8-
Caden leans back against the edge of the boardroom table and opens his arms without a word.
I walk straight into him.
He lifts me easily—like it’s instinct—and I wrap my legs around his waist, arms sliding over his shoulders, fingers threading into his hair. My forehead rests against his, both of us breathing the same air, grounding each other.
His lips brush mine—soft, reverent. Not hungry, not demanding. Just a kiss that tells me I’m here, I’ve got you, I love you.
I let him hold me like that, my chest pressed against his, my eyes closed. I can feel his heartbeat under my hand. A steady thrum against the chaos in my own body.
But I don’t deepen the kiss. I don’t tilt my chin or open my mouth to taste more of him.
Not right now. Not when the vision still clings to me like ash.
