We kiss with everything we’ve been holding back since those days alone at the A-frame cabin. My ribs ache from the pressure of it, my throat tight with the weight of everything unsaid. Her lips are warm, and oh so soft, but my hands are shaking, my pulse thundering in my ears like a storm.
There’s salt on her skin, salt on mine, the taste of tears that I’ve finally let loose mixing with the bitter tang of tea still clinging to her mouth. My chest is too full, too tight, like I’ve been holding my breath for years and only now remember how to exhale.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, nails biting through fabric. Her heartbeat slams against my own ribs, fast and uneven, like a bird trapped in a cage. My own breath comes in ragged bursts against her mouth, my lungs burning, my skin too hot, too alive. Every touch is a spark.
Her palm against my jaw.
Her thighs tightening around my waist.
The way her breath hitches when I press her closer.
And when she sobs against my mouth, I do too, because there is no other way out.
“Okay,” I gasp when I pull my mouth away from hers for just a moment.
“Okay?”
I’m terrified, and I hold on to her for dear life. I stand, lifting her with me. Her legs wrap around my waist as her arms lock around my neck.
“Rachel,” I groan against her neck. “Thank you.”
I slowly make my way to the bedroom, kissing along her jaw, the crook of her neck, that spot behind her neck that she likes.
“Thank you.”
“I love you so much, Karan.” Her breath comes in little gasps against my kisses along her skin.
When we reach our bedroom, I place her down on the bed carefully. We undress each other slowly, reverently, and each little sound of fabric rustling, my belt unlatching, sends a hot shock through my spine.
I’ve never needed her more than I do at this moment.
Rachel’s skin is so warm and soft under my hands, even softer than I remember from a week or so ago—or maybe I’ve only forgotten what it feels like to touch her, to savour her, without the weight of the world pressing down between us. The silk of her thighs against mine as I settle between them sends a shudder through me, not just desire but something deeper, something aching and sweet.
I pause and rest my forehead against hers. “Rachel.”
The sole act of saying her name is enough. It says all I need her to know.
“Karan.” She lifts her hips, pressing into me, and the heat of her is too much, too perfect.
And then I’m sinking deep into her, slowly, letting her adjust to me. But she’s already there, meeting me, her body arching up to take me deeper. The sound she makes—soft, broken—unravels something in my chest.
I bury my face in her neck and revel in the sensation of her legs tightening around me, her heels digging into my back, the warmth and friction of her so exquisite. The groan that escapes me elicits a moan from her.
She’s so responsive. Has always been. But in this moment, it means so much more.
It means everything.
I lose myself in the rhythm of her, in how achingly good she feels. With every thrust, a part of me heals. With every gasp from Rachel’s lips, I become a little more whole.
Her breath comes in sharp little gasps against my ear, her fingers digging into my shoulders like she's trying to crawl inside my skin. The way her body tightens around me, the way her hips rise to meet mine, is my salvation.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur against her collarbone, my lips brushing her silk-like skin as I weave a hand in between us, touching her exactly where she needs it. “I’ve got you, Rachel. Come for me, baby.”
Her back arches off the bed as the first wave hits her, her nails raking down my back as her body clenches around me. The sound she makes—fuck, that sound, my name torn from her throat—shatters something inside me. I sense her pulse against me, feel her body trembling as the orgasm rolls through her, and white-hot pleasure sears right through me.
I come with a groan that sounds like her name, my forehead pressed to hers as my body locks up. I can hardly breathe, even as we’re both coming down from this high.
Yet I’ve never felt more alive.
