Page 9

nine

Lila

His confessions echo in my mind as I watch him sleep. The hardness of his face softens in slumber, years falling away from his features. My fingers hover above the scar that cuts through his eyebrow, not quite touching, afraid to wake him. Beau—my mountain man, my captor, my lover—laid bare his soul to me today, showed me the wounds that run deeper than flesh. The belt buckle that split his brow, the father who taught him violence, the military that weaponized his pain, the fear that drove him to these woods. Now I understand his desperate grip on me, his terror of being alone again. It's not possession; it's survival. He's a drowning man and I'm his air. But tonight I need him to understand something vital: I'm not here because he caught me. I'm here because I choose to be.

The afternoon faded into evening as I tended his injured ankle, replaced the bandages, brought him food and water. He accepted my care with a vulnerability that made my chest ache, his eyes following my every movement as if memorizing me, as if I might vanish the moment he looked away. Now he sleeps, exhausted from pain and emotion, his large body sprawled across the bed we share, one arm stretched into the empty space where I should be.

I slip from the cabin as quietly as I can, retrieving something from the hiding place where I stashed it days ago. A small luxury I've been saving, though for what occasion, I wasn't sure until now. When I return, the fire has burned low, casting the cabin in a warm, amber glow. I add another log, watching the flames lick at the fresh wood, gathering my courage.

What I'm about to do terrifies me. Not because I doubt my feelings—those have crystallized with surprising clarity—but because I've never been the one to initiate, to take control. I've always followed, reacted, responded. But Beau needs more than my passive acceptance. He needs to know I'm active in this choice. That I see him—all of him—and still want him.

I check his ankle once more, relieved to find the bandages clean, no fresh bleeding. His breath comes deep and even, face relaxed in sleep. My mountain man, vulnerable at last.

The small bathroom off the main room has no door, just a curtain for privacy. I slip behind it, stripping off my clothes—his clothes, really, the oversized flannel and cotton shorts I've been living in. My reflection in the small mirror above the sink shows a woman I barely recognize. My hair falls in loose waves past my shoulders, my skin glows with health despite the fading bruises from the storm, my eyes hold a certainty I've never seen there before.

I open the small packet I retrieved from outside—travel-sized bath products from my backpack, salvaged after the storm. The scent of lavender rises as I quickly wash, a small feminine indulgence in this rugged, masculine space. When I'm done, I don't dress, don't cover myself. Instead, I reach for the single candle on the shelf, lighting it with a match from Beau's supply.

Heart pounding, I step from behind the curtain, naked but for the candlelight dancing on my skin. The cabin is warm from the fire, but goosebumps rise on my flesh anyway—from anticipation, from the boldness of what I'm doing.

I approach the bed slowly, the candle casting enough light to navigate but not enough to wake him immediately. Setting it on the bedside table, I study him one more time—the strong lines of his face, the beard that scratches deliciously against my skin, the breadth of shoulders built from years of physical labor. Mine. As surely as I am his.

I ease onto the bed beside him, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. He stirs, instincts honed by years of solitude bringing him to alertness even in sleep. His eyes open, instantly finding mine in the dim light.

"Lila?" His voice is rough with sleep, concern immediately creasing his brow. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," I whisper, placing a finger against his lips. "Everything's right."

His gaze drops, registering my nakedness, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of blue remains. His hand lifts as if to touch me, then hesitates, a question in his eyes.

Instead of answering with words, I move to straddle him, the blanket still separating us, my bare skin glowing golden in the candlelight. His breath catches, hands coming to rest instinctively on my hips.

"What are you doing, little dove?" he asks, voice deeper now, roughened with desire.

I take his hands in mine, lifting them to my lips, pressing kisses to each scarred knuckle. "Showing you," I murmur against his skin. "Choosing you."

A sound escapes him—part groan, part sigh. "Lila?—"

"No," I interrupt gently. "Let me. Please."

Something in my voice must convince him, because he relaxes back against the pillows, surrendering control to me. The trust in that simple action makes my heart swell.

I lean down, bracing my hands on either side of his head, letting my hair fall around us like a curtain, creating a private world of just the two of us. My lips brush his, a whisper of a kiss that has him straining upward, seeking more.

"I saw you today," I murmur against his mouth. "All of you. The pain. The fear. The strength it took to survive." I kiss the scar at his eyebrow, then the one at the corner of his mouth, just as I did earlier. "And I'm still here."

His hands tighten on my hips, but he doesn't take control, doesn't flip me beneath him as he so easily could. He watches me with an intensity that should be intimidating but instead empowers me.

I sit up, still straddling him, and slowly pull the blanket down, revealing his chest, his stomach, the waistband of the sweatpants he sleeps in. My fingers trace the contours of his muscles, the scattered scars that tell their own stories of his life before me.

"I want you to understand something," I say, voice soft but steady. "I'm not here because you caught me in a storm. I'm not here because you're keeping me from leaving." I lean down again, pressing a kiss to the center of his chest, right over his heart. "I'm here because this is where I want to be. With you. Because I choose you, Beau."

His breathing quickens, his eyes never leaving mine. "Lila," he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips.

I ease back, tugging at his sweatpants. He lifts his hips, mindful of his injured ankle, helping me pull them down and off. Now we're both naked, vulnerable, equal. I settle back across his thighs, feeling his arousal hard against my belly.

"Let me love you," I whisper. "Let me show you."

He nods, wordless, something raw and wondering in his expression. I rise up on my knees, positioning myself above him, then slowly sink down, taking him inside me inch by exquisite inch. We both gasp at the connection, the perfect fit of our bodies.

"Christ, Lila," he groans, hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise. "You're so beautiful. So perfect."

I begin to move, setting a slow, deliberate pace, my hands braced on his chest for balance. His eyes devour me, taking in every expression that crosses my face, every quiver of pleasure that runs through my body. I've never felt so powerful, so desired, so completely seen.

"This is my choice," I tell him, voice breaking as pleasure builds with each roll of my hips. "You. Us. This life."

His hands slide up my body, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing across sensitized nipples. The added sensation draws a moan from deep in my throat, my rhythm faltering momentarily.

"Look at me," he commands softly. "Don't close your eyes. I need to see you."

I obey, meeting his gaze as I continue to ride him, our connection deepening with each passing moment. There's something profound in watching his face as I bring him pleasure, in letting him see mine without reservation or shame.

"I never thought—" he begins, then breaks off with a groan as I change the angle slightly. "Never thought I'd have this. You. After everything I've done, everything I am..."

"You have me," I assure him, leaning down to brush my lips against his, never breaking the rhythm of our bodies. "All of me."

His hands move to my hips, guiding me now, helping me find the perfect angle, the perfect pressure. Heat coils tighter in my core, my movements becoming more desperate, more erratic as I chase release.

"Tell me," he urges, voice strained with the effort of control. "Tell me why you're choosing this. Choosing me."

The words rise to my lips unbidden, truth I've been feeling but haven't named until this moment. "Because I love you," I gasp, the declaration torn from somewhere deep and irrevocable. "I love you, Beau."

His entire body goes rigid beneath me, his eyes widening in shock, in disbelief, in naked hope. Then he's surging upward, sitting up with me still joined to him, arms wrapping around me in a grip that's nearly crushing.

"Say it again," he demands, voice rough with emotion. "Please, little dove. Say it again."

"I love you." This time the words come easier, flowing like a river that's found its path to the sea. "I love your strength. I love your gentleness. I love your pain and your joy and everything that made you who you are."

A sound escapes him—half sob, half groan—and then he's kissing me, deep and desperate and reverent all at once. His hips thrust up into me, taking control of our pace without taking away my power. One hand tangles in my hair, the other at the small of my back, holding me to him as if afraid I might float away.

"Lila," he breathes against my lips, my name a benediction. "My Lila. My heart." His thrusts grow more urgent, more powerful. "Come for me, little dove. Let me feel you. Let me know this is real."

His words, the emotion in his voice, the fullness of him inside me—it's too much. The tension breaks, pleasure crashing through me in waves that leave me shaking and crying out his name. He follows immediately, his release triggering aftershocks of my own, his forehead pressed to mine as he empties himself inside me.

In the aftermath, we cling to each other, breathing heavily, bodies slick with sweat and still joined. His hands tremble slightly where they hold me, or maybe I'm the one trembling. It's hard to tell where I end and he begins.

"Did you mean it?" he asks after a long silence, voice barely above a whisper, almost afraid of the answer.

I pull back just enough to see his face, to cup his cheeks in my hands, to ensure he sees the truth in my eyes. "With every part of me," I tell him. "I love you, Beau. I choose you. I claim you as mine."

Something breaks open in his expression—a vulnerability, a wonder, a joy so pure it hurts to witness. "I love you," he says, the words appearing to surprise him as much as me. "God, Lila, I love you so much it terrifies me. I never thought...never believed I could have this."

"You have it," I assure him, pressing soft kisses to his lips, his cheeks, his brow. "You have me. For as long as you want me."

"Forever," he says instantly, with absolute certainty. "I want you forever."

The word should scare me. Forever is a long time, especially with a man I've known for less than two weeks. But as I look into his eyes, feel his heart beating against mine, I know with bone-deep certainty that this is right. That I've found where I belong. Who I belong with.

"Forever," I agree, sealing the promise with a kiss that tastes of tears—his or mine, I'm not sure. Maybe both.

His arms tighten around me, holding me to him as if I'm the most precious thing he's ever touched. And in his eyes, I know I am. Just as he is to me.

Outside, the mountain stands guard, the forest whispers secrets, the stars wheel overhead in their ancient patterns. Inside, wrapped in Beau's arms, I am exactly where I'm meant to be. Where I've chosen to be. Home.