Page 107 of Kill for a Kiss

“Now you’re warmer.”

His arms wrap around me. His body is a furnace. His comforting presence brings me peace. His heartbeat lulls me into calmness. And with him here with me, sleep comes easy, and the nightmares stay at bay.

25

Elle

It’s morning when I stir, waking to the subtle sound of Stan slipping out of bed. I’m drowsy and half-asleep, but I catch a blurred glimpse of him through heavy lashes as he shuffles silently toward the open bedroom door.

That doesn’t seem like something Stan would do so I’m about to call his name when he speaks first.

“I’m gonna go for a walk,” he says while tugging on his shoes. His voice is frayed, and he doesn’t look back at me. “Withdrawals are chewing through me like I pissed off karma herself. Figured I’d go be dramatic about it in the woods instead of here.”

I open my mouth to speak, but he throws me a crooked smile.

“Don’t wait up, Elle.” Stan’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll be out of the woods and back here before you know it, babe.”

Then he’s gone. The front door clicks shut behind him. I stay still for a moment, unsure if I should follow. But then Sterling’s hand finds the small of my back, steady and warm, and in that instance, I feel the tension in my shoulders start to melt.

“He needs space,” Sterling says.

I nod, even though a part deep inside of me wants to chase Standown and make him talk about it.

But Sterling is right here, so close, with his hands on me. I turn toward him. His eyes meet mine, and the morning light catches the silver-white strands in his hair. He’s so breathtaking, I can’t think of anything else but staying right here in his arms.

When I move closer to him, he welcomes me in an embrace without hesitation. I’m so relieved I could cry.

“You’re allowed to enjoy yourself,” he murmurs into my hair.

“Even with everything going on?”

“Especially with everything going on.”

We don’t need more words than that. We kiss slow, reclaiming time we never had. Sterling’s hands explore, cupping my jaw, and brushing my hip. He’s always careful with me and he never rushes. Every touch feels like a question and my answer is always yes.

The blanket he pulls over us isn’t for warmth. It’s to keep the rest of the world out. Time goes quiet. We drift to the urgent rhythm of our bodies. His hips roll into mine, deep and slow, drawing out a desperate sound from me I didn’t know I could make.

He gives me the same in return, sounds I’ve never heard from him before, raw and unguarded.

We kiss until my lips are swollen. We hold each other despite the sticky warmth between us. We laugh when our foreheads bump. The tension that usually lingers behind his eyes is no longer there.

Then when we go about the rest of our day—eating leftovers, drinking tea, stoking the fire together—we trade kisses often, and his hands become branded into my skin. But when the light drifts outside and the sun starts its descent, I sit up, alert to the absence in the cabin.

“Stan’s still not back,” I whisper.

Sterling’s foot taps while I’m on his lap. “I know.”

“He missed breakfast and lunch. He’s about to miss dinner.” Iglance at the table. A third bowl sits untouched.

Sterling sighs, the sound deep and tired. “He wants space.”

“But I don’t want to give him too much.” I slide off, wrapping his flannel around me.

Sterling doesn’t move.

“I want to go check on him,” I say.

He rises, catching my wrist before I can turn away. “Let me.”