CHAPTER 259

**ZION**

I headed toward Winter’s room, every step heavy with the storm coiling inside me.

I needed her close—needed to hold her, to anchor myself to something real so the fire in my veins didn’t consume me.

My chest ached with the need to make her presence a tether, to keep the chaos from spilling outward.
When I cracked the door open, the sight hit me like a punch.

Clothes were scattered across the floor, a scrap of silk—her thong—half-hidden among the mess.

I swore under my breath.

Holy fuck.

I stood frozen, my eyes locked on the most perfect, sexy thong lying on the floor, a temptation I couldn't ignore.

Fuck.

The sight of it sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated desire straight to my cock, making it throb with an almost painful need.

I was already drooling, my mouth watering at the thought of what lay beyond that door, of Snowflake, naked and vulnerable, waiting for me.

My dick was rock hard, straining against the front of my pants, a constant reminder of the primal need coursing through my veins.

I couldn't believe that I was thinking with my dick at a time like this, when she needed me to be strong, to be the anchor she could rely on.

But the sight of her thong was too much to resist.

My heart felt like a jackhammer in my chest, pounding with a mix of desire and concern, a battle between my primal instincts and my need to protect her.

Snowflake.

My Snowflake.

Naked.

Behind that door.

The thought of her, of the way she would look, the way she would feel, it was a temptation I could barely resist.

I drew in a sharp breath, forcing air into lungs that suddenly felt too tight.

Control — I needed control.

She’s been through enough, I reminded myself, clinging to the words like an anchor.

Her safety, her peace — that’s what mattered.

Not the fire tearing through me. Not the ache clawing its way up my spine.

I needed to be her steady ground, not another storm.
My hands flexed at my sides, every muscle straining against the pull, fighting to remember why I was here.

To protect.

To hold her together.

But even as I wrestled the heat back down, my gaze caught on that small, silken scrap lying on the floor — delicate, careless, intimate — and every ounce of restraint I’d built started to unravel.

For a heartbeat, I forgot how to breathe.

She was right there, just beyond that door.

And God help me, every cell in my body wanted her.
But it wasn’t just lust.

It was the pull of something deeper, sharper—love that ached, need that scared me.

I wasn’t just drawn to her body. I was drowning in everything she was.

I closed my eyes and forced the air through my lungs, steadying the chaos she stirred in me.

You love her, I told myself.

So protect her.

Even from yourself.

My mind raced with images of her, of the way she would look wearing this, of the way she would feel against me.

Before I could stop myself, I reached down and picked up the thong, the soft fabric slipping through my fingers like a promise of something more.

I brought it to my nose, inhaling deeply, and the scent hit me like a wave—her, pure and unfiltered, a mix of her natural allure and the lingering hint of her perfume. It was intoxicating, a primal pull that made my stomach twist and my cock throb with need.

I clenched my jaw until it ached, trying to cage the wildfire clawing its way up my spine. My pulse thundered in my ears, every beat a reminder of just how close I was to losing control.
Not now.

I shut my eyes, forcing air into my lungs, dragging the storm back down where it belonged.

Not like this.

She didn’t need my hunger—she needed my strength.

My steadiness.

My promise that nothing and no one would ever hurt her again.

She needed safety. Stability. Someone solid to hold the chaos back, not feed it.

My hands flexed at my sides, the fight between reason and desire burning in every tendon. But the second her scent hit me again—soft, warm, unmistakably her—it all but gutted me.

It filled every part of me, raw and consuming, until breathing felt like temptation itself.

Focus, Z.

Get your shit together.

I muttered the words like a warning, dragging my hands through my hair, grounding myself in the sting of my own restraint.

Another deep breath.

Another second of control clawed back from the edge.

I exhaled hard, then let the silken scrap slip from my fingers. It fell soundlessly to the floor, landing among the chaos she’d left behind—an unspoken reminder of the line I couldn’t cross.

Not yet.

Not tonight.

I strode toward the bathroom door.

Steam curled out from beneath it, thick and heavy, winding into the room like smoke from a fire.

The rhythmic pounding of water filled the space—raw, constant, grounding—pulling at the last frayed edges of my control.

Through the frosted glass, I could make out the curve of her body, blurred and softened by the haze.
For a fraction of a second, I froze—not moving, just taking it in.

Lust flared in my chest again, hot and unrelenting, and I felt it pressing against me, demanding attention. My body betrayed me before my mind could catch up; I stiffened, every muscle taut, coiled like a spring ready to snap.

I swallowed hard, jaw tightening, forcing my hands to clench at my sides to stop from reaching for her.

The scent of her—warm, familiar, intoxicating—hit me again, and my knees threatened to buckle under the pull.

Every nerve in my body screamed to step closer, to let the heat take over, but I forced myself to stay rooted, letting the pounding of the water and the steam between us be the only thing I focused on.

“Get a fucking grip, Zion,” I muttered under my breath.
I cleared my throat, letting it roll rough and low.

“Snowflake…”

My lips parted, and I licked them, voice hoarse, thick with concern.

“Snowflake…are you okay?”

Every word was a tether, pulling me back from the edge, forcing me to remember why I was here. Not for desire.

Not yet. For her.

Always for her.

She turned toward me, sliding the shower door open. Her wet hair clung to her shoulders, droplets tracing delicate paths down her skin.

My chest hitched, a mix of disbelief and raw heat threatening to take over.

Fucking hell.

I forced myself to inhale, slow and steady, even though every instinct screamed to move, to touch, to lose control.

Act fucking cool, Z.

I swallowed hard, trying to shove the fire down, and cleared my throat, letting my voice come out steadier than I felt.

“Snowflake?”

Even as I spoke, my eyes betrayed me, lingering for a second too long, but my body fought against the pull of desire—

“I was starting to think you forgot about me,” she murmured, voice small and fragile.

I froze for a fraction of a second, heart hammering, throat tight.

My eyes lifted to hers, and I forced my gaze there—anywhere but below her face.

“I’d die before I forget you,” I rasped, every word raw, loaded.

Her bottom lip trembled, the words barely making it past her shaking breath.

“I… I can’t stop thinking—he was in my room… if you hadn’t been there…”

My chest tightened, a slow, raw ache that cut deeper than any wound. I stepped closer, water misting against my skin, my voice low but rough.

“Hey, hey…”

I took a slow step closer, every muscle pulled tight like a wire.

“Don’t,” I said quietly, the word cutting through her trembling voice.

“Don’t finish that sentence.”

My tone came out lower than I intended—rough, shaking with the kind of anger that doesn’t burn out.

“He didn’t touch you. He didn’t get to.”

My jaw clenched, the words scraping out through gritted teeth.

“I made fucking sure of that.”

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to steady even as the storm in my chest refused to calm.

“And I swear to you, Snowflake…”

I took another step until we were breathing the same air, my voice dropping to a vow.

“He’ll never get that close again. Not while I’m still standing. Not while I’m still breathing.”

She nodded, but it wasn’t relief—it was fear still clinging to her like a second skin.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the edge of the shower door, the steam wrapping around her like smoke.

“Can you…” she started, voice catching like it hurt to speak..

“…can you come in here?”

My pulse kicked hard, a sharp, dangerous rhythm under my skin.

“Snowflake—”

“I just—” she cut me off, her voice cracking clean in half.

“I… I need you,” she whispered, barely audible through the hiss of the water. Her eyes glistened, lashes heavy with tears she hadn’t let fall.

“I need to forget. Just for a little while. Please.”

She pressed both palms to the fogged glass between us, like she could anchor herself through it—through me.

The words hit harder than any punch I’d ever taken—raw, pleading, soaked in something that wasn’t lust but survival.

She wasn’t asking for desire.

She was asking for escape, for something to hold onto before she drowned in what had happened.
For a heartbeat, I froze.

My head screamed Don’t.

She wasn’t thinking straight.

She’d been terrified, violated in the worst kind of way—just because he didn’t touch her didn’t mean he hadn’t left a mark.

“Snowflake …” I started, rough, unsure.

“You don’t need—”

Her eyes lifted to mine, glimmering with a quiet desperation that gutted me.

“Please,” she whispered again, shakier this time.

“Please, Zion.”

That word—please—broke something in me.
Maybe it wasn’t right.

Maybe I should’ve walked away.

But she was trembling, breath hitching, eyes pleading for something only I could give—warmth, safety, a heartbeat that wasn’t her own.

Dumb? Maybe. Reckless?

Definitely.

But I didn’t care.

I didn’t hesitate.

Two steps and I was in the shower with her, water cascading around us, heat and tension tangling like fire.

My hands hovered near her, holding back the urge to devour her, to be the anchor she needed—not the storm she already felt.

I let my forehead press against hers, breathing in her scent, feeling the tremor in her body that mirrored my own.

Every instinct screamed, don’t lose control, but I could already feel her grounding me, pulling the chaos inside me into something sharper, something focused.

“I’m right here,” I murmured, voice rough.

“I’ve got you. Nothing’s taking you from me—not tonight, not ever.”

I pressed her to me, feeling every curve, every shiver under my hands.

The water poured over us, hot and relentless, but it wasn’t the shower that had me burning—it was her.
The way her body moulded against mine, the way her fingers dug into my neck and hair, the way her chest heaved against my own.

Every instinct in me screamed to lose myself in her, to bury myself where I knew she wanted me, to take and take and take until the world fell away.

Her warmth, her scent, the taste of her lips—it was addictive, primal, insane.

I hoisted her against me, pressing her back to the cold tiles as our mouths collided in a desperate, hungry kiss.

Every nerve in me lit on fire; her lips, her taste, her scent—it was like inhaling sin itself.

Her legs curled around my waist, locking me against her, every curve of her body searing into mine as the water pounded over us.

My cock pressed insistently against her, hard and impatient, every instinct screaming to bury myself inside her.

It would be effortless—too easy—to lose control, to thrust deep and take her entirely, to feel her warmth swallow me whole.

But then the thought hit, sharp and maddening: the condoms.

In the other room.

Shit.

Shit.

Shit.

I groaned, breaking the kiss just enough to press my forehead to hers, heart hammering, breath ragged.