His mouth is on mine, then my neck, then my shoulder. He moves like he’s memorizing me. Like every inch of skin is a line in a song he thought he’d forgotten.
I feel the sting of the weld-burn scar on his palm as it grazes my thigh.
I gasp.
He growls.
Then lifts me like I weigh nothing, presses me against the cold wall of the workshop, the gear hooks rattling behind us.
My legs wrap around him. Natural. Instinctive.
Our hips find a rhythm that’s less dance and more warcry.
His voice is low in my ear—Vakutan words I still don’t understand, but I don’tneedto. Because I feel them.
Every one.
Vibration and heat andreverence.
His hands—gods, his hands—grip my thighs like I’m something sacred. Like letting go would undo him. Like I’m already a ghost and he’s trying to hold onto something that’s slipping.
I claw at his shoulders, his back, desperate to feelallof him. I need this. I needhim.Not later. Not after the mission.
Now.
His lips find mine again, and I kiss him like I’m trying to etch myself into his memory. Like if we die tomorrow, I want my name to be the last word he thinks.
“Aria,” he rasps. Rough. Bare.
“Don’t stop,” I whisper back.
I see stars behind my eyes when we fall into each other completely—no space, no hesitation. Justtruth, stripped down and raw. His forehead presses to mine. We don’t break eye contact. Not once.
And it’s not just sex.
It’s not just a goodbye.
It’s aclaim.
It’severything.
We’re shaking when it’s over.
Breathless. Slick with sweat. Skin flushed from heat and adrenaline and the high offinallyletting go.
He slides down the wall with me still wrapped around him. We hit the floor tangled—bodies loose, hearts hammering.
Neither of us speaks.
There’s no need.
Because the silence between us isn’t empty this time.
It’sfull.
Of all the things we just said without words.
And I know—deep in my bones—that whatever comes next, this moment will haunt me forever.
