Chapter 40: The Weekend Getaway
The truck ate the miles, the city’s glow fading in the rearview until it was just the headlights cutting a tunnel through the dense, whispering pines. Aurora watched the shadows rush past, her hand still tucked under Rhys’s on her thigh.He hadn’t let go. The silence between them wasn’t empty; it was thick, weighted with everything they hadn’t said, everything that had built up over the weeks of distance.
“Where are we going?” she finally asked, her voice soft against the hum of the engine.
“A place I own,” he said, his thumb stroking a slow arc over the fabric of her leggings.“A cabin. I go there when the shop gets too loud.” He glanced at her, the dashboard lights etching the sharp planes of his face in soft green and orange.“I need quiet tonight. And I… I want you in the quiet with me.”
A cabin. The word conjured images of isolation, of a world reduced to just the two of them.A shiver that wasn’t from the cold ran through her. “Okay,” she said, because it was.It was more than okay.
Another twenty minutes down a narrowing, unpaved road, and he slowed, turning onto an almost invisible driveway. The truck bounced over ruts, pine branches scraping the sides like welcoming fingers, until a dark shape emerged from the deeper dark. It was low and long, built from logs gone silver with age. A wide porch hugged its front.Rhys killed the engine.The sudden absence of sound was profound. Only the wind in the high branches, the creak of the truck settling.
“Wait,” he said, and got out.He came around to her side, opened her door before she could move. He didn’t help her down. Instead, he reached in, his hands firm around her waist, and lifted her out as if she weighed nothing, setting her gently on the soft, needle-strewn ground. He kept his hands there, holding her steady, looking down at her face upturned in the moonlight.
“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice gravel.She nodded, unable to speak. His scent here, mingled with the crisp pine and damp earth, was overwhelming. More potent than in her apartment.More real.
He took her hand and led her to the porch, fishing a key from his pocket.The door opened with a sigh. He reached inside, and a soft, golden lamplight bloomed, spilling out to greet them.
It was one main room, open and warm. A massive stone fireplace took up one wall, the embers of a previous fire still glowing faintly. The walls were sun-bleached pine, the furniture sturdy and worn—a deep burgundy velvet armchair, a battered leather sofa piled with wool blankets, a low wooden desk cluttered with a few whiskey glasses and a single, lonely book. It smelled of woodsmoke, old paper, and him.Pure him.Aurora stepped inside, her sneakers silent on the wide-plank floor. She felt like she was walking into a living part of him. This was his sanctuary, the place he came to be alone.And he’d brought her here.
Rhys locked the door behind them with a definitive click. He shrugged out of his jacket, the movement making the muscles in his back and arms shift under his shirt. He went to the fireplace, crouching to add a split log from a neat stack, nudging it with an iron poker until flames began to lick eagerly at the dry wood.The firelight danced over his tattoos, making the intricate patterns seem to move. Aurora stood, unsure, watching him.The quiet pressed in, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was expectant.He stood, dusting his hands on his jeans. He looked at her, across the room, his gaze holding hers in the flickering light. “Come here,” he said, his voice low.She crossed the room, stopping a foot away from him. The heat from the fire was intense, but the heat coming off him was more so.He didn’t reach for her immediately. He just looked, his eyes traveling over her face with a fierce, focused tenderness. “I’ve thought about this,” he admitted.“How you’d look in this room. In this light.”
“How do I look?” The question was a whisper.
“Like a dream I stopped letting myself have.” He raised a hand, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, his calloused fingers grazing the sensitive skin of her neck.She trembled. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m nervous.”
“I know.” He smoothed his palm down her arm, his touch both reassuring and electrifying.“It’s just me, Aurora. It’s just us tonight.No rules.No expectations from anyone else.Just what you want. What you’ll allow.”
The permission in his words undid her. It made the submission she naturally carried feel like a choice, a gift she could give, not a default she had to hide. She leaned forward, pressing her forehead against the solid wall of his chest.He smelled like fire and night air and promise. She felt his arms come around her, heavy and secure, one hand splayed between her shoulder blades, the other cradling the back of her head.
“I want you,” she murmured into his shirt, the confession molten and terrifying.
A deep, resonant rumble started in his chest, a purr of pure alpha satisfaction. It vibrated through her, soothing her nerves, stirring something ancient and deep in her omega core.He kissed the top of her head. “Then you have me.”
He guided her to the thick rug before the fireplace. The velvet of the armchair felt plush against her back as he gently sat her in it, kneeling before her. He carefully removed her sneakers and socks, his hands warm and sure on her feet. He looked up at her, firelight in his eyes. “Stay there.”
He got up, moved to the desk, and poured two fingers of amber liquid into one of the clean glasses.He brought it to her.“Sip this. It’ll warm you.”
She took the glass, her fingers brushing his. The whiskey was smooth and fiery, spreading a trail of heat down her throat. She took another small sip as she watched him pull his shirt over his head.The breath caught in her lungs.
She’d known he was big, broad.But seeing him like this, in the intimate, dancing light, was different. The defined slabs of his chest and abdomen, the powerful arms, all adorned with ink that told stories she longed to learn.A scar, pale and raised, cut across one side of his ribcage. He was beautiful in a way that was utterly masculine, a testament to strength and use. He wasn’t posing; he was just being, standing before her as if offering himself for her inspection.
He came back to her, kneeling again.He took the glass from her trembling hand and set it aside. “Your turn,” he said, his voice husky.His hands went to the hem of her sweater. He paused, waiting.She gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. He drew it up and over her head, leaving her in a simple cotton bralette. The firelight played over her pale skin, her slender shoulders.His gaze was like a physical touch, hot and sweeping. He didn’t rush. He traced the line of her collarbone with a single fingertip, down to the swell of her breast above the fabric.
“So perfect,” he breathed, more to himself than to her. “So fucking perfect.”
He undid the button of her leggings, drew the zipper down with a slow, deliberate rasp. He hooked his fingers in the waistband, and she lifted her hips to help him. He drew them down, along with her simple underwear, until she was bare before him.She wanted to cover herself, a lifetime of shyness screaming at her. But the look on his face stopped her.It was reverence. Hunger, yes, but a hunger tempered with something like awe. He leaned forward, pressing a soft, closed-mouth kiss to the inside of her knee.Then the other.His stubble scraped delicately against her tender skin.
He stood, shedding the rest of his clothes. She saw all of him, the powerful, aroused length of him, and a fresh wave of nervousness crested.He was so much. In every way.He saw the flicker in her eyes.He didn’t move closer. “We don’t have to do anything, Aurora.We can just sleep. I just want to hold you.”
But she didn’t want just sleep. The nerves were a thin shell over a deep, pulsing want.She held out a hand to him.“I want you. Please.”
That was all it took. He lowered himself to the rug, pulling her into his lap so she straddled him, her back to the fire’s heat. His skin was hot, searing where they touched. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, letting her feel every inch of his hardness against her belly.
“I’ll go slow,” he promised, his mouth against her temple.“You tell me to stop, I stop.No questions.”
She believed him. That belief was the final key. She nodded, burrowing her face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in.
His hands began to move, exploring her back, her hips, with a patient, worshipful touch. He kissed her shoulder, her throat, the line of her jaw, until his lips finally found hers. The kiss was deep, consuming, a slow exploration that tasted of whiskey and shared heat.His tongue slid against hers, and a low whimper escaped her.
One of his hands slipped between them, his fingers finding her core. She gasped into his mouth, her body arching.She was wet, impossibly so, her innocence a slick, welcoming warmth. He stroked her, his touch expertly gentle, building a tight, sweet coil of pleasure deep inside her. She clutched at his shoulders, her nails digging in.
“Rhys,” she breathed, a plea and a prayer.“I know, baby. I know.” He positioned himself, the broad head of his arousal pressing where his fingers had been. He watched her face, his own a mask of intense control, of held-back force. “Look at me.”
Her hazel eyes flew open, glassy with need and trust.He pushed in, just an inch.A stretching, burning fullness that was utterly new. She gasped, her body tensing.“Breathe,” he coaxed, his voice strained. “Breathe for me, Aurora.”
She exhaled shakily, and he sank deeper, a slow, inexorable invasion that stretched her, filled her, completed her in a way she’d never dreamed possible.The initial burn melted into a feeling of profound rightness.He was everywhere. In her, around her. His scent was in her lungs, his taste on her tongue, his strength cradling her.
When he was fully seated, he stilled, letting her adjust, his forehead pressed to hers, their breaths mingling. She could feel the tremble in his arms, the effort it took for him not to move.Tentatively, she shifted her hips. A broken groan tore from his throat. That small movement sparked something in her, a primal rhythm she instinctively understood.She did it again.“Fuck,” he gritted out.“Okay. Okay, sweet girl.”
He took over then, his hands gripping her hips, guiding her movement. It was a slow, deep roll, a dance as old as time. The friction was exquisite, building a pressure that tightened low in her belly. The world narrowed to the sound of their skin meeting, the crackle of the fire, their ragged breaths. His name became a mantra on her lips, sighing into the heated space between them.
She felt the change in him first, a deepening of his thrusts, a tightening in the arms that held her. His knot, the alpha part of him she’d only heard about in hushed, embarrassed conversations, began to swell at the base of his length.It pressed against her, a firm, insistent promise of locking, of binding.
“Aurora,” he growled, the sound raw and guttural.“I’m close. I can’t… my knot…”
“Yes,” she sobbed, the coil inside her winding too tight, too sweet.“Please.”
That single word shattered his control. His movements became urgent, powerful, driving her up and over a crest she hadn’t known existed. Pleasure detonated through her, white-hot and shattering, wringing a sharp cry from her throat. As she convulsed around him, his own release roared through him. He buried himself to the hilt as his knot swelled fully, locking them together in a hot, pulsing union.
The sensation was overwhelming, a fullness so complete it bordered on pain, on pleasure, on something else entirely.A claiming. A belonging.He collapsed forward, catching his weight on his arms, still buried deep inside her. He was trembling violently now, great shudders wracking his frame. He pressed his face into her hair, his breaths hot and ragged against her scalp.
Gradually, the intensity ebbed, leaving a heavy, languid satisfaction in its wake. He shifted them gently onto their sides, still joined, facing the fire.He pulled a soft wool blanket over them, tucking it around her shoulders.
In the afterglow, a new sound emerged from her. It started deep in her chest, a soft, thrumming vibration.A purr. An omega’s purr of ultimate contentment, of safety and profound satisfaction.She hadn’t known she could make it. It surprised her, but she didn’t try to stop it.The effect on Rhys was immediate and visceral. He froze, then a rough, choked sound escaped him. He hugged her tighter, his arms like bands of steel, his face buried in her neck.She felt the wetness of his lashes against her skin.
“Don’t stop,” he whispered, his voice cracked and broken. “Please, don’t ever stop.”
She didn’t. She purred as the fire burned low, purred as he whispered tender, shattered words against her skin, purred as she floated in the perfect, anchored peace of his hold. For the first time in her life, she felt not just wanted, but needed.Not just safe, but home.
The outside world, with its complications and past hurts, was on the other side of the pine door. In here, there was only the crackle of the fire, the feeling of his weight against her, the unbreakable seal of their bodies, and the soft, continuous rumble of her happiness vibrating through them both.