He stiffens at the contact, a tremor running through his powerful frame, but he doesn’t pull away. He allows the contact, though his muscles remain coiledtight.
“Feel my arms around you. Feel the solid floor beneath your feet. You’re here, not there.”
Wherever that is.
I reach forward, shutting off the tap, then gently dry his hands. He lets me.
“Talk to me,” I whisper.
A shudder runs through him. One hand comes up to cover mine, resting against his chest, his grip almost desperate. “Just—stay,” he manages, his voice rough. “I need to feel something real.”
“I’m here. I’m real.” I go still, letting him ground himself through the contact.
Gradually, his heartbeat slows. Then, carefully, he turns within the circle of my arms. His hands slide to my waist, drawing me close as my cheek finds his chest. The solid thud of his heart beneath my ear anchors us both to the present.
One hand cradles the back of my head, pressing me more firmly against him. His fingers tangle in my hair, grip tightening as the memories release their hold. The helicopter’s sound has faded, leaving only the storm’s howl and our shared breathing.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, the words rumbling through his chest against my cheek.
The praise slides through me like warm honey, melting my spine. Mason’s dominance feels natural, perfect, and protective rather than possessive and cruel. When he claims, he offers shelter in return. My body softens against him, offering submission as sanctuary.
When he finally looks down at me, his eyes are clear again, though shadows lurk in their depths. His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing my bottom lip. The touch is feather-light, giving me every chance to pull away. Instead, I lean into his palm, offering myself as comfort.
Something shifts in his gaze as I yield to his touch. Thosesteel-gray eyes darken, and his pupils dilate until only a thin ring of color remains. The transformation steals my breath—the way his expression changes from vulnerable to predatory in the space of a heartbeat.
His thumb presses more firmly against my lip, and I can’t help but part them on a shaky exhale. The small surrender makes his nostrils flare, and his other hand tightens in my hair.
I should be terrified of this—of the raw hunger I see in his eyes, of the way his powerful body cages mine against the wall. Instead, I arch closer, seeking more of his heat, strength, and control.
The air between us crackles with tension, a silent understanding passing between us without a word spoken. I’m open to whatever comes next, ready to let this stranger lead me into uncharted territory.
For once, I want to let go—completely.
I lick the pad of his thumb. A whisper of contact.
Ayes.
He growls low, a sound from deep in his chest. One arm wraps around me. Pulls me flush. His thumb lingers before sliding along my jawline. The tension between us winds tight like a coiled spring. His other hand moves to the small of my back, drawing me closer until there’s hardly any space left between us.
My heart pounds. My breath catches.
And still, I don’t look away.
I want this.
God help me—I want everything.
I don’t think about it. Can’t think about it. Just rise on my toes and press my lips to his. Offering comfort. Seeking solace from him.
FIVE
Willow
One moment,we’re breathing the same air, suspended in fragile stillness. Next, his mouth crashes into mine, all fire and desperation. I gasp as he walks me backward, gripping my thighs and lifting me like I weigh nothing.
My back hits the wall. My legs wrap around his hips, my body reacting on instinct. Heat floods my core as his hardness presses against me, and I whimper into the kiss.
“Tell me to stop.” The command growls from his throat, hands already under my borrowed shirt, branding my skin. The dominance in his tone makes me shiver, but it’s the restraint behind it that undoes me. He’s giving me control even as he claims it.
