We stumbled to the bed, tangled in sheets and urgency. His weight pressed me down, solid and real, and I arched against him with a sob of relief. Heat flared where his hands gripped my hips, where his mouth claimed the hollow of my throat.
“I thought I’d lost you,” I whispered.
His answer was a growl, low and guttural, as his body surged into mine. “Never again.”
The world outside disappeared. There was no storm, no gunfire, no blood—just us. Two people who’d waited five years for this night. Every kiss was a promise, every thrust an apology, every shuddering breath a vow we hadn’t dared speak.
When release tore through me, it was like breaking open after years of silence. His name ripped from my throat, and he followed me into the dark, his voice raw, his hands clutching me like I was life itself.
After, we stayed tangled together, slick with sweat, our breaths uneven. His forehead rested against mine, his heartbeat pounding against my chest.
“Five years,” he murmured, voice rough but tender. “I’ll never waste another day.”
I touched his cheek, traced the scar at his jaw. “Then don’t.”
And in that quiet, wrapped in the wreckage of survival, I knew neither of us would ever let go again.
46
Adam
The motel door clicked shut behind us, and for the first time all night the storm wasn’t screaming in my ears. Instead, it was her. Raine. Alive. Standing ten feet away, her damp hair tangled, her ribs bandaged, eyes burning holes through me.
Five years. Five years of silence. Five years of wanting her every damn night.
And now she was here.
I should’ve told her to rest. Should’ve given her space, given her time. But the second her eyes locked on mine, all those shoulds burned away.
I crossed the room in two strides, and when her body slammed into mine it felt like coming home after a war that had no end. Her mouth found mine, hot and fierce, and I lost the last of my control.
Her lips opened under mine, hungry. My hands dug into her hair, pulling her closer, drinking her in. She tasted like rain, blood, fury, and survival, and I couldn’t get enough.
Five damn years.
I dragged her shirt over her head, desperate to feel her skin. My palms skimmed her back, her ribs, the soft curve of herwaist. Every scar of mine pressed against every scar of hers, and for the first time in years, I didn’t feel broken. I felt whole.
“Raine,” I rasped, my voice shaking. “God, I missed you.”
Her fingers scraped down my chest, tugging at my shirt, pulling me out of it. Her touch seared into me, branding me all over again. “Too long,” she whispered, and the way her voice broke gutted me.
We stumbled onto the bed, sheets twisting beneath us. I pressed her down, bracing over her, drinking in the sight of her bare, beautiful body. Her eyes were wet, her lips swollen, but what I saw most was fire. She wanted this. Wanted me.
I kissed her throat, her collarbone, down to the curve of her breast, memorizing every sound she made. Her hands gripped my shoulders hard enough to bruise.
“I thought I lost you,” she gasped.
I lifted my head, met her eyes, let her see every raw piece of me. “Never again.”
And then I was inside her, buried deep, and the world went white, with each thrust.
It wasn’t gentle, not at first. Five years of hunger, five years of rage, five years of needing her tore through me. Every thrust was a vow, every breath a plea. She arched against me, met me, clung to me like she’d drown if she let go.
“Adam,” she cried, and hearing my name on her lips like that—God, it undid me.
I slowed then, softened, letting the desperation bleed into something else. Reverence. Love. I kissed her like a prayer, moved inside her like she was the only thing keeping me alive. Because she was.
When she shattered around me, I followed, losing myself in her, every muscle breaking, every wall I’d built crashing down.
