“There’s more I need to tell you. And I will—all of it. But right now… You’ve been through enough and I just want to hold you. Be here.”
His breath hitches.
“I was a coward, Della… I am sorry. Please, forgive me.”
I look up into his eyes—and for a heartbeat, it feels like he’s laid his entire soul bare. The regret. The promise that he’ll never make the same mistake again.
My lips part, but words don’t come. I can’t speak yet.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he continues, his voice rough, full of a desperation that cuts straight through me. “Just… know that I will doanythingto keep you safe. To make you laugh again. I am not letting you go, Della. Not now. Not ever.”
My chest aches at the conviction in his voice.
“I have a flight back home the day after tomorrow,” I manage to say.
“I know.” He closes the distance, forehead brushing mine. “Cancel it, Della. Don’t walk away again… Please.”
“Dorian, what are you asking me?”
“I am asking you to stay. With me,” he says, almost pleading now. “I am asking you for a second chance. I don’t want to pretend I can live without you anymore.”
His words settle over me like a confession I’ve been waiting to hear for years.
My heart doesn’t know reason… it only knows his heart.
My mind is still tangled in a hundred questions, but my body aches for him. For the way he looks at me like I’m his entire world.
I can’t hold back anymore.
I rise up on my toes, press my palm to his chest—and kiss him.
His heart skips under my hand, then pounds harder, syncing with mine. His mouth moves against mine slowly, carefully, as though I mightbreak. But the years apart have sharpened my hunger—I fist my fingers into his hair and pull him closer, my lips parting under his as the kiss deepens.
His tongue slides against mine—hungry, claiming, yet offering at the same time. Then he tugs at my lower lip, just like he used to—sending shivers straight through me.
…God, I missed him so much…
His hands find my waist, warm and certain, then lift me like I weigh nothing.
My legs wrap around him on instinct, my hips fitting to his as if they’ve never forgotten where they belong. The world narrows to this—the taste of him, the press of him, the thundering duet of our hearts.
I barely register the movement until I feel the shift—inside, below deck, the low hum of the water against the hull, a steady backdrop to the chaos inside me.
Somehow, my shirt is gone, and my hands are already tugging at his T-shirt, pushing it up, desperate to feel his skin. The heat of him hits me—hard muscle under warm skin, the faint scrape of dark hair against my palms. I trail my hands up to his shoulders, memorizing the way they flex under my touch.
He stills suddenly, his hand covering mine. His gaze locks on mine.
“Are you okay, Della?” His voice is unsteady, breath catching. “Are you sure?”
And in that moment, I know.
I hold his eyes, my voice soft but sure.
“Make me yours.”
Something in his eyes changes—darkens—before he claims my mouth again, this time with hunger that steals my breath. My hands clutch his shoulders, feeling the weight and heat of him seep straight through my skin.
It’s overwhelming and consuming. And yet, I crave more.
