Chapter 13
Chapter 13
After returning from the cottage, Dale and Skye find themselves in her art room, where the weight of their deepening bond and the fear of losing it to the outside world ignites an intense, vulnerable night of passion. They cover themselves and the floor in paint, creating a visceral testament to their unity, and afterward lie together, facing the fragile boundary between their private world and the one that waits outside.
The house was quiet when they stepped inside, the air still carrying the scent of salt and earth from the coast. Skye set the garden gifts on the kitchen table with a soft clink of glass against wood, her fingers lingering on the poem’s edge. Dale watched her from the doorway, feeling the warmth of the day still pulsing in his chest, but also something else—a low hum of tension he couldn’t name.
“I want to paint,” Skye said suddenly, turning to face him. Her eyes were bright, not with mischief but with a kind of urgency. “Will you stay? I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
He nodded, his throat tight. “I’ll stay.”
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