Lauren shifted closer, curling into him. "You're here, Tom," she murmured. "That's a start."
He tightened his arm around her. "That's everything."
Her fingers resumed their slow exploration—tracing the lines of muscle across his chest, the ridge of his collarbone, the place where his pulse beat steady and strong beneath her touch.
Years of marriage had taught her this landscape by heart. She knew every place that made him shiver, every touch that made his breath catch.
She pressed her lips to his shoulder, then his chest, feeling his heart rate pick up beneath her mouth.
"Lo," he breathed, and she heard everything in that single syllable—want and wonder and coming home.
She lifted her head to look at him. His eyes had gone dark, that look she remembered from a thousand nights. The look that said she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
"Again?" she whispered, half question, half invitation.
His answer was to roll them until she was beneath him and he was braced above her.
"I miss you," he said, voice rough. His hand traced down her body. "Every night. Every morning. Every moment in between."
She arched into his touch, her body remembering this dance even as her heart was still learning to trust again. "Show me," she whispered.
And he did.
He knew exactly where to touch, how much pressure, when to be gentle and when to be firm. She’d taught him her body's language, and now he was fluent.
He kissed her jaw, her throat, the hollow just beneath it — each touch slower, more deliberate, unraveling her inch by inch. Her breath stuttered as he mapped a path downward, his hands steady at her waist as if asking silently,Can I?
She answered by sliding her fingers into his hair, a wordless yes.
He exhaled shakily against her stomach, and the warmth of it made her entire body tighten. Then he moved lower, settling between her knees like it was the most natural place in the world for him to be.
Lauren’s breath caught.
He looked up, eyes dark. And then he lowered his head.
Her hand fisted in the sheets. Heat rolled through her in waves, sharp and bright, her hips arching despite her best attempt at composure. Her thoughts blurred into sensation, into yes, into oh God, into this, this,this.
“Tom,” she gasped, her voice breaking, her body rising toward him with helpless instinct.
When she finally reached for him, pulling him up to her, her whole body was trembling.
He groaned—a sound that was half pleasure, half restraint—and kissed her again, deep and thorough, as he settled his weight more fully against her. The hard press of him, the heat, the rightness of it—it made her breath catch.
"I love you," he said against her mouth. "God, Lauren, I love you so much."
"Show me," she said again, and this time it came out almost like a command.
His breath shuddered out. Then he moved—slow at first, giving her time to adjust, to remember, to feel. But she knew him too, knew what he needed, and she met him with the same certainty.
They still fit. Still moved together like they'd been designed for exactly this. The months apart dissolved into nothing as they found their rhythm—that perfect push and pull, the give and take that had always been theirs.
She knew when he was close—could read it in the tension of his shoulders, the hitch in his breathing, the way his fingers tightened on her hip. And he knew her just as well, adjusting himself, his pace, until she was gasping his name.
"That's it," he breathed. "Let me feel you, Lo. Let me?—"
She shattered, and he followed her with a sound that was half groan, half her name, burying his face in her neck as they both trembled through it.
They lay tangled together, hearts racing, skin damp and warm. He rolled, taking her with him, not letting go even for a moment.
