, me on top of you with no one around to interrupt. We’ve earned this. You’ve earned this. Just you and me...

And the boys, of course,” I added, rolling my eyes even though the corner of my mouth twitched.

“Couldn’t get rid of them if I tried.
Clark threw a full tantrum when I suggested leaving them behind—said he’d ‘wither and die’ without us, that he’d ‘haunt the apartment like a sad ghost’ if we didn’t bring him along. He literally sat on the floor in front of the door and refused to move until I promised he could come. Threatened to cry. Actual tears. It was pathetic. And effective.”

“Classic Clark,” she chuckled.

“He’s a comedian.”

“He’s a drama queen,” I muttered, but there was no heat in it.

Truth was, I’d take Clark’s tantrums and Harry’s deadpan commentary and Ro’s silent shadow any day if it meant Winter had people who’d burn the world down for her. People who already had the ink to prove it.

Winter laughed—quiet, hoarse, but bright—and squeezed my thigh once, fingers lingering dangerously close to where I was already half-hard just from having her this close after thirty-five days of torture.

“Sounds perfect,” she murmured.

“Just us… and the ocean.”

“Just us,” I repeated, voice thick.

Her fingers flexed on my leg, inching higher, brushing the outline of my cock through my jeans. I groaned low in my throat, hips shifting involuntarily.

“Zion…”

I glanced over—caught her eye—and let her see every bit of the hunger I’d been swallowing for weeks.

“Careful, baby,” I warned, voice gravel-rough and fraying at the edges.

“Keep that up and I’m pulling over right now. Consequences be damned.”

She bit her lip—still a little swollen, still healing—and gave me that look.

The one that said she knew exactly what she was doing to me, knew the fire she was stoking, and loved every second of watching me burn.

“Maybe I don’t want to wait,” she whispered, voice soft but laced with pure, wicked intent.

Fuck.

I pressed harder on the accelerator, the engine responding with a low growl that matched the one building in my chest.

The needle climbed—sixty, seventy, eighty—the coastal road blurring into streaks of dark asphalt and moonlit ocean. I couldn’t wait.

Couldn’t fucking wait to get her alone.

Every mile felt like torture.

My cock throbbed painfully against the denim, leaking steadily now, the wet spot spreading, balls drawn up so tight it hurt to breathe.

I glanced at the GPS—ten minutes.

Ten fucking minutes.

I could make it.

Barely.

......

Those fucking ten minutes dragged on like they were personally trying to torture me.

By the time the beach house finally came into view—low cedar lines, wide porch facing the dark ocean, porch light glowing like a beacon—I was shaking with restraint.

Gravel crunched under the tires as I pulled into the narrow drive, killed the engine, and sat there for half a second just breathing hard through my nose, trying to get a grip before I dragged her out of the car and took her on the hood.

Winter unbuckled slowly—deliberately—eyes locked on mine, dark and hungry.

I didn’t wait.

I was out of the car in a heartbeat, rounding to her side, yanking the door open and pulling her into me before her feet even hit the ground fully.

My mouth crashed down on hers—hard, desperate, tongue sweeping in to taste her like I’d been starving for years instead of thirty-five days.

She moaned into the kiss—soft, needy—hands fisting in my shirt, legs wrapping around my waist as I lifted her, pressing her back against the side of the car.

“Zion—” she gasped when I broke away to drag my mouth down her throat, teeth grazing the unmarked skin over her pulse.

I groaned into her mouth—deep, guttural—hips grinding forward instinctively, cock throbbing painfully against her heat through our clothes.

She arched into it, whimpering, nails digging into my shoulders like she was trying to climb inside me.

I didn’t hear the gravel crunch behind us.

Didn’t register the SUV pulling up until Clark’s voice sliced through the haze like a chainsaw.

“Behave, kids! Jesus, get a room—or at least wait until we’re not right behind you watching the live-action porno! I just ate, Z! I’m gonna hurl!”

I tore my lips away from Winter’s—breath ragged, chest heaving—and whipped my head around.

Clark was hanging halfway out the passenger window, grinning like a maniac, phone already up like he was about to take a picture.

“Clark, I swear to fucking God—” I snarled, voice shredded, one arm still locked around Winter’s waist to keep her pressed against me.

He cackled—loud, obnoxious.

“What? I’m just documenting the moment! ‘Local man finally gets laid after thirty-five days of blue balls.’ Caption material right there. Hashtag blessed. Hashtag finally.”

Winter buried her face in my neck—laughing so hard her whole body shook against mine, thighs still wrapped around me, hoodie bunched up around her hips where I'd hiked it just enough to feel bare skin under my palms.

I grabbed her hand—fingers lacing tight with hers—

“Let’s go inside,” I said, voice low and wrecked, already pulling her toward the beach house.

Claire’s car was parked crooked in the gravel like she’d arrived in a hurry, one wheel half off the drive.

Music leaked faintly from inside—something low and acoustic, soft guitar and a woman's voice—and the smell of woodsmoke, pine, and salt air hit us the second I pushed the door open.

Winter paused on the threshold, eyes widening as she took in the warm glow spilling from the living room.

“Omg, Claire’s here too…?”

I nodded, thumb brushing over her knuckles.

“And Ariel.”

Her face lit up—bright, instant, like a kid spotting Christmas lights.

She let go of my hand and bounded inside—still careful of her side, but moving faster than she had in weeks, hoodie sleeves flapping as she disappeared through the doorway.

I followed—slower—heart doing that stupid flip it always did when she looked happy.

Truly happy. Not the careful, fragile version she’d worn for the last month.

The real one.

The one that made her eyes sparkle and her laugh come easy.

The living room was already alive—Claire at the kitchen island pouring something red into mismatched glasses, Ariel curled on the couch with a blanket around her shoulders, knees still bouncing like she couldn’t quite settle.

“Finally!” Claire yelled, abandoning the bottle and rushing over.

“Show me! Show me the ink, you badass bitch!”

Winter laughed again—bright, breathless—and tugged her sleeve up to reveal the snowflake, then pushed the other sleeve higher to show the RC on her upper arm.

Ariel shot up off the couch like she’d been electrocuted, blanket tumbling to the floor as she crowded in beside Claire, eyes wide and shining.

“They’re perfect,” Ariel breathed, fingers hovering but not quite touching, like she was afraid they’d vanish if she got too close.

“The snowflake… and RC? You’re really one of them now. Like… officially.”

Claire slung an arm around Ariel’s shoulders, squeezing hard enough to make Ariel squeak.

“She was always one of them, dummy,” Claire said, voice warm but firm.

“They just made it official. About damn time, too.”

Ariel looked down at her phone—screen lighting up her face in a soft blue glow—and licked her lips nervously, thumb hovering over the edge like she was debating whether to turn it off or check it again.

Winter noticed.

She frowned, tilting her head, voice softening.

“Ariel… you okay?”

Ariel’s head snapped up—too fast, too bright.

“I’m fine! Totally fine. Just… excited. And maybe I had too much coffee. Or not enough. Or—whatever.”

She waved her phone vaguely, then shoved it into her pocket like it had personally offended her.

“I should probably go home soon. It’s getting late.”

Claire’s arm tightened around her like a vice—protective, immovable.

“No fucking way. You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying. We’re celebrating. All night. All weekend. No leaving.”

Ariel opened her mouth—protest already forming, eyes darting toward the door—but Harry cut in from the doorway, voice calm and low, eyes fixed on Ariel.

“I’ll drop you later if you want,” he said, gaze never wavering.

“No pressure. But you’re welcome here. Always.”

He looked at her like she was the only person in the room—like he’d drive her across the country at 3 a.m. if she asked, no questions. Lovesick.

Completely fucking lovesick.

“She’s not going anywhere,” Claire repeated.

“Not tonight. Not when we finally have something good to celebrate.”

Clark, already elbow-deep in the fridge like he’d been born with a bottle opener in his hand, popped his head out with two beers dangling from his fingers, grin splitting wide and shameless.

“Listen to my twin, Ariel. Stay. Drink. Eat. Cry a little. It’s gonna be fun.” He leaned forward, dropping his voice into that exaggerated, suggestive purr he pulled out when he thought he was being irresistible.

“And hey… maybe later I’ll show you something worth seeing. Up close. Personal. The full Clark experience. Lights dim, mood music, candles, the works. You won’t regret it. I’ve got moves, baby. Moves.”

Ariel’s eyes went wide—half horrified, half like she was mentally calculating how fast she could bolt for the door without tripping over the rug.

“Shut the fuck up, Clark.” Harry growled—low, flat, lethal.

“Say one more word like that to her and I’m dragging you outside by your hair and dunking you in the ocean until you learn how to speak to people without sounding like a walking HR violation.”

Before Clark could open his mouth and pass another stupid comment—

Claire cut him off like a whip crack.
“Ignore my twin,” she said firmly.

“You’re not going anywhere. End of story.”

Ariel exhaled—shaky but steadying.

“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll stay.”

Claire squeezed her again—hard, protective—then turned to Winter with a grin.

“Now. Tell me everything. Did it hurt? Did you cry? Did Zion cry? I need details.”

Ro leaned in.

He tilted his head toward Winter, eyes flicking between us with that quiet, knowing look he’d perfected over the years.

“So… when are you gonna propose, Z?”

“Soon,” I said.

“Very fucking soon.”