Chapter 30

TW: 🌶️🌶️🌶️

AVERY – 

We’re in her car. Juno’s tucked into my lap, a warm, vibrating bundle of barely contained nerves and mistrust. I stroke between her ears slowly, over and over, grounding both of us as the highway stretches ahead like a promise.

My bag’s in the back. So is hers. We didn’t say much while packing–just the necessary things, just enough for a few days. The safehouse is by the lake. Darius made a deal with a contact to provide us safety. A place where Jennifer nor Jason could find us. That’s all she told me. Remote. Quiet. Secluded. “Safe,” she said.

I’m not sure I know what that word means anymore.

Victoria’s hand rests calmly on the steering wheel, the other occasionally shifting gears with her signature grace. Her eyes stay on the road, but I feel her every so often glance at me. I can’t bring myself to look directly at her yet. Not because I don’t want to, but because every time I do, I feel that ache again. The one I’ve been nursing for weeks. The one that started the night she left.

But now she’s here. She’s driving me away from danger. And I’m beside her.

And that, somehow, makes it all feel real again.

My mind’s racing – spinning through a thousand tangled threads and memories, questions I want to ask, confessions I haven’t dared speak out loud. None of them bring me peace. But her – her presence beside me, the strength of her silence, the intent behind every glance – grounds me more than anything ever has.

She loves me.

She’s never said it. Not once. Not out loud. But I know it.

I know it in the way she barged into my apartment tonight. In the way she held me after the threat was gone. In the way she kissed me like her life depended on it. In the way she’s taking me away now – not because she wants to hide me, but because she refuses to lose me.

She wants to protect me.

She wants me.

I curl closer to the door, watching the blur of dark trees and glowing streetlights pass by like a moving painting. I let my hand slide between the seat cushions until the tips of my fingers find hers on the gearshift.

She doesn’t say anything. Just links her pinky with mine.

And that’s enough.

If this is what it takes – if it means leaving behind the only life I knew just to be beside her – then I’ll run. I’ll burn every bridge. I’ll disappear into the dark with her.

Because this – she – is worth it.

***

VICTORIA –

The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us into a silence that feels heavy with everything we haven’t said. I flip the light switch, and a soft, amber glow from a side lamp spills into the room, warming the dark wood and the lines of her face.

She takes a tentative step forward, her eyes wide as she takes in the space. The safehouse is just one open room—a stone fireplace, a bed in the corner, a small kitchen. It’s not much, but it’s clean and it’s private. It’s safe. I made sure of that.

But my nerves aren’t coiled from the threat outside. They’re wound tight because she’s here. With me. And for this moment, I don’t have to pretend I don’t care. I don’t have to push her away. The freedom of it is terrifying.

Avery wraps her arms around herself, a slight shiver running through her. The sight of it breaks something open in me.

I move to the fireplace and turn the knob. A blue flame catches, blooming into a warm, crackling fire. “Come sit,” I say, my voice softer than I intended. I gesture to the thick rug and cushions laid out before the hearth.

She doesn’t hesitate. She sinks down onto the floor, her movements graceful even now, and Juno immediately curls into her side. A strange, sharp ache blooms in my chest watching them—a mix of longing and a fierce, protective tenderness.

I don’t stand back. I don’t just watch.

I lower myself to the floor beside her, close enough that our shoulders almost touch. The firelight dances over her profile, catching the unshed tears in her eyes and the quiet tension in her hands, which are clasped tightly in her lap. She’s holding herself together, and the sight of her trying to be so strong unravels me completely.

My hand, almost of its own volition, reaches out and covers hers. Her skin is cold. I gently uncurl her fingers and laced mine with them, warming her hand in mine.

“I’m here,” I whisper, the words feeling inadequate but true. “You don’t have to be quiet. You can be… whatever you need to be right now. Angry. Scared. Anything.”

I’m not good at this. I’m not good with soft words or gentle touches. But for her, I am trying. I bring her knuckles to my lips and press a soft, lingering kiss there, a silent apology and a promise.

I don’t give her space. I give her my presence. I give her the shared warmth of my hand and the unsteady beat of my heart, offered openly, without any armor left between us.

***

AVERY –

The fire dances in the hearth, painting the stone in flickering gold and casting soft, shifting shadows around the room. It’s beautiful. Wild and alive, just like her. There’s a contained power in the way the flames leap and curl that reminds me of the way she moves—all controlled grace and hidden heat.

I feel her gaze on me before I even turn. She’s standing behind me, a still and silent presence. I don’t need to see her to feel the weight of her attention, steady and intense, warming my skin as surely as the fire.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t move. She just watches. And maybe it should feel unsettling, but it doesn’t. It feels like a quiet claim. Like she’s committing this moment to memory—me, here, safe, and undeniably hers.

After a long, comfortable silence, I hear the soft sound of her footsteps on the wooden floor. She lowers herself to the rug beside me, her presence a solid comfort at my side. She places a warm bowl in my hands. Steam rises from it in lazy, fragrant swirls.

I look from the bowl to her face, a teasing smile touching my lips. “Did you make this?”

The corner of her mouth lifts in that tiny, rare smile that still has the power to undo me. “If heating it up counts as making it,” she says, her voice a low murmur, “then yes. I did.”

I laugh, the sound light and genuine, a feeling I hadn’t experienced in what felt like an age. “You’re a fraud.”

“I’m a mean cook, though,” she adds, her tone playful, the words a soft hum that settles deep in my chest.

“Is that so?” I ask, tilting my head toward her, genuinely curious.

Her eyes find mine, and the softness in them makes my breath catch. “I’ll make you something fancy one day,” she says.

It’s a promise. Simple and direct. And it isn’t really about the food. It’s about the future it implies. A tomorrow, and another day after that, with me still in it.

I smile. She doesn’t look away.

No more words are needed. We sit there, shoulder to shoulder, the only sounds the gentle crackle of the fire, the soft clink of our spoons, and Juno’s contented purring at our feet.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I feel a profound and steady calm.

.

***

VICTORIA –

Dinner was quiet. Not in the awkward, heavy way, but in the kind of silence that speaks louder than most conversations. We talked. We laughed. We sat with our thoughts, together. And now, the sound of the shower echoes softly off the tile walls as hot steam curls up around me like smoke. I step under the spray, letting the heat pour down my shoulders, across my chest. It’s a cleansing kind of warmth. One that strips the day off layer by layer.

I close my eyes and exhale. And then–

The door slides open.

She’s standing there. Bare. Bare skin. Bare soul. Bare everything. Her eyes are steady, a little uncertain, but so full of something I can’t name. She’s waiting. Not pushing. Just waiting.

I hold out my hand – and she takes it.

She steps in slowly, water sliding between us, but I don’t feel the heat of it anymore – I feel her. Her presence. Her body near mine. Her eyes move across me, slow and reverent. My shoulders. My chest. My breasts. She leans in and kisses them – softly, warm lips on sensitive skin–and something in me crumbles.

I cup the back of her head gently and guide her up to me, tilting her face to mine. Our mouths meet – no firestorm, no urgency. Just depth. Just us. Just the kind of kiss that says I’m here. I’m yours. I’m staying.

I pour soap into my hands and rub them together. The scent of it rises – lavender, something soft, clean. I start with her shoulders, moving down, slowly, watching her close her eyes beneath my touch. I want to memorize the feel of her, every inch. Not to claim her. Not to own her. But to keep her. In whatever way I’m allowed.

“Turn around,” I whisper, and she does – her back pressing to my chest, her breath catching as I slide my arms around her, slick skin against slick skin. My hands roam lower. Not with intent. Not to tease. But to care. To wash away every thought that ever told her she was too much, too sensitive, too anything.

I reach her breasts, cupping them slowly. Her body arches back to me, soft and trusting, a quiet moan slipping from her lips. Her head rests against my shoulder, eyes fluttered shut. I bring my lips to her ear and kiss it. Once. Then again. Lingering.

She sighs.

And in this moment, there’s no danger. No past. No future.

Just water. Steam. Skin. And the breath we share between kisses.

***

AVERY –

Our bodies are still damp from the shower. Water beads on her collarbone, glistens along the curve of her stomach. The air between us is warm, heavy, and scented like soap and sweat and something that belongs only to her. She leads me toward the bed tucked near the fireplace, lips never breaking from mine, and I follow willingly–aching, full of want, but not in a way that begs for urgency. I don’t want fast. I want everything.

She lowers me onto the mattress. The sheets are cool against my skin, a contrast to her heat as she climbs on top of me. Her mouth moves across my neck, my shoulder, then lower–slow, reverent kisses that make me tremble. I touch every inch of her that I can reach–her throat, her arms, the slight muscle under her shoulder blades, her breasts, her waist, the curve of her back. I want to worship her with my hands. I want to know her like this. Again and again.

I take her in. The shape of her. The sound of her breath. The softness of her hair as it brushes my skin.

She kisses down my stomach, but I stop her–not with resistance, but with want. I take her hand and guide it lower. To where I need her most. And she lets me. No question. Just a small, knowing smile curling at her lips.

“Tell me what you want,” she murmurs, voice low, breath hot against my jaw.

“I want you deep inside of me,” I whisper. My voice sounds nothing like my own. It’s raw. Wrecked. Honest.

Her smile shifts into something darker. Hungrier.

Her fingers slide down first, just teasing. My body jolts at the contact–soaked, aching, ready. She groans when she feels how wet I am, and that sound, that deep, quiet sound she makes when she wants me–it does something to me I can’t explain.

Then she pushes one finger inside me. Deep. Slow.

I cry out softly, clutching her arms, moaning into her mouth when she kisses me again. Her rhythm is gentle but deliberate. She knows exactly what she’s doing. She moves inside me like she’s meant to be there. Like she belongs there.

And I know I won’t last long. I’m too wound up. Too full. Too overwhelmed by her scent, her breath, her fingers, her lips brushing my skin.

“Just let go,” she whispers into my ear, as if reading the struggle in my body to hold back.

And I do.

I come with her name caught in my throat, shaking, wrapped around her as her fingers coax every last wave of pleasure from me. She doesn’t stop until I’ve gone soft against her shoulder, until there’s nothing left but my breath, ragged and warm against her skin.

But I’m not done.

I lift my head. Find her eyes.

I don’t need to speak. She reads my expression. My silent question.

Let me touch you.

And she nods. A quiet yes in her gaze.

I shift slowly, pulling her down beside me. I’ve never wanted to give someone as much as I want to give her right now.

***

VICTORIA –

It’s the way she looks at me.

Like I’m something precious. Like she wants to treasure every part of me, not just take it.

It disarms me. Makes it impossible to hide behind the cool control I usually carry like armor. I’m naked, yes–but more than that. I’m exposed.

And yet, I don’t flinch. I don’t turn away.

I let her pull me down beside her. Let her fingertips trace along my stomach, up to my ribs, around my breast–slow and reverent. Her touch is light at first, like she’s still afraid to break me. But I’m not fragile. I never have been.

When her fingers finally dip between my legs, I inhale sharply. Not because it shocks me, but because I want it. I want her. All of her. Her fingers stroke slowly at first, exploring, learning what I like all over again without asking. She doesn’t need to. She knows what I like.

My hips shift toward her hand, wanting more. And she gives it to me. Without hesitation. Without pride or performance. Just pure, raw need.

It feels… good. So good.

Better than I remembered it ever feeling.

Better because it’s her.

And the tension builds fast–faster than I expect. My body is tighter than it’s ever been, every nerve wired straight to her fingers, to her breath on my throat, to the sound of her voice whispering how beautiful I am. How much she wants to feel me let go.

My head tilts back against the pillow and a moan escapes my throat before I can stop it.

Her mouth finds the side of my neck, lips brushing the tender spot just under my jaw. Her fingers curve inside me, and that’s it. That’s the spark. The match to gasoline.

I gasp, teeth catching my lower lip.

And I tell her.

“I’m coming–”

Her name stutters off my lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.

That breaks something in her. I feel it. Her fingers move faster, deeper, and her mouth finds mine. There’s nothing tentative about her now. It’s not softness anymore–it’s need. It’s hunger. It’s us, together in the dark, finding some unspoken rhythm that sends me spiraling, crashing into her.

I come hard. My body arches. My hand claws at the sheets. Her name trembles off my tongue.

She holds me through it. Moves with me. Keeps going until the tremors finally ease and I collapse against her, breathless, stunned by the intensity. By how right it felt.

And I want to feel it again. And again. And again.

She kisses the edge of my mouth, my cheek, my temple.

And I know, I don’t want to be anywhere else but here. In her arms. In this quiet moment, held like something worth keeping.