“You feel that?” I pressed in again, deeper. “This is where I belong. Right here. With you.”
She wrapped her legs around my waist, drawing me closer. “Then, stay.”
“Always.”
I set a rhythm—slow at first, savoring every stroke, every sound she made. Her nails raked down my back, and her hips rose to meet mine. We moved togetherlike we’d been doing this for years instead of months, like our bodies had memorized each other.
I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in and kissing the hollow of her throat, the curve of her shoulder, and the spot behind her ear that made her gasp.
“I’ve got you,” I murmured against her skin. “I’ve got you, baby. Let go.”
She shattered beneath me, her whole body arching off the mattress, my name on her lips. I followed her over the edge, spilling into her with a groan that came from somewhere deep in my chest.
I stayed inside her, our bodies still joined, our hearts pounding in tandem, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
“I love you,” she whispered. There was no hesitation this time, particularly when she repeated it. “I love you, Rascon.”
I kissed her forehead. Her nose. Her lips. “I know. I love you too.”
We lay together afterward,her head on my chest, my hand stroking up and down her spine. The room had warmed from our bodies, from the heat we’d generated, but I covered us with the blanket anyway.
“Tell me what happened,” I said. “At the lunch.”
She was quiet, then took a deep breath, and told me—about the things my mother said to her, about feeling like she was drowning in kindness she didn’t know how to accept. She didn’t belabor it. Didn’t explain every thought that had run through her head. She just gave me the shape of it, and I filled in the rest.
“Your mother offered me something I’ve wanted my whole life,” she said. “And I didn’t know how to take it. So I ran.”
“And then you stopped.”
“And then I stopped.” She lifted her head to look at me. “I went to that bar because it’s where we started. I figured…if you were going to find me, you’d look there.”
“I would have looked everywhere.” I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But I’m glad you made it easy.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Where did you look? Before the bartender called?”
“As I said, I went to your father’s place. I thought maybe that was where you’d gone. You hadn’t, thank God, but he was there, and we had words.”
“What do you mean?”
“I made it clear he doesn’t get to have opinions about us. About our family. About how we raise our daughter.”
She studied my face. I wondered what she was looking for—anger, maybe, or regret. She wouldn’t find either.
“Our daughter?”
“He knows about the pregnancy, Isabel. Are you surprised?”
She shook her head. “What did he say?”
“Nothing worth repeating.” I kissed her temple. “He doesn’t matter. You matter. Our baby matters. This—” I gestured at the space between us, at the tangled sheets and the warmth we’d made. “This is what matters.”
She rested her head on my chest. “I want to go back to Whitmore.”
“Me too.”
“When?”
“Right now, if that’s what you want. You can sleep on the way.”
