Page 66 of Open Arms

“Thank you,” I said, but even as the words left me, they felt too small, too meager for the enormity of what was unfolding between us.

“Thank you,” he echoed, a smile in his voice, “for trusting me.”

Trust. Such a simple thing, really, but with Mason, it felt like the beginning of everything.

He led me to the water and I dipped my toes in, slowly letting the heat envelop me. It was a warm caress, a liquid hug that eased the tremors of anticipation running through me. I let out a sigh as the tension melted from my shoulders,watching tendrils of steam dance and disappear into the night air.

“Like it?” Mason’s voice, husky and close, sent another kind of shiver down my spine.

“Love it,” I admitted, half-turning to find him shedding his own clothes with casual confidence. His body, all lean muscle and shadowed contours, was a testament to years of physical work. And it was all for me.

He stepped into the spring, the water rippling around him as he made his way over. Our eyes locked, and I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. The connection was tangible, electric, as if the water conducted every spark between us straight into my soul.

“Hey there,” he said, a playful note in his voice, but his gray eyes smoldered with something much more serious.

“Hey yourself.” My reply was breathy, almost a whisper.

Then he was there, right there, no space left between us. His hands found my waist, strong and sure, pulling me against him. The warmth of the spring had nothing on the heat of his skin.

“Chlo,” he breathed out, just before his lips claimed mine.

And oh, that kiss. It was everything—a promise, an apology for every hurt we’d ever known, a vow for the future. His mouth moved with mine in a rhythm as old as time, yet as fresh as the first drop of rain in a drought. I clung to him, fingers threading through that dark hair I’d come to adore, anchoring myself to the here and now.

Mason Bridges. This man, with a heart as vast as the Montana sky and a touch gentle enough to soothe away nightmares. The one who made laughter bubble up from places inside me I thought were long since sealed off.

“Chloe,” he murmured against my lips, the word a caress in itself. “You’re all I ever wanted.”

My response was swallowed by another kiss, deeper,hungrier, as if we could somehow taste the truths we’d yet to speak aloud. Here, enveloped by the embrace of the hot spring, nothing else existed—no past traumas, no fears of what tomorrow might bring. Just Mason. Just me. Just us.

“But I’ve got somethin’ I wanna say.”

I could feel the weight of his words before he spoke them, something momentous shimmering in the space between us. Maybe it was the clarity of the stars above or the sincerity that always laced his voice, but in that instant, I knew.

“I love you,” he said. It wasn’t loud; it didn’t need to be. It was as natural as the spring we were nestled in, as undeniable as the pull of the earth beneath us.

My heart, already racing from the warmth of the water and the closeness of him, swelled until I thought it might burst. “Mason,” I began, my voice trembling not from cold but from the sheer intensity of emotion welling inside me. “I . . .”

“Take your time. You don’t have to say it back,” he interjected, a smile audible in his tone. He understood my hesitations, my scars, without ever pressing too hard.

But this—this was easy. “I love you too,” I said, the words spilling from me like they’d been waiting just beneath the surface all along. The fear that so often clung to me slipped away, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the hot spring.

“Reckon that’s the best thing I’ve heard all year,” he replied, his voice rough around the edges with emotion.

“Only all year?” I teased, finding my sarcasm a comfortable blanket even here, even now.

“Alright, maybe ever,” he conceded with a chuckle, and I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the night as if it belonged there. “Chloe . . .” His lips trailed a line of fire along my neck, his breath a whisper against my skin. His eyes held stars of their own, reflecting the night sky aboveus.

“Mason,” I breathed, my hands finding the rugged terrain of his shoulders.

“Been dreaming of this,” he murmured, his touch igniting pathways of desire that coursed through me. Our lips met, a collision of urgency and all the unsaid words we’d been hoarding for so long.

“Me too,” I confessed between kisses. The world outside our secluded cocoon might as well have ceased to exist. Here, in the embrace of warm waters, it was just us.

His hands roamed with reverence, tracing the outline of scars and memories etched upon my skin. Each caress was an affirmation, a silent vow spoken through fingertips that whispered over flesh. And as we moved together, the water lapped at our joined forms, a symphony to accompany the rhythm we set—a dance as old as time itself.

“Perfect . . . you’re perfect,” he said, his voice strained with emotion, rough like gravel but soft around the edges.

“Far from it,” I managed to gasp out, but there was no room for insecurities now. Not when every touch from Mason felt like a brushstroke, painting over past pains with hues of joy and pleasure.

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