He glances at me, eyes half-lidded, his expression softened by sleep but still holding that hard edge. “I’m fine,” he says, his voice low and rough. “Strangely comfortable.” Something in the way he says it makes my pulse skip. I don’t move my hand from his shoulder, and he doesn’t look away from me.
I don’t know who moves first—maybe both of us move at the same time. His hand comes up, brushing my cheek, fingers sliding into my hair, and I can’t breathe, can’t think.
I lean into his touch, my heart racing. The air between us tightens, coiling into something that’s both familiar and terrifying. I can’t stop looking at him, and he’s looking at me with the same intensity, like he’s trying to figure out if this is real.
Then he pulls me closer, his mouth finding mine in a kiss that’s hesitant for only a second before it deepens, fierce and consuming. It’s like everything that’s been building between us finally snaps. The fear, the anger, the desperation—all of it melts into heat and need.
I make a sound against his mouth, and it’s enough to push him over the edge. He flips us, his body moving over mine, careful but urgent. My hands are in his hair, tugging, pulling him closer, and he groans into my mouth.
His lips trail down my neck, biting and sucking, gently over the bruises, hard where there are none. I arch into him, desperate to get closer, to feel every inch of him against me. My hands slip under his shirt, tracing the hard lines of his stomach, careful around the bandages but not wanting to stop.
“Damian,” I gasp, my legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer. He grinds against me, and I can feel how hard he is, pressing into me through the thin fabric of my underwear.
He curses under his breath, his fingers digging into the crotch of my underwear and pushing them aside. I’m already wet, aching for him, and he knows it.
He leans down, his mouth brushing mine, a whisper of a kiss before his lips press deeper, slower. His tongue slides against mine with quiet reverence, and something inside me breaks open. I shudder, melting beneath the weight of him, of this moment, of everything we haven’t said.
I can’t stop touching him. My hands move to his jeans, fingers trembling as I unfasten the button, ease the zipper down. He lifts his hips to help me, and when I push them past his hips, his cock springs free, thick and hard and already pulsing against my thigh.
His hand trails down my side, gentle but sure, before sliding beneath my knee, lifting my leg and settling between my thighs. His forehead leans into mine, his breath ragged as he positions himself. I feel the slow, delicious pressure of him pushing inside, inch by inch, filling me in the most patient, reverent way.
A broken sound slips from my lips, and he curses quietly into the curve of my neck. “Marlowe,” he breathes my name like a prayer. He starts to move in slow, deep strokes that make my toes curl and my back arch. Each thrust is deliberate, a promise sealed with every inch he gives me. My body welcomes him, wraps around him, needing him closer, needing him deeper. I lift my hips, meeting his languid rhythm, my fingers slipping into his hair, holding him to me.
He groans when I tighten around him, his lips dragging over my jaw, his hands gripping my hips like he’s afraid I’ll slip away.
There’s no rush. No desperation. Just this: his mouth on mine, his breath in my lungs, our bodies moving together like we’ve done this a thousand times before. I whisper his name, and he lifts his head to look at me. His eyes lock with mine, stormy and vulnerable, and in that moment, I feel everything.
His pace quickens just slightly, hips rolling deeper, more intentional, hitting a spot inside me that makes me tremble. He knows how to make my body sing.
My legs wrap around him tighter, urging him on. “Don’t stop,” I whisper, and he doesn’t. He kisses me again, slower this time, more desperate. And then I’m falling, my body clenching, my breath catching, stars bursting behind my eyes as the orgasm crashes over me.
He holds on through it, his rhythm faltering as he follows me over the edge. He buries himself deep, groaning into my skin, shuddering as he pours into me. Then he stills, his chest heaving, his lips brushing mine in a soft, wordless kiss.
We stay tangled, limbs and breath and hearts all woven into each other. He doesn’t move, he just rests his forehead against mine, thumb brushing over my cheek, as if grounding us both.
Somehow I fall back asleep like this, a long, deep dreamless sleep. The next time I wake up, the sun is high overhead, bright rays peeking through a crack in the old, dusty curtains. I blink against the light, trying to piece together where I am, the last few hours hazy and tangled in my mind.
I stretch, every inch of me aching, every muscle a quiet scream from the night before. My hand moves across the sheets, reaching for warmth—for him—but the space beside me is cold.
Empty.
I sit up fast, heart thudding, my eyes scanning the room.
The chair in the corner is bare. His shirt is gone from the back of it. My stomach twists, and I glance toward the floor where we left the bag. It’s gone too. Panic coils tight in my throat. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, feet hitting the floor with a thud that feels too loud in the quiet room.
He wouldn’t just… he wouldn’t leave. Would he?
I stand there, stunned and hollow, the reality sinking in. I don’t know him enough to be able to answer that, do I? But he’snot here and the money is gone. So I guess I have my answer, don’t I?
I look around the room again, like I might have missed him hiding somewhere, like this could all still make sense if I try hard enough.
It doesn’t. He’s gone. And the money is gone with him.
I thought…I just thought after last night…last night felt different. It was different.
Wasn’t it?
My hands tremble. My knees threaten to buckle. I sink back onto the edge of the bed, my fingers digging into the mattress, trying to hold on to anything solid. God, how could I be this stupid? How could I let myself believe, even for a second, that I meant something to him?
