His chest ached, swelled, burned under the weight of everything unspoken.
"I'll always protect you." The words tore from his chest, rough and raw andso fucking true."Always come for you. Always?—"
"I know." She stepped closer, pressing into him, trusting him with the smallest, most important part of herself."That's why I trust you."
Jake's heart stopped.
Restarted.
Shattered completely.
Because this—this—was everything.
This was forgiveness.
This was home.
"Hannah." Her name was barely a breath against her lips, a prayer, a plea, a promise. "Are you sure?"
She answered by kissing him.
And Jake?
Jake surrendered completely.
Jake barely hadtime to shut the bedroom door before Hannah was on him.
There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, no space for the fear that had once held them apart. This was inevitable, as certain as the pull of gravity.
Her hands fisted in his shirt, dragging him down into a kiss that was not soft, not tentative—but desperate, claiming, a surrender wrapped in fire.
A groan ripped from his throat as her mouth parted for him, her tongue brushing his, the heat of her body pressing flush against his own. His hands shook as he cupped her face, thumbs brushing over her cheekbones, down the slope of her jaw.
No more lies.
No more distance.
No more pretending he could live without this.
Her fingers fumbled with the hem of his shirt, dragging it up, frustration hissing between her teeth when it caught on his bandaged palm. The burn. The price of saving her.
Hannah stilled, her breath coming hard, eyes dark with something deeper than lust.
Her fingers traced over the bandages, light as air, as if she could somehow erase the pain. "I'm sorry," she whispered, lifting his hand to her lips. She pressed a kiss to his fingers, then his wrist, then the inside of his palm, over the bandage. "I'm so sorry you're hurt."
Jake's chest clenched.
She was touching him like he was something precious, something fragile—when all he felt was whole in her hands.
He shook his head, voice rough. "What hurt?" He pressed his forehead against hers. "I can't feel anything but you."
A soft, broken sound escaped her, and then she was pulling at his clothes again, stripping away everything between them, piece by piece, as if she could drag him closer, as if it would never be close enough.
His fingers slid beneath the hem of her sweater, feeling the warm, smooth expanse of her stomach, and he wanted to take his time, wanted to memorize her all over again.
But Hannah was impatient.
She pushed his shirt off, guiding it over his head, her hands tracing old paths across his chest, his arms. Like she was remembering him.
