Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 24910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24910 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 125(@200wpm)___ 100(@250wpm)___ 83(@300wpm)
“Slate...” Her voice is barely a whisper, her lips parting, and for a heartbeat, the rest of the world falls away—just the two of us, the fire’s warmth pressing against our skin, the storm raging outside like a distant echo.
I lean in before I can stop myself, drawn to her like a magnet, my lips brushing against hers—tentative at first, a question, a hesitation. But the second she responds, tilting her head and pressing closer, the kiss deepens, a spark turning into a flame.
Her fingers clutch at the front of my shirt, pulling me closer, and I slide my hand into her hair, feeling the softness of it slip through my fingers as I taste the longing we’ve both kept buried. The kiss is rough, desperate, a clash of need and regret, both of us pouring years of unsaid things into the way our mouths move together.
She tastes like everything I remember—sweet and wild, with a sharp edge that’s all her own. It sends a rush through me, igniting something I’ve tried to smother since the day she walked out of my life. My hand cups the back of her head, angling her closer, wanting more, needing more, even though every part of me knows this is dangerous, that it’s too much, too fast.
But then she pulls back, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, and I feel the loss like a punch to the gut. I rest my forehead against hers, struggling to catch my breath, the air between us hot and heavy with everything we’re not saying. Her fingers are still tangled in my shirt, and I don’t pull away, don’t let the distance grow.
“That doesn’t change anything, does it?” she whispers, her voice raw, trembling with the weight of it.
I close my eyes, my jaw clenching against the ache that sits too close to the surface. I force myself to let go of her, to step back even though it feels like tearing out a piece of myself. The cold rushes in where her warmth was, and I drag in a breath, trying to steady the pounding in my chest. “I don’t know, Emma. But it sure as hell complicates things.”
She watches me, her eyes wide, her lips swollen from the kiss, but there’s a wariness there, a fear that mirrors my own. And for once, I don’t have the right words, don’t know how to fix this. The storm outside howls louder, but it’s nothing compared to the storm between us, swirling with everything we’ve never said, everything we can’t take back.
I take another step back, trying to put some space between us, but the tension snaps tight again, like a live wire that refuses to let go. She shifts on the bed, her hands dropping into her lap, her gaze falling away from mine. The fire crackles, and the shadows stretch long across the floor, drawing out the silence until it feels like it might swallow us whole.
“I guess we’ll see what happens when the storm’s over,” she murmurs, but there’s a fragility in her voice, like she’s afraid of what the answer might be.
I nod, even though I don’t trust myself to speak, don’t trust myself not to close the distance between us again. Because whatever this is, whatever we’ve just unleashed, it’s not going to be simple. It’s going to tear us apart, or it’s going to change everything. And I don’t know which one scares me more.
Chapter Seven
Emma
The wind outside roars like a wild thing, battering the cabin walls with a fury that matches the storm inside me. The fire crackles low, casting warm shadows that flicker across the rough wooden walls, making the space between Slate and me feel both too small and too vast. I lie on the edge of the bed, the blanket wrapped tight around my shoulders, heat still simmering under my skin from his kiss. I can feel him there, close, every breath of his dragging against my nerves, like a constant reminder that I’m not alone in this tiny cabin, that I can’t escape the weight of everything between us.
I shift, turning to face the wall, trying to focus on the knot of wood in the beams above me, but my attention keeps pulling back to him. Slate sits on the floor by the fireplace, shirtless, the muscles of his back shifting in the firelight as he leans forward, stoking the flames. The light glows on his skin, highlighting the ridges and planes, and my traitorous eyes trace the path of each shadow.
It’s maddening—the way I feel drawn to him, the way my body reacts even when I don’t want it to. The memory of our earlier kiss lingers on my lips, a phantom touch that refuses to fade. Finally, the silence becomes too much, pressing in on me like the snow outside, and I give in, letting the frustration bleed into my voice.