Page 24

DORIAN

T he wind shifted sometime near sunset.

It curled down off the ridge in a way that tugged at Dorian’s instincts, brushing against his skin like a whispered suggestion.

Change was coming. Not the kind that made folks pack up and move, but the kind that made you stop and look at what was right in front of you. Real, fragile, and worth fighting for.

He stood on the porch of the inn, hand resting on the railing just above where he’d carved his initials when the deed was turned over to him, thumb smoothing over the familiar groove out of habit.

The scent of pine and woodsmoke drifted on the breeze, grounding him.

But his thoughts were tangled in the woman inside.

Autumn had been quiet since her attic discovery. Not distant, just… focused. There was something in her eyes that said she knew more now than she ever wanted to. Something that had cracked her open.

He’d seen it. Felt it.

And he knew, bone-deep, that she needed a moment—just one—where none of it had to matter.

So he made a decision.

She was in the kitchen, stacking the last of the clean tea mugs when he walked in.

Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, little curls slipping free to frame her face, and she wore one of her usual oversized sweaters, sleeves rolled up to her elbows.

She didn’t see him at first, too caught up in lining mugs with neurotic precision.

“Autumn,” he said gently.

She turned, startled, then offered a faint smile. “Hey.”

He stepped closer, tucking his hands into his back pockets. “Can I ask you something that doesn’t involve ghosts, curses, or psychic trauma?”

Her brow arched, but amusement flickered at the corners of her mouth. “That’s a tall order.”

“I’ll risk it.”

She leaned her hip against the counter, mug still in hand. “Alright. Hit me.”

“Go out with me.”

She blinked.

He held her gaze. Steady. Unflinching. “Not fake. Not for show. I want to take you out. Just you. Just me.”

She hesitated, something unreadable crossing her face.

“You don’t have to say yes,” he added. “No pressure. But I’d really like to have a night that’s ours. Away from the inn. Away from the past.”

Her grip tightened on the mug, then slowly loosened. “Just a night?”

“I’ll take what you give me.”

She exhaled softly, physically letting herself give in. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

Dorian didn’t do fancy, but he did thoughtful.

He set a table out back beneath the string lights he’d strung between the porch columns last fall.

The old garden chairs were layered with soft flannel throws, and the table was topped with a basket of fried chicken, spiced sweet potatoes, and her favorite lemon-rosemary biscuits.

A small cooler sat beside it, filled with ginger beer and apple cider.

Autumn stepped out just after twilight, her shoes treading lightly on the gravel path. She wore a long wool coat, sweater dress underneath, and her hair down in soft waves catching the light.

He forgot how to breathe for a second.

“This is…” she looked around, lips parting. “Really lovely.”

He grinned. “Only the best for my ghost wrangler.”

She rolled her eyes, but the smile stayed. “If you try to serenade me with a banjo, I’m leaving.”

“Was gonna bring out a kazoo, but alright.”

They ate on the porch under the stars, laughter echoing across the hills between bites.

They talked about everything except ghosts—childhood stories, favorite foods, books that made them cry.

He told her about the time he accidentally turned into his bear form at a sixth-grade field trip.

She told him how she once punched a boy in the nose for mocking a spirit in her old town.

He loved the sound of her laugh. Not the polite one she gave strangers, but the real one—the one that made her eyes crinkle and her hand smack the table like she couldn’t help it.

By the time they finished, the air had cooled, the sky ink-black and full of stars.

“Walk with me?” he asked.

She nodded, tucking her arm into his without hesitation this time.

They strolled through the back trail leading near the end of the inn’s property. The moon spilled silver light through the trees. Autumn stopped by an old bench nestled beside the creek that bordered the woods, her breath curling in the chill.

He wrapped his coat around her shoulders without a word, his fingers brushing her arms.

She turned to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes searching his.

“I don’t know what to do with this,” she whispered.

“With what, my coat?”

“You,” she said. “Us. This feeling like the ground’s shifting under me every time I look at you.”

He stepped closer, one hand cupping her cheek. “All I can suggest is to stop fighting it.”

She leaned in before she could think twice, and when their lips met, it was quiet and certain with steady and slow heat, the kind that burns low and lasts through the longest nights.

His arms slid around her waist. Her fingers tangled in the front of his shirt. She pulled him closer like she was afraid to let go, and he didn’t let her.

They stayed like that until the cold nipped at their heels.

Back inside, he led her upstairs to his room—slow, careful, never pushing.

She stood by the bed, staring at him, eyes wide, chest rising and falling with something heavy.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice hushed.

She nodded once.

They didn’t rush.

Every movement was deliberate, a silent promise passed from breath to breath.

Dorian’s shirt hit the floor first, the fabric whispering against skin that ran hot—his natural warmth like a steady hearthfire.

Autumn’s fingers hovered at the hem of her own sweater, uncertain, until he stepped in, gently curling his fingers around hers.

“Let me,” he murmured.

She lifted her arms, and he peeled the sweater up and over her head with reverence, letting it fall to the floor with a softness that belied the thrum of tension between them.

The tank top beneath followed, baring skin pale in the moonlight filtering through the window.

Scars laced his ribs, old and faded, reminders of a past he never spoke about—but she traced them now with a featherlight touch, memorizing.

Dorian’s breath caught when she laid her palm against his chest. “You feel like sunlight,” she whispered.

His hand found the small of her back, then slid lower, cupping her curves with a groan so low it rumbled from deep within his chest—his bear close, just under the surface, content and stirring for her alone.

“You feel like gravity,” he answered hoarsely, kissing her again, deeper this time. “Like something I was always supposed to find.”

Autumn’s fingers trembled at the waistband of his jeans.

She unbuttoned them slowly, savoring the weight of what they were choosing together.

His cock sprang free when she eased his boxers down—thick, flushed, already aching for her.

She stared for a breathless moment, and the hunger in her eyes nearly undid him.

“You can touch me,” he said, voice gone rough with restraint. “Please.”

Her hand wrapped around him, tentative at first, then bolder when she felt the way he shuddered beneath her touch. “God, Dorian... you’re so hot,” she breathed. “You’re burning up.”

He chuckled lowly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “Always run hot, sweetheart. Especially for you.”

She tugged her own leggings down, stepping out of them with a graceless kick, her combat boots long since discarded. Left in just her panties, violet-blue eyes meeting molten brown, she reached for him again, but he caught her wrists, brought them to his lips.

“My turn,” he said.

Dorian guided her gently to the bed, laying her back against the sheets like she was something precious. He kissed his way down her throat, slow and unhurried, pausing at the hollow between her breasts to murmur, “Beautiful,” as his thumb traced the outline of her bra and unclasped it with ease.

Her nipples peaked as the cool air touched them, but it was his mouth that made her arch—hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses over one breast, then the other, his stubble leaving ghost trails across her skin.

“Dorian,” she whispered, half-moan, half-prayer.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered back, settling between her thighs, his broad shoulders nudging them open. Her panties were soaked through, clinging to her like a second skin. He inhaled, groaned like it physically pained him. “You smell like moonlight and need. Fuck.”

With one slow pull, he peeled them down, baring her completely. He didn’t hesitate. He kissed the inside of one thigh, then the other, and finally leaned in, tongue sliding between her folds with a reverent groan.

Autumn gasped, hips jerking. “Oh—God.”

He worked her gently at first, letting her get used to the sensation, but soon he was devouring her like she was his last meal—tongue firm and flat one moment, then teasing circles around her clit the next. She fisted the sheets, thighs trembling.

“You taste like heaven,” he said between licks, voice gravel and hunger.

She whimpered, one hand tangled in his hair. “Dorian—please. I need you.”

He pulled back, his lips wet with her, eyes now a shade darker—earthy brown muddled with gold. His bear was bleeding through, pacing behind his eyes, but still Dorian stayed in control.

He crawled up over her, kissed her slow and deep, letting her taste herself on his tongue. His cock brushed against her thigh, hard and aching.

“You’re sure?” he asked again, breath fanning her lips.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she whispered.

He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging her entrance, and pushed in slow—inch by inch—stretching her until she cried out, hips rising to meet him. He was thick, the stretch exquisite.

“Shit,” he gritted out, forehead pressed to hers. “You feel like you were made for me.”

Autumn’s arms wrapped around him, nails dragging down his back. “You were made for me.”

He began to move—slow, deliberate thrusts that rocked the bed in gentle waves, the room filled with nothing but their mingled moans, the rhythmic creak of old wood, and the soft slap of skin against skin. Each movement was worship, each thrust a question and a promise all at once.

“Dorian,” she gasped, legs tightening around him. “I feel… it’s like I’m unraveling.”

He kissed her cheek, her jaw, the space beneath her ear. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

She came first, with a cry muffled against his shoulder, her body clenching around him like she never wanted to let go. That was his undoing.

He thrust once, twice more, then groaned low and deep as he spilled inside her, warmth flooding between them. His entire body trembled with the force of it.

They stayed tangled, breathless and raw, sweat cooling between them.

He rolled them gently, letting her rest atop his chest, his hands stroking her back in slow, grounding circles.

“You okay?” he whispered.

She lifted her head, eyes shining. “More than okay.”

Her fingers traced idle patterns along his chest. “You know what I said earlier, about not knowing what to do with this?”

“Yeah,” he said softly.

She smiled, then leaned in close, pressing a kiss to his heart. “I think I just figured it out.”

And in the quiet that followed, her breath warm on his skin, Dorian finally understood what it meant to be claimed in the most human, sacred way.

She was his.

And he was home.