I watch the lines of his back fade into the shadows and come back again when he opens the fridge. The light sharpens the cut of muscle, the map of scars. Every inch of him is a master piece and there’s so much more of it to explore.
He returns with two glasses. We sit hip to hip, knees touching, and drink like we’ve crossed a desert. The water is cold enough to sting, perfect. When I’ve finished he takes my empty glass and sets both on the table without breaking eye contact.
“Come here,” he says, softer now.
I do. I swing my legs over his, straddling him again, and let my weight settle on his lap. His cock twitches against my clit and it’s like a match to a wick and I’m on fire again. His palms bracket my thighs, warm and certain. I touch his face, the rough drag of stubble scrapes my fingertips. His eyes track mine like they’re memorizing turns on a road he plans to travel every day.
“When you said it,” I whisper, my voice catching on a truth I don’t know how to admit, “I felt it all the way down to my soul.”
“I meant it all the way down to mine,” he says.
The truth in that moves me. I bow my head, press our foreheads together. The ache I’ve been carrying since he walked out loosens. It’s not gone, but eased, like fresh air finally filling my lungs. We fall into a quieter heat, slow and deliberate. Not the rush of need taking over, but the kind that smolders, that builds from inside out. He kisses every inch of skin like he plans to file a claim. I do the same, mapping him with my mouth over his collarbone, across that hollow where his pulse flutters, the old scar on his shoulder. His hands skim the outside of my thighs, up to my waist, and down my back. Reverent. Possessive. Tender. It shouldn’t be allowed to be all three, but with him, it is. I shift, feeling him harden again against my belly, the slow rise of hunger matching mine. He cups my cheek, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth where he’s kissed me raw.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asks, glancing toward the neat line of stitches at my side.
I take his hand and press his palm to the bruise blooming high on my rib. “I’m okay with you.”
Something in his expression cracks. He kisses the bruise, then the next, like he’s offering benedictions over my shoulder, the ridge of my ribs, the faded scar at my hip. He takes his time. He doesn’t apologize for touching me like I’m precious. He just does it, and the ground steadies beneath us.
I lower myself onto him again, slow and aching and more sure than I’ve ever been. He sinks in with a groan that reverberates through me, one arm looping around my waist as if to keep me from floating away. We move in an easy rhythm this time, eyes open, breaths syncing. He’s deeper like this, the ache sweeter. The sensation unravels me, not just with pleasure, but with the terrifying certainty that I could lose myself to this man and not want to come back. Every slide pushes tears close to thesurface for reasons I don’t fully understand. I blink them back until I have no choice but to let them fall anyway.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his thumbs tender at my jaw. “I’ve got you.”
“I know.” My voice splinters. “I know.” No one has ever seen me like this. I don’t tell him that but he feels it. His hands tell me he feels it.
We don’t rush. We take as long as we need. My hips circle, his hands adjust, anchoring, guiding me. Heat builds low and steady, a tide dragging me out where the bottom drops away. He holds me to it, mouths my name, asks me to meet him, and I do, with everything I’ve kept locked up. When I shatter this time, it’s a quiet, rocking kind of break, breathless and full. I clench around him and he curses softly, chasing me down, letting go inside me with a rough sound that I’ll keep in my mind when life tries to convince me I’m alone.
Afterwards, we fold into the couch cushions, bodies slippery and boneless. He tugs the throw blanket down with one hand and covers us both, then drags me over his chest until my ear is pillowed on his heartbeat. I could stay here forever.
“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually, voice rough with sleep and sex and something that might be hope.
I think of my girls, of Devyn asleep in the clubhouse with Mama Ru watching over her. I think of Riot’s grave and the ash of her cut in a wet hole where it’ll never be found. Survival isn’t all that matters, but it is what loyalty requires. We survive by making the right people stronger together than apart.
“I’ve been carrying ghosts for a long time,” I admit. “But right now… they’re quiet.”
He hums, a thoughtful little sound in his chest. “Marc’s here whenever I need a talking-to.”
I angle up on an elbow. “Your brother?”
He nods. The corner of his mouth pulls, not a smile, not exactly. “He shows up when I’m being an idiot. He told me to choose love. I told him to go to hell. Then you knocked.”
The laugh that escapes me is small but real. “Guess he knows what he’s talking about.”
“He always did.” Dante’s knuckles glide along my cheek. “You make me want to be the man he believed I could be.”
I swallow. The sentiment feels like a weight and a gift. “You already are.”
He huffs a disbelieving breath. “Working on it.”
I settle again, fitting the curve of my body to his. The red digits of the clock on his media console tick to 5:19. The city outside his window hums the low, tired note it always sings just before dawn starts to break. For a minute, we let the world be simple. But it isn’t. It never is.
Dante shifts under me, sitting up on the couch and dragging me with him until I’m perched on his lap again, chest to chest, breath to breath. His hands grip my thighs, steady, like he’s afraid if he lets go I’ll vanish. Then, in one motion, he rises, lifting me effortlessly. My arms loop tighter around his neck, my legs cinching his waist as he carries me through the apartment. We pass the table, the laptop screen still throwing cold light across the mess of papers. It stops me cold.
“Put me down.” My voice is sharp, cutting through the haze between us.
He hesitates, his brow tightening, but he obeys, setting me on my feet. I pull free of his hold just enough to lean over the table, scanning the mess. “What is this?”
“I’ve been chasing leads on Isadora Vale. Trying to find the cracks in her empire.” His hand scrubs down his face, then he shakes his head. “But that can wait. The only thing that matters right now…” His fingers catch my chin, tilting my face back to his. “is us.”
