A slow, wicked, incredibly sexy smile touched his lips. “See? I love watching you. You’re so beautiful when you come.”
He began to move again, a shallow, rocking rhythm that made me gasp. And as I touched myself, something incredible happened. The last vestiges of discomfort vanished, burned away by a building inferno of sensation.
The tension began coiling deep inside me again, tighter and hotter than before, a spring winding far past its limit. I was racing toward another cliff, one I hadn’t known until today that I could reach. My breath came in ragged, sobbing pants.
“Jonas…” I chanted his name, a helpless plea, a prayer, a promise.
“I know, baby. I know,” he breathed against my mouth, his own rhythm beginning to fracture. “Let go. I’ve got you. I’ll always have you.”
His gaze was fierce, possessive, loving—a look I felt all the way to my soul. I came, my climax crashing over me with a force that stole my voice and my sight. I cried out, a sound he muffled with a deep, claiming kiss as my body convulsed wildly around his.
The intense, rhythmic clenching tipped him over the edge. With a raw, guttural groan torn from the depths of his being, he buried his face in the curve of my neck and found his own release, pulsing deep within me, his entire body shuddering with the force of it.
For a long, timeless while, there was only the sound of our ragged breathing mingling with the distant hiss of the steam machine. He was a warm, heavy weight on top of me, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against mine. He shifted slightly to take his weight on his elbows, his movements tender and careful, and brushed the stray hair from my forehead.
“Okay?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion and spent passion.
I could only nod, my throat too tight for words, tears stinging my eyes. Lying there in the cold grass with him, I knew with absolute certainty that I was his.
The frantic search was over. The running had ended. I wasn’t just in Wildwood Valley—I was home. And I was never, ever leaving him.
6
JONAS
Paige would make a damn good mom.
That thought hit me square in the chest as I watched her crouched on the other side of her booth, her coat brushing the frosted grass while she showed a little boy one of her hand-painted bells. The kid was giggling, pudgy fingers curled around the shiny brass, and Paige was matching him smile for smile, her eyes lit like the Christmas lights strung above us.
I was supposed to be helping Wade set up the wreath-making station, but every time I glanced back at Paige, it felt less like work and more like watching the future I never thought I could have.
“What’s with you, man?” Wade asked, eyeing me as I twisted pine branches into a wire frame.
“What do you mean?”
“You’re grinning like a kid who just found a brand-new bike under the tree.”
If only he knew. I hadn’t smiled on Christmas morning since I was old enough to stop believing Santa was coming for kids like me. A few charity toy drives, the occasional foster family thattried to make the day special—but most of my Decembers were more empty than full.
But now…now it was different. With Paige, the future looked like more than survival. It looked like light. Like warmth. Like home.
“Just in a good mood,” I muttered.
“Right.” Wade smirked. “Nothing to do with the pretty bell maker you’ve been shadowing all day?”
I didn’t answer. My gaze slid back to her instead. Paige was letting the boy shake the bell, her laughter blending with the sound of carols floating from the speakers overhead. His mom dug for money in her purse, and Paige crouched lower, making silly faces until the kid squealed so loud half the booth turned to look.
My chest tightened.
She’d be the kind of mother who knew how to make scraped knees stop hurting and Christmas mornings sparkle. The kind who created traditions kids remembered long after they grew up. The kind I’d only dreamed about.
And I had no fucking clue how to do my part in a family like that.
“Uh-oh.” Wade’s voice cut in, low and knowing. “That look on your face? That’s a man circling the edge of a panic spiral.”
I forced my eyes back to the wreath frame. “I’m fine.”
But I wasn’t. The more I pictured Paige with kids, the heavier the weight in my chest. What did I know about family? About fatherhood? My blueprint for childhood was twelve foster homes and a lot of nights lying awake, wishing someone would come back for me. The military had been the closest thing I’d had to stability—and that wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.
