Page 18 of The Forbidden Summer (Pathfinders Lake #2)

His eyes stay closed for a beat longer, like he’s savoring the moment before he meets my gaze again. And when he does, I see something in his eyes that makes the breath catch in my chest.

Something that says, We’re in this together now.

I move my hips, pushing my dick against his belly. I can feel his under my ass, thick and hard, like I’m sitting on my axe handle.

I keep waiting for him to tell me to stop.

His breath comes shallow, the warmth of his skin burning into mine, and still, I can’t let go of that fear. The fear that maybe this is too much, too quick, too intense. That maybe he’ll push me away, tell me to pull back, to stop.

But it doesn’t come.

He doesn’t push me away. He doesn’t freeze.

Instead, his fingers tighten in my hair, pulling me closer, and I feel the moment he gives in completely, like he’s leaning in just as much as I am. Maybe more.

I kiss him deeper, my lips tracing the curve of his mouth like I’m memorizing the way he tastes, the way he feels under my hands. The quiet hum of the cabin is the only sound in the world, save for the soft rush of breath between us.

His chest rises and falls against mine, but he doesn’t stop me. He lets me move, lets me hold him close like he’s finally mine to take, to touch, to keep.

I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against his, my hand still tangled in his hair. We’re both breathing too fast, our hearts in sync.

“Are you sure?” I murmur, even though I already know the answer. Even though I don’t want to push him for more, not now.

He looks at me, and there’s something in his eyes that makes me melt, something that tells me he’s as terrified as I am, but he’s here , with me.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” he says, his voice hoarse but strong.

And then he kisses me again. Gently. Like we’re finally finding a rhythm, an understanding, between everything we’ve been too afraid to say.

And I don’t think about stopping. I don’t think about anything but this —the steady beat of our hearts, the way he fits into my arms like he was always meant to.

Before I can even think, before I can decide what to do with this quiet knot of nerves in my stomach, Père moves.

One second, I’m on his lap, contemplating my next move, and the next, his arms are around me, strong but careful, lifting me with ease. My breath catches as he scoops me up, cradling me against his chest, and I feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.

His skin is warm, and I press my face into the curve of his neck, inhaling the scent of him—woodsmoke, something earthy, and a bit of salt, like the rain-soaked earth outside. I don’t say anything as he carries me through the cabin.

When we reach his bedroom, he pauses for a second. He searches my eyes, but there’s no hesitation.

With a careful gentleness, he lowers me onto the bed, the sheets cool against my skin. I feel every inch of him as he follows, covering me with his body, his weight pressing me into the mattress, but not in a way that feels heavy, just warm. Solid.

His chest presses against mine, and I feel the soft tickle of his chest hair against my skin. It’s strangely intimate, more so than any kiss or touch we’ve shared. This close, I can feel the texture of him, the heat of him, everything he is, every inch of him.

Père’s face is inches from mine, and I find myself staring into his eyes, searching for the same things I’ve been feeling but haven’t said yet. His hand rests on my waist, and his fingers are warm, tracing little patterns against my skin like he’s still trying to memorize every part of me.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his breath warm against my lips, and I feel the truth of it, like a promise.

God, I need to hear that from him. Every hour, every day, like a mantra, a vow.

The world outside the cabin fades. It’s just us here. No questions, no hesitation, just the pulse of this moment, wrapped in warmth, skin, and quiet understanding.

And as he leans down, pressing his lips softly against mine again, I feel that connection, that something real, that something more than anything I ever imagined.

I don’t need to say anything, because I can feel it in his touch. I can feel it in the way he pulls me closer, the way he holds me as if nothing in the world matters except this.

Waiting for my grandad, saving myself for him, was the smartest decision I’ve ever made.

All those years of hesitation, of fighting my feelings, of wondering if it was worth it to wait and see if we could find something more than just the familiar bond of family, were worth every second.

Even when I wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel the same, even when I thought it was too dangerous, too complicated.

When I swore the loneliness would kill me.

Now, I see that it was the only thing I could have done.

Because this, right here, with him wrapped around me, is everything I’ve needed and more. It’s messy and beautiful, raw and tender, like fate’s been waiting for us to figure it out.

I don’t need to say it out loud. I can feel it in my bones, in the way my heart beats when he’s near.

Père. My granddad. The man I never thought I’d love like this, but somehow, I’ve always been meant to love him this way.

And I won’t run from it.

Nor will I let him run, now that I know how perfect we are together.

There’s no going back.

The way he fits against me, the way we move together, how his hands touch me like they know me, like they’re writing the story of us in the spaces between his fingertips—it’s all too much. It’s right .

I press my hand against his chest, feel the steady rhythm of his heart, and I lean up to kiss him again, soft at first, but deeper as I feel him respond, his mouth a slow promise against mine.

I break the kiss, but I don’t move away. My forehead rests against his. “I’m not going anywhere,” I murmur, each word a pledge. “Not ever.”

His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of surprise. But then, just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced with something deeper, something warmer. I feel it in the way his fingers gently caress my cheek.

“Van…” He says my name softly, like he’s testing it out, tasting it on his lips. He seems to struggle for a second, but then he pulls me closer, his chest expanding with a sigh.