Page 58 of Sweet Doe
Water runs over my back, steam curling around us as I look up at her from the floor like she’s the only god I’ve ever knelt for. I wash her legs one by one, kiss her thighs, lick the water from her skin just to taste her again. My hands trace every inch of her, not with lust this time, but with something far worse. Or better. Obsession. Devotion.
This is what forever looks like.
This girl, this body, this bruised little heart that still beats for me after everything. She’s mine. She chose me. And I’ll never let her regret it.
She’s never going to have to worry again. Not about where she’ll sleep. Not about who’s looking for her. Not about being alone.
Because I’ve got her now.
My family. My salvation. My sweet fucking doe.
I rise slowly, pressing a kiss to her collarbone before pulling her back into my arms, letting the hot water rinse us both clean.
And I swear if anyone tries to take this from me again, I’ll make the world burn.
She’s asleep now.
Curled up against me, wearing nothing but my shirt, her bare leg slung over mine. Even in sleep, she can’t bear to let go. I trace my fingers through her hair, slow and steady. Not because she’s fragile. Because I am. At least when it comes to her.
She’s not breakable.
She’s wildfire wrapped in soft skin and jagged breath. A storm that could tear me apart—and she fucking chose me anyway.
That truth hits me in the chest like a punch I don’t want to block. It settles deep, anchors me. Purpose. Need. Something almost close to peace, if I believed in that kind of thing.
I ease out of bed, careful not to wake her, and cross to the duffel bag in the corner. The burner’s wedged between a rolled-up hoodie and a stack of cash. I dial. Jesse picks up on the second ring.
Still paranoid. Still useful.
“I need IDs,” I say, voice low. “Two names. Married couple. Keep it clean. No flags.”
“You got the cash?”
“Always.”
He exhales, sharp. “Twenty-four hours.”
“You’ve got twelve.”
Silence. Then a quiet, “Fuck you,” and the line goes dead. I know he’ll get it done.
I drop the phone, start sorting supplies. Credit cards, backup phones, cash. Maps marked with routes I traced months ago—just in case. And here we are. No morejust in case.
I’ve been waiting for this life. Living in the shadows, teeth bared and eyes wide, waiting for the moment I could burn it all down and start again with something worth the blood on my hands.
Now I have it.
There’s a cabin in the Northwest woods. Off-grid. Quiet. No neighbors, no questions. Beyond that? Canada, maybe. Alaska. Doesn’t matter. So long as she’s beside me, I’ll create whatever kind of world she needs.
I glance over at the bed.
She’s still there. Asleep. Safe. Her breath steady, mouth slightly open, tangled in the shitty motel sheets like it’s a goddamn throne. Her skin’s still flushed from earlier. Her thigh bruised where I held her down. Mine.
Finally. Fully. Irrevocably.
I slide back in beside her and pull her into me, burying my face in her hair, my hand splayed across her stomach like a brand. She sighs in her sleep, soft and low, her fingers curling around my wrist like she knows on some deep, instinctive level that I’m hers too, and I am.
I close my eyes.
