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SADIE

Z eke pulls me into his arms, wrapping them around me like a promise. There’s no rush. Just warmth. Just a steady, deliberate closeness standing next to him. His body fits against mine like it’s always belonged there—strong and sure, familiar in a way that makes my chest ache. I press closer, molding myself into him, letting the heat of his skin settle the last of my nerves. I exhale slowly, content and grounded.

His hand trails down my side, fingers dragging over the cotton of his shirt still on my body. There’s something soothing in the way he touches me—like he’s confirming I’m real, here, his. When he reaches my hip, he lingers, thumb brushing soft, slow circles. I shiver—not from the cold. It’s the kind of shiver that comes from being wanted and known and seen all at once.

My hand finds his, sliding my fingers between his. The way he squeezes back makes something bloom deep in my chest. I lean in, pressing my lips to the curve of his neck—a soft kiss, quiet, like thank you, like I’m here, too. The silence between us isn’t empty. It’s full. It hums.

Then he turns his head, and our mouths meet. It starts soft—barely a breath—but deepens quickly. His kiss is slow and thorough, like he’s tasting something rare. Like there’s nowhere else he’d rather be. I sigh into it, my fingers drifting under his shirt, skimming the hard lines of his stomach over the small ridges of old scars. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stop me. He lets me touch him like I belong there. Like he wants me to.

There’s no fear now. No second-guessing. Just the steady rise of need and the deeper weight of trust that’s only grown between us.

He kisses me again, slower this time, longer—like he’s memorizing the shape of my mouth, the way I breathe his name. His hands roam carefully, confidently, as if I’m a map he’s traced before but wants to learn all over again. And when I whisper his name, it slips out like a secret I don’t want to hide anymore.

I lower myself to my knees in front of him, the hardwood cool beneath me, but all I feel is the heat rolling off Zeke’s body. He’s leaning against the edge of the table, arms braced, watching me with those dark, storm-swept eyes that see too much. That always see me.

My fingers find his belt buckle, and I pause—not from nerves, but because this moment deserves to be felt. His chest rises on a sharp inhale. I hear it. Feel it. He coils his control tightly, as if he’s about to break.

“You don’t have to—” he says, voice rough, low.

I lift my gaze to meet his. “I want to,” I whisper.

His jaw tightens, but he nods. That slight movement is all the permission I need.

I ease his jeans down, the slow drag of denim revealing skin I’ve only seen in flashes. Every inch of him is hard, carved, restrained. I place a kiss on his hip, then another along the inside of his thigh, and he groans—just once, but it’s enough to send heat spiraling between my legs. His hand hovers near my hair, not pulling, not forcing. Just there. Like he needs the anchor as much as I do.

I wrap my fingers around him, my thumb brushing over the soft skin at the tip, and he hisses through his teeth. The sound is raw. Unfiltered.

When I take him into my mouth, slowly, fully, his hand finally finds me—threading into my hair, tightening just enough to tell me he feels it. Really feels it.

He murmurs my name like it’s a warning and a prayer all at once. “Sadie…”

I hum around him, letting him feel the vibration. His whole body shudders. I don’t rush. I want to give him this. To watch the control unravel. To know I can wreck him as much as he’s wrecked me.

He tastes like salt and skin and something that’s just him. I close my eyes and focus on every sound he makes, every twitch of muscle, every low growl that tells me I’m driving him insane.

When his hand tightens in my hair, I slow, easing off and looking up. Now, his eyes are dark and wild, like molten metal.

“Come here,” he says, voice wrecked.

He lifts me without effort, pulling me back into his arms, his mouth already finding mine. There’s nothing hurried in the kiss—just heat and need and the kind of reverence that makes my heart ache. He sweeps me up in his arms and carries me to the bed.

“You undo me,” he whispers against my lips as he lays me down. “You have from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”

I smile, reaching up for him, breath shallow, heart pounding so hard I’m sure he can feel it.

“I’m not sorry,” I whisper.

“Don’t be,” he says, sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling me closer. “I want to stay undone if it’s by you.”

I tug Zeke’s shirt over his head, my fingers lingering for a beat longer than they need to on the warmth of his skin. He lifts the hem of the one I’m wearing—his, soft and worn—and drags it over my head, slowly, carefully. When our bodies press together, skin to skin, heat to heat, it’s not frantic like before. It’s slower. Fuller. A kind of heat that doesn’t flare and vanish—it simmers. Deep and consuming.

He kisses a warm, electrifying path along my jaw, his lips brushing tenderly over the sensitive skin, down over my throat to the gentle curve of my breast. He lingers there, teasing and playful, his breath a soft whisper against my skin. His mouth closes around my nipple, his tongue swirling before delivering a sharp, thrilling nip. The sensation courses through me like a surge of lightning, and I hiss with surprise, my hands gripping the quilt, twisting it into a tangled mess beneath my fingers.

Zeke emits a low, satisfied sound that vibrates against my skin, a soft hum of pleasure as he moves to the other nipple. He draws it into his mouth with deliberate slowness, his lips insistent and claiming, sucking gently but with intent. He laves it with long, swirling strokes of his tongue, creating a spiral of heat that leaves me gasping, my body responding instinctively, squirming and arching beneath him.

My skin feels ignited, every nerve alive and flickering, coiling under his attentive touch. I crave more, an intense need surging through me, desperate and trembling with anticipation. He shifts his position, centering his body between my legs, and I find it hard to breathe, to think, as I consume his touch like it’s the very air I need. He continues his journey down my body with a mixture of tongue and teeth, each kiss a sizzling imprint on my skin.

When he enters me, I gasp—a sound I couldn’t stop if I tried. It’s not loud. It’s soft, reverent. My legs wrap around his waist without thought, driven by instinct and need. My hands find his jaw, cupping it gently, holding him close as I look up into his eyes. And he’s looking right back—steady, intense, like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered. That look... it undoes me more than any touch.

He moves inside me with a rhythm that feels less like sex and more like communion—every thrust deliberate, every connection drawing us tighter. There’s no rush. No frantic build. It’s a dance, and we move together perfectly, my hips rising to meet his in time, our bodies synced like we’ve been doing this for years instead of hours.

He touches me like I’m something precious. Even so, there’s no mistaking the way he claims me with every stroke. His hands grip my waist, firm but never harsh. His body surrounds mine, shields me. Every breathless moan I let slip, every time I whisper his name—"Zeke"—it pulls him deeper, grounds us harder.

He kisses me slowly, lingering at my mouth, my jaw, my neck. His lips brush over my collarbone, then down my shoulder, like he’s tasting every piece of me he missed last night. I cling to him like I’ll float away if I don’t. Not because I’m afraid—but because I’ve never wanted anything more than this. Than him. Than us, like this.

The pleasure builds gradually, winding through me like a current I don’t want to resist. My body arches under his, rising into him, chasing that rising pressure, feeling the tension coil tighter and tighter until I’m nothing but sensation and sound. And the whole time, I keep my eyes on him. I don’t look away. I want him to see me unravel. To know that this is his.

When I finally come, it’s not a fall—it’s a slow, shuddering bloom. My breath comes in stutters. My body trembles around him. But I don’t close my eyes. I hold his gaze, and I see everything in it. The fire. The devotion. The promise.

And when he follows me, his body seizing, his mouth on mine, I feel it everywhere. In the way he groans my name against my lips. In the way his arms tighten around me like he’ll never let go.

He doesn’t pull away when it’s over. He just shifts, just enough to keep me close, pressing kisses to my temple, my hair, the corner of my mouth. I nestle into his chest, our legs tangled beneath the sheet, his heartbeat loud and steady under my cheek.

I say nothing. I don’t need to.

He holds me long after the room has gone still, his arm strong around my waist, his other hand reaching for the phone on the nightstand. The soft glow from the screen lights the side of his face—sharp jaw, furrowed brow, eyes scanning.

He’s watching the monitors. Protecting.

Even now. Even after everything.

I close my eyes, lulled by the warmth of his body and the strength in his silence.

Whatever’s coming, I know this now for certain—I won’t be facing it alone.

* * *

When I wake, the first thing I feel is heat. Not the too-warm, too-much kind that makes me kick off the covers—but the kind that settles deep in my chest. Slow. Steady. Safe.

Zeke wraps his arm around my waist, heavy and possessive, his hand resting just beneath the curve of my breast. I press my cheek against his chest, the steady beat of his heart like a metronome anchoring me to the moment. His skin is warm under my palm, bare and solid and unmistakably his.

I shift slightly, and his grip tightens. Not harsh. Just firm. Certain.

“Morning,” he rumbles, voice rough with sleep.

I tilt my chin, my eyes blinking open slowly. He’s already watching me.

That same unreadable expression is there—quiet intensity, focus, like he’s scanning every inch of my face and cataloging it for later. The corners of his mouth tip just enough to call it a smile.

“You’ve been staring,” I say, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Yeah,” he answers simply, like he doesn’t see a reason to deny it. “I could watch you sleep for hours.”

The blush that rises in my cheeks is instant. I try to duck my face into his chest, but he catches my chin gently between his fingers, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“You’re beautiful when you’re quiet like this,” he says, dragging his thumb slowly along my lower lip. “Peaceful. Like you know you’re safe.”

“I do,” I whisper. “With you, I do.”

The silence stretches again, but it’s not heavy. It’s full. Lush. Like the air has weight and heat and something important simmering just beneath the surface.

My hand rests over his heart. I feel every thud, every slow rise and fall of his chest. And I know—if I’m going to tell him, it has to be now. While the world is still soft and quiet and he’s looking at me, like nothing I could say would make him let go.

“I never told you the complete story,” I say, and my voice sounds too loud suddenly, even though it’s barely above a whisper. “About when I left Brent.”

Zeke’s expression shifts—subtle, but instant. That protective edge in his jaw, the way his eyes narrow slightly. Alert. But he doesn’t speak. He just waits.

I inhale slowly, steadying myself.

“It wasn’t the worst day. Not by a mile. But it was the one where I stopped pretending I could fix him… or survive him.”

I sit up slightly, letting the sheet fall to my waist. Zeke follows me, propping himself up on an elbow, his hand still anchored to my side like he knows I’ll float away if he lets go.

“We’d been at his sister’s house. There was some fundraiser thing. He didn’t like the way I was talking to one of the board members—too confident, too friendly, too something. I don’t even remember what I said. But he stewed the entire drive home.”

I look down, tracing a pattern on the sheets with one finger.

“He waited until we were inside. Until I’d taken my heels off. Then he pushed me up against the wall and…” I stop. Swallow. The air feels colder suddenly.

Zeke’s body tenses, but even so, he says nothing.

“He backhanded me so that my lip was split, and I had a bruise on my cheek for more than a week. He said I needed to be reminded of who I belonged to… that I’d started to forget. When I tried to pull away, he shoved me to the ground and called me weak. Said no one else would want me, anyway.”

Zeke’s breath hisses between his teeth, sharp and silent. His jaw flexes once, hard. His hand moves to mine—big and warm and shaking, just barely. He brings it to his lips. He leans in and softly kisses my cheek where the ghost of a bruise once lived and then gently kisses my lips. His mouth is reverent. Devastating.

I start to cry. Silent tears this time. Not from pain, but from the softness. From the weight of being seen. Of being held together so gently after being torn apart for so long.

Zeke shifts, kneeling in front of me on the bed, one leg braced on either side of mine. He cradles my face in both hands like I’m something precious—like I’m breakable, even though we both know I’m not.

“You survived,” he murmurs, his forehead pressing to mine. “And I swear to God, Sadie, I’ll make sure you thrive.”

My throat closes up. My hands curl into his shoulders, holding on.

“I don’t know how to do that,” I whisper.

“Yes, you do,” he says, brushing his lips over my temple. “You’ve been doing it every day since you got here. Getting up. Feeding people. Building something new. You already know how, baby. You just didn’t have anyone watching your back while you did it.”

His hand finds the small of my back and pulls me into his lap. I fold into him without hesitation, chest to chest, skin to skin, like I belong there. Maybe I do.

We don’t talk after that. There’s nothing left to say. I feel the shift between us as clearly as the sunrise beginning to filter through the curtains.

He lays us back down, pulling the sheet up around us, one hand fisted gently in my hair, the other anchored against my lower back. I nestle into his chest, my leg sliding between his. His breath slows. So does mine.

For the first time since I left Brent, I don’t feel like I’m running anymore.

I fall asleep again like that, curled against him, the tension gone. Not because everything’s fixed. But because I believe him now—when he says I’ll be okay. That we’ll be okay. Tomorrow will come. And with it, whatever storm is waiting. But for now, in this room, in this bed, in these arms? I am complete and strong and home.