Chapter 17: The Lantern’s Glow

The lighthouse was a skeleton of itself, scaffolding hugging the east wall, the air sharp with concrete dust. Nora and Elias had been at it for days—patching leaks, hauling supplies, working late after the crew left. The grants were in, the fundraiser cash banked, and the tower was holding. It wasn't saved yet—the council vote loomed—but it was theirs, piece by piece.

Tonight, they were alone, the sky ink-black, stars punching through. Nora climbed to the lantern room, a portable lamp casting a warm glow over the cracked glass. Elias followed, a six-pack clinking in his hand, his shirt streaked with grime. "Break time," he said, dropping onto the floor.

She joined him, the cold metal biting through her jeans, and took a beer. "To surviving," she said, clinking his bottle.

"To that," he said, drinking deep. His eyes caught hers, lingering, and the air shifted—thick, electric.

They drank in silence, the lamp flickering, the sea a low hum below. "Been thinking," he said, setting his bottle down. "About what you said—in the storm."

Her pulse kicked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he said, leaning closer. "You loved me too much. Still do?"

She swallowed, the truth raw on her tongue. "Always did."

He moved then—slow, deliberate—his hand sliding to her neck, thumb brushing her jaw. "Me too," he said, voice rough, and kissed her.

It wasn't like the storm—desperate, rushed. This was deep, hungry, his lips firm and warm, tasting of beer and want. She kissed him back, hard, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer. He groaned, low in his throat, and hauled her onto his lap, her legs straddling him, the beer forgotten.

"Nora," he murmured against her mouth, hands roaming her back, slipping under her sweater. His fingers were calloused, hot, tracing her spine, and she arched into him, heat pooling low. She tugged at his shirt, yanking it over his head, and ran her hands over his chest—broad, scarred, hers again.

He broke the kiss, breathing ragged, and peeled her sweater off, tossing it aside. His eyes darkened, taking her in—bra, skin, the flush creeping up her neck. "Goddamn," he said, voice wrecked, and pulled her down, mouth on her throat, teeth grazing. She gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders, hips rocking against him.

The lantern room spun, the glow catching sweat on his skin as he unhooked her bra, sliding it off. His hands cupped her, thumbs teasing, and she moaned, loud and shameless, the sound swallowed by the tower. "Elias," she breathed, fumbling with his jeans, the zipper rough under her fingers.

He helped, kicking them off, then flipped her onto the floor, the cold metal a shock against her back. He loomed over her, eyes wild, and stripped her jeans down, slow, deliberate, his hands shaking. "Tell me you want this," he said, voice strained, hovering above her.

"Yes," she said, pulling him down. "Yes."

He groaned, kissing her deep, and shed the rest—boxers, her underwear—until it was just them, skin on skin. He pressed against her, hard and ready, and she wrapped her legs around him, urging him closer. The first thrust was slow, full, stretching her, and she cried out, nails raking his back. He cursed, burying his face in her neck, and moved—steady, then faster, the rhythm building like the waves below.

It was messy, urgent—his hands gripping her hips, her thighs trembling, the lamp's light dancing over them. She felt it climb, tight and hot, and clutched him, gasping his name. He thrust harder, deeper, his breath ragged in her ear, and she broke—shattering, loud, her body clenching around him. He followed, a guttural sound ripping from him, spilling into her, his weight pinning her as they rode it out.

They lay there, panting, tangled, the tower silent but for their breaths. He kissed her forehead, soft now, and rolled off, pulling her against his side. "Jesus," he said, voice wrecked. "That was—"

"Yeah," she said, dazed, tracing circles on his chest. "It was."

They stayed like that, the lamp dimming, the pact alive again in the glow. The lighthouse wasn't saved yet, but this—this was theirs, and it was enough for now.

He cleaned up after, handing her clothes with a sheepish grin. "Crew's back tomorrow," he said. "Gotta finish the roof."

She nodded, dressing slow, her body still humming. "We'll make it."

"Yeah," he said, pulling her close. "We will."