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)
The raw hunger in his eyes, the way he’s so dirty and demanding, has my pulse racing. He could ask anything of me right now, and I’d give it without a second thought—just to keep this wild, addictive feeling burning between us for as long as possible. We settle against each other then, the sexual tension easing into comfortable silence. I sigh, cozying deeper into the blankets as a sudden sadness grips me, my eyes trailing back out the window, hovering on the mountain in the distance. It breaks me wide open that I hurt this man, I never imagined he’d wait for me. But then, I waited for him too. Maybe that should have been my sign that we were different, something special, something worth fighting for.
I can see the tension in his jaw return, the way his eyes flicker with something hard and unyielding, and my stomach twists.
He finally speaks, the roughness in his voice cutting through the quiet. “You’re thinking about leaving again, aren’t you?”
The words hit like a slap, and I flinch before I can stop myself. I turn to face him fully, squaring my shoulders against the weight of his stare. “I don’t know, Slate. I have a life back in the city, a career I’ve worked for—”
He doesn’t let me finish. His expression sharpens, the pain flashing in his eyes like a wound reopened. “And I’m supposed to just let you go again? Pretend like this... like we don’t matter?” His voice drops, rough and strained, like he’s pulling the words out through gritted teeth. “It’s not that simple for me, Emma. It never was.”
Something inside me cracks at the rawness in his voice, the way it trembles with the hurt I put there. I take a step closer, the snow crunching beneath my boots, the weight of his words settling deep in my chest. “I never said it was simple. God, Slate, do you think I want to walk away? Do you think I don’t know what I’d be giving up?”
His eyes search mine, as if he’s trying to find the truth beneath my words. I can see the fire burning there, the same fire that always made him so impossible to ignore. He pulls me closer, the space between us shrinking, and I feel the pull of him, the way it tugs at me even when my mind is telling me to be careful. “Then why not stay? Why not give us a chance, instead of running back to a life that doesn’t have room for us?”
The plea in his voice wraps around my heart, squeezing tight. I swallow hard, trying to hold on to the walls I’ve built, but they’re crumbling under the weight of his words, under the force of everything we’ve left unsaid. “Because I’m afraid, Slate.” The confession slips out, raw and unsteady, and I see the way it hits him, the flicker of surprise and pain in his eyes. “Afraid that if I stay, I’ll regret the life I left behind. And I’m scared that if I leave, I’ll regret walking away from this—” I gesture between us, my voice breaking as I force the words out. “From you. Again.”
Slate’s face softens, the anger fading, replaced by something deeper, more exposed. He reaches out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, his touch achingly gentle. “You think you’re the only one scared, Emma? You think I haven’t thought about what happens if you leave again?”
His words hit like a blow, making my breath catch. I meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his pain and the hope he’s trying so hard to hold back. He leans in, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw, making me shiver despite the cold. “I’ve spent years convincing myself that I didn’t need anyone, that I was better off keeping people at a distance. But you... you broke through that, and I can’t go back to the way things were. Not now. Not after this.”
My throat tightens, the emotion thickening my voice, but I can’t look away from him, from the raw vulnerability in his eyes. “I don’t want to hurt you again, Slate. I don’t want to make promises I can’t keep.” But even as I say the words, I find myself leaning into his touch, drawn to the warmth of his hand, the way it chases away the chill that’s been lodged in my chest for so long.
Slate shakes his head, his grip on my face tightening, his expression turning fierce, desperate. “It’s not about promises, Emma. It’s about wanting something enough to fight for it, even when it scares the hell out of you.” He brushes his thumb over my bottom lip, the touch so gentle, so intimate, that it sends a sharp pang through my heart. “You want me to let you go? Tell me that. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll back off.”