Page 74 of Colliding with the Coffee Shop Owner
As darkness envelops the mountain, we remain huddled together, watching lights spread across the valley below—each representing lives being lived, stories unfolding, connections forming and breaking in endless cycles. The perspective shifts something inside me, softening the sharp edges of my anxiety about the future.
"Ready to head back?" Max asks when the temperature drops further, his breath visible in the mountain air.
"Not quite yet." I nestle closer, unwilling to end this perfect moment. "Just a few more minutes."
We stay until the cold becomes impossible to ignore, then make our way down the trail by flashlight, hands linked, conversation flowing easily. The drive back to town passes in similar quiet companionship, both of us processing the unspoken commitments we've made on the mountainside.
At my cottage, warmth welcomes us—both physical and emotional as we move through the familiar space together. Max builds a fire in the small woodstove while I prepare hot chocolate.
"Thank you for today." He accepts the steaming mug, drawing me down beside him on the sofa. "For sharing your special place with me."
"Thank you for wanting to make this work." The vulnerability in my voice surprises me. "For believing it's possible."
His eyes soften in the firelight, reflecting amber flames and something deeper—a certainty I've never seen there before. His hand reaches up, fingers tracing the curve of my cheek with reverence that makes my breath catch.
The hot chocolate sits forgotten as he sets his mug on the side table, taking mine and placing it safely aside. His eyes hold minewith an intensity that makes my breath catch, something raw and vulnerable breaking through his usual composed exterior.
“Lily,” he says, my name low and reverent on his lips, a caress that makes my pulse trip. His hand cradles my face, thumb stroking across my cheekbone as if he’s memorizing me. “I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.” He leans closer, the space between us charged, humming with something electric. “These past weeks with you… It’s like finding something I didn’t know I was missing. Something I’ll never be able to let go.”
His voice drops lower, rough with emotion. “I need you to understand what you are to me. Not just desire—though I ache for you every second. I need your strength, your brilliance, that fire in you that refuses to break.” His fingers weave into my hair, anchoring me gently. “I want you, Miss Lily Brock. All of you. In ways I can’t even put into words.”
The kiss that follows tastes of chocolate and conviction, soft at first, deepening as mugs are forgotten and pulled aside. My fingers tangle in his hair, dragging him closer, desperate to feel him pressed against me. His hands map my waist with warm, steady possession, guiding me with a control that feels natural now, an extension of his dominance that makes me shiver with anticipation.
Clothes fall away piece by piece, each removal slow and intentional. He doesn’t just undress me—he unveils me. His hands and lips follow each new inch of exposed skin, claiming me with featherlight touches and teasing bites that have me trembling. My bra falls away, and his breath ghosts across my breasts, lips hovering but not touching.
“Lie back,” he murmurs, voice dark silk, his words both command and promise.
I lie back as instructed, the sheets cool against my heated skin. He reaches for the blindfold—soft silk he’s used before—and ties it gently over my eyes.
Darkness sharpens everything: his scent, the brush of his fingers, the anticipation coiling tight in my belly. He trails his mouth from my collarbone down my stomach, lips teasing every sensitive spot he knows by heart. My breath hitches when his fingers trace the edges of my panties, slipping beneath the fabric but withdrawing before I can whimper a plea.
“Every sound you make tonight,” he whispers, lips near my ear, “is mine.”
The words ripple through me as he slowly removes the last of my clothes, leaving me bare under his intense gaze. He pauses, breathing deeply as if memorizing my scent, my vulnerability, my trust. When he crawls up the bed, it’s with heat and intention, his body a shadow of heat and restrained power above me.
His hands skim down my arms, over my ribs, staking claim in every inch they touch. Sensation builds unbearably as he plays my body like an instrument, alternating between featherlight teasing and firmer touches that draw gasps from my lips. My back arches as his mouth closes over one nipple, teasing it with his tongue before moving to lavish the same attention on the other, his free hand exploring lower, circling, pressing, withdrawing before I can shatter.
“Not yet,” he murmurs again, his restraint almost as intoxicating as the sensations he gives.
When he finally sheds his own clothing, I feel him pause, letting me sense the weight of his gaze. His arousal brushes against my thigh, thick and heavy, and the blindfold makes the moment sharper, more intimate. My breath catches as he aligns himself, pressing slowly into me, inch by inch, filling me with exquisite care.
“You’re perfect,” he groans, his voice strained. He presses his lips against my temple and stills, letting me adjust, his dominance now tempered with tenderness.
He moves slowly at first, setting a deliberate rhythm that has me clinging to him, every thrust perfectly angled to make me gasp his name. His hand slides between us, finding my pleasure point, circling it in rhythm with his body.
“Not yet,” he commands again, sensing my nearness. “When I let you, you’ll come apart completely.”
The blindfold heightens everything—the drag of his lips against my throat, the bite of his teeth at my shoulder, the intoxicating sensation of surrender.
When he finally gives permission, his voice is dark velvet. “Now. Come for me.”
I shatter at his words, convulsing around him as he takes me higher than I’ve ever been, his dominance and tenderness wrapping around me like a cocoon. He follows moments later, losing his iron control as he buries himself deep, groaning my name as his body trembles against mine.
Afterward, he removes the blindfold gently, his hands cradling my face like I’m the most precious thing he’s ever touched. His lips press against my forehead, a tender, lingering kiss that makes my chest ache. He trails lower, brushing a kiss to my temple, then another just beneath my ear.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my skin as his lips ghost along my jawline, slow and deliberate. Each kiss feels like a vow, a reminder of the restraint he just showed, of the control he holds even now.
He pauses at the corner of my mouth, teasing me with the faintest brush of lips before claiming me fully. The kiss is soft, unhurried, but it carries all the intensity of what just passed between us, deepening until I melt beneath him again.
