Her chest expanded with a sharp inhale. “Being part of a family. Being taken care of. Being… loved.”
It gutted me. I didn’t even think—I pulled her into my arms. She buried her face in my chest, wrapping her arms around my waist. We somehow ended up inside the room; the door softly closing behind us.
“You will always be loved here, Skye,” I whispered. My heart felt like it was swelling and breaking at the same time.
She looked up at me. “Fox, I’m so sorry. Part of me wishes they hated me too, because then maybe it would be easier.”
I knew exactly what she meant. If they hated her, it’d hurt less when it was time for her to go.
I pulled her closer, resting my forehead against hers. “Skye,” I said, my voice rough with every unshed tear I’d buried for years, “I never hated you. I couldn’t hate you, no matter how hard I tried. You’re too ingrained in me. It’s like you’re a part of my DNA. My very soul. There will never be hate in my heart for you. Only love.”
Her eyes widened. Her breath hitched. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”
I leaned down, so close my nose brushed hers. “I mean it with every fiber of my being.”
Our breaths mingled, warm and full of everything unsaid. The scent of wine and bourbon lingered. Electricity vibrated through my veins when her stare dropped to my mouth.
“Fox,” she breathed, stealing the last of my oxygen. “I…I—”
But I couldn’t wait.
I took her mouth with mine in a kiss that ignited my very blood. Her lips were soft, but her tongue met mine in a hungry, needy dance.
Control slipped. Reason vanished.
All I knew was I wanted her.
I craved her taste, her warmth, the feel of her skin against mine.
The kiss deepened, desperate and hot, and my hands drifted down her body, memorizing every dip and curve I’d once known like home.
I groaned against her lips, seeing stars as I let myself fall—completely, irrevocably—into her.
Her hands slid beneath my shirt, slow and tentative, and I helped her pull it over my head before drawing her back to me.
She tasted like wine and sadness and something so achingly familiar it undid me.
“Are you sure?” I murmured, my voice raw.
Skye nodded, eyes searching mine as if she were seeking solace, too. “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”
She wouldn’t be. Not tonight. Not as long as I had breath in my lungs and her heart pressed close to mine.
I didn’t know how we got to the bed.
One second, I was kissing her like I might never get another chance; the next, we were tangled together…limbs and lips and whispered names. The room was quiet, but my pulse thundered in my ears.
Clothes were shed in soft, reverent movements. We paced ourselves, like we needed to savor this fleeting moment. There was nothing rushed about it—only the hush of fabric, the slow discovery of skin we hadn’t touched in years, and relearning a rhythm that had once belonged only to us.
When I sank into her, it wasn’t just physical—it was everything: all the longing, the pain, all the years we’d spent apart while pretending we were fine.
She clung to me like she was afraid I’d disappear. I kissed her like she was the only thing keeping me tethered to the earth. I lost myself in every soft sigh, every arch of her body, every whispered gasp of my name.
When we reached that edge—and finally fell—it felt like being made whole.
Later, with her head tucked beneath my chin and my arms wrapped around her, I listened to the sound of her breathing. Her fingers drifted over my chest, tracing the tattoos that branded me too.
I was afraid to move, afraid that once we left this bed, this wholeness would shatter.
