Page 153 of Scaled Daddy's Secret Heir
I still keep emergency packs in the back closet.
Still have a contact or two buried deep in secure channels.
But they don’t rule me.
They’re just shadows.
And we walk in daylight now.
It startslike a whisper against the sea.
One second, we’re walking barefoot along the tide line, hand in hand, sand sticking between our toes and the air thick with salt and citrus. The next, the sky splits open and summer comes down in sheets.
Warm. Heavy. Glorious.
I shriek, more out of instinct than protest, tugging Kalev’s arm. He doesn’t move fast—just tips his head up like he’s listening for something ancient and holy. His shirt goes dark with water in a heartbeat, clinging to every inch of carved muscle like it was tailor-made to worship him.
“You planned this,” I accuse, laughing as the rain pelts harder.
“Did I?” He grins, slow and wicked. “Guess I’m lucky then.”
“Lucky?” I wipe at my eyes, blinking through the downpour. “We’re drenched.”
“We’realive.” His voice drops into something low and reverent. “And together.”
That shouldn’t undo me. But it does.
He threads his fingers through mine and pulls me toward the dunes, where the slope dips and the brush grows taller, offering some illusion of privacy—though the rain’s so thick now it may as well be a wall.
I let him.
No, I follow him.
Our bodies are soaked through, clothes plastered to skin, breath fogging between sudden kisses and laughter and the slap of water off our cheeks.
By the time we stumble beneath a wind-blown cypress, Kalev’s got me pressed back against the tree trunk, both of us panting, pupils blown wide. He cages me with his body, not rough but definite. Certain.
The way only he can be.
I reach for the hem of his shirt and he lets me strip it up over his head, water pouring off the fabric as it hits the ground.
God, he’s beautiful.
Not perfect—not untouched. But mine.
His skin is battle-map and worship-ground both. Scars I know by heart. Heat I crave like oxygen.
“Kalev,” I whisper, running both hands down his chest, watching him shiver at the contrast of rain-chilled air and my touch.
“You sure?” His voice is raw, hoarse, held tight.
I nod.
And then I kiss him like it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense.
He lifts me easily, palms gripping my thighs, pressing me back into the tree. My legs lock around his waist like instinct. Likehome.
The rain drums a steady rhythm around us, louder now, drowning out everything else.
