Page 104 of Wings
"We can do that." No hesitation in his voice. "Whenever you're ready. Whatever you need."
"Not yet." I pulled back to meet his eyes. "But someday. When the therapy has sunk in more. When I trust myself not to spiral after. When being happy doesn't feel like rebellion."
"There's no timeline," he reminded me. "No deadline for healing."
"I know. Dr. Martinez says the same thing. She also says . . ." I grinned, mood shifting lighter. "She says exploration of pleasure is part of healing. That reclaiming my body means trying new things. Testing boundaries."
"Is that so?" His hand drifted lower, teasing. "What kind of boundaries?"
"All kinds." I arched into his touch. "Like maybe keeping this plug in while you fuck me again. For therapeutic purposes."
"Therapeutic." His laugh rumbled through both of us. "Baby girl, you're gonna be the death of me."
"But what a way to go."
He rolled me onto my back, looming over me with intent that made my breath catch. "You sure you can take more?"
"Only one way to find out." I pulled him down for a kiss that tasted like challenge. "For therapy."
"For therapy," he agreed, already moving lower. "Let's see how much healing we can accomplish."
This time was slower, sweeter. He mapped every inch of me with lips and tongue, whispering praise between kisses. How beautiful I was. How perfect. How his. I floated on the words, let them sink into places that had been hungry for so long.
When he finally slid inside me again, the fullness made me gasp. Different angle, new sensations, the plug making everything more intense. But I took it, took him, took all the pleasure he offered like communion.
"My good girl," he breathed against my ear. "Taking everything so well. So proud of you."
The second orgasm built slower but hit harder. Rolled through me like tide, washing away old shame and leaving something clean in its wake. He followed me over, my name a prayer on his lips.
After, he removed the plug gentle as he'd inserted it. Cleaned me with warm cloths and reverent hands. Tucked me against his chest like I was precious, breakable, worth protecting.
"Thank you for telling me," he murmured into the darkness. "About therapy. About what you want. All of it."
"Thank you for listening." I yawned, exhaustion hitting sudden and complete. "For making space for all of me."
"Always, baby girl. Always."
I drifted toward sleep surrounded by his warmth, his scent, his steady breathing. Safe. Whole. His.
And for the first time in my life, unashamed of wanting to be.
Chapter 20
Kiara
TheHarley'senginerumbledthrough my thighs, a familiar vibration that had become as comforting as Gabe's heartbeat. My arms wrapped tight around his waist, fingers locked together over the hard plane of his stomach, feeling each breath he took through leather and muscle. The air bit at any exposed skin, making me grateful for the helmet even as it muffled the world to a rushing whisper.
We'd been riding for nearly an hour, cutting through roads I didn't recognize. The trees blurred past in streaks of gold and rust, October showing off before winter stripped everything bare. Every curve brought a subtle shift in temperature—warm where the dying sun still touched the asphalt, cool in the shadows of overhanging branches. I pressed closer to Gabe's back, stealing his heat through his cut.
He hadn't told me where we were going. Just showed up after my shift at the clinic, helped me onto the bike with hands thatlingered on my waist, and said, "Bring something warm. We've got a stop to make."
That was it. No explanation, no hints. Just that steady certainty in his voice that made questions unnecessary. Six months ago, I would have panicked at the not knowing. Would have needed itineraries and exits and backup plans. But that was before. Before I learned that Wings's silences weren't threats but thoughts taking shape. Before I understood that mystery could mean care instead of control.
The bike leaned into another curve, and I leaned with it, body moving in sync with his. We'd found this rhythm weeks ago—the way to breathe together through turns, how to shift weight without words. My chest pressed against the patches on his back, feeling the raised embroidery through my jacket.
The sun hung low now, painting everything in that particular light that made ordinary things look blessed. Through the helmet's visor, I watched the landscape change from suburban sprawl to something wilder. Fewer houses, more trees.
The Harley slowed, engine dropping from roar to rumble. Gabe's hand dropped briefly to my knee—our signal for "attention, something's changing." I straightened, looking past his shoulder as he turned onto a dirt road I hadn't even seen. No signs, no markers. Just a gap in the trees that looked like every other gap until you were right on top of it.
