Page 68 of The Wrong Ride Home (Wildflower Canyon #1)

morning after

FAITH

I wake up to the weight of his arm draped across my waist. Heavy. Warm. Like it belongs there.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, painting lazy golden lines across Cain’s bare chest. The sheet is tangled low around his hips.

I can’t believe I’m in his bed. My boss’s bed.

I flush at the thought.

Last night was special. The best night of my life. And that isn’t hyperbole.

His fingers trace my skin with reverence, over the scars he can’t see or feel.

“Are you sure, sweet thing?” Cain whispers, his breath warm against my neck, those kind eyes searching mine for any hesitation.

I nod, unable to find words as my heart hammers against my ribcage. It's been so long since I've been touched without flinching, since I've invited someone into this space—my body, my broken places.

“We can stop anytime,” he promises, brushing a strand of hair from my face with such gentleness that tears spring to my eyes.

“I don't want to stop,” I whisper back, surprising myself with the certainty in my voice, my heart.

When his lips meet mine, there's no demand, no taking—just an offering. His hands cradle my face like I'm something precious. I never had that before. Ever.

Now, in the light of the morning when passion isn’t fueling me, I’m so grateful that he’s here. I didn’t know it could feel like this, a quiet hum of belonging.

His breath stirs the hair at the nape of my neck, and I smile again, feeling safe, warm, whole.

When you grow up in foster care, you don’t have anyone permanent in your life—everything is transient, transactional.

His hand curls possessively over my stomach. I feel a shiver run through me. The faint stubble on his jaw brushes my temple when he shifts, murmuring something half-asleep and unintelligible.

Last night had been something out of a dream.

It isn’t just about the way he touched me—it was that he sees me and still wants me.

I close my eyes again, letting myself believe this could be the beginning of something.

That it’s not just lust.

Not just a fling.

Something more.

Something real .

A few hours later, reality snaps its jaws shut.