Silence pressed between us, broken only by the heater humming in the corner.
“I wanted to come back,” I said. “So many times. But every time I pictured Val-Du-Lys, all I saw was him.”
Eric took a slow breath. “You still should’ve told me. I would’ve fought for you.”
“You were eighteen,” I said softly. “You couldn’t fight Marcel. No one could.”
He ran a hand through his hair, his voice low. “You didn’t have to do it alone.”
“I know,” I whispered. “If I could change anything, it would be that.”
He didn’t speak right away. When he finally did, his voice was quieter. “Then let’s not waste what we’ve got left.”
I looked up, my throat tightening. The light from the window caught the faint gold in his hair, the tension in his jaw. His eyes held mine, steady and unflinching.
“You don’t have to keep apologizing,” he said. “You did what you had to do.”
His words cracked something inside me. His hand came up to brush a stray piece of hair behind my ear. The touch was soft and warm.
“I never stopped caring,” he added, voice rough. “You should’ve had someone in your corner. You should’ve had me.”
The words wrapped around me, warm and dangerous.
“Don’t,” I whispered, though my heart had already moved toward him.
“Too late,” he murmured.
He didn’t kiss me like he was relearning me. He kissed me like he already knew exactly where I would break. His mouth came down hard, claiming, familiar in a way that stole the breath from my lungs. There was no pause, no question, just heat and pressure and the sharp relief of finally being held after everything that had gone wrong. I made a sound into his mouth, something raw and unguarded, and his hand tightened at my waist like he felt it too.
“Damn, Harmony,” he muttered roughly against my lips, like the word was torn out of him.
My fingers were already in his jacket, shoving it back off his shoulders, needing the barrier gone. He helped without thinking, shrugging out of it, hands immediately back on me; sliding, gripping, dragging me closer until the hard line of him pressed against my body in a way that left no room for doubt. This wasn’t slow. We weren’t careful. It was hunger sharpened by fear. His mouth moved down my jaw, my neck, teeth grazing just enough to make my knees weaken. My hands shook as I reached for him, tugging at his shirt, impatient, breath coming too fast. When the fabric finally came free, I pressed my palms to his bare skin, grounding myself in the solid heat of him, the proof we were still here. Still standing.
Still alive.
He groaned low in his throat when I touched him, the sound vibrating straight through me. Then he was pushing me back, guiding me urgently until I hit the bed and went willingly, pulling him down with me. His weight followed, heavy and perfect, his mouth back on mine like he needed to remind himself I was real. Our hands went everywhere. Our clothes forgotten on the floor. Every touch was desperate, practiced, sure. He knew exactly how to make my breath stutter, exactly where to press, and I knew the sounds he made when he was losing control. Years apart hadn’t dulled it. If anything, they’d sharpened it into something dangerous.
I hooked my leg around his, anchoring him there, and he made a broken sound against my skin like restraint was no longer an option.
“Don’t slow down,” I breathed.
He didn’t.
I pulled him closer, nails digging into his shoulders, grounding us both in the reality of the moment. The heat between us was overwhelming, familiar and feral, built from years of knowing exactly how to undo each other. There wasnothing tentative about the way he slid inside me. This was memory and muscle and want colliding all at once. He filled me to the hilt and pulled back, then slammed into me again, keeping his rhythm steady and punishing.
His forehead dropped to mine, our breaths tangling, both of us shaking slightly as if the adrenaline hadn’t fully burned off yet. “Tell me you’re here,” he said, low and urgent.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
That did it. He kissed me again, deeper, harder, like he was trying to seal the promise into me. The world narrowed to heat and pressure and the steady slide of skin against skin, to the way his body moved with mine like it always had—instinctive, unthinking,right. Every touch said the same thing:I’ve got you. I’ve always had you.We were lost to each other, to the moment. My pussy clamped down on him as he pushed me over the edge, yet he didn’t slow down, his thrusts grew stronger as he hit all the right spots inside me. And when I cried out, he groaned and fell over the edge with me. When he finally stilled, resting his weight over me, his face buried in my neck, we were both breathing like we’d run miles. His arms came around me then, not desperate anymore but fierce. Protective. Like he wasn’t letting go if the world tried to rip us apart again.
“Stay,” he murmured, the word vibrating against my skin.
I wrapped myself around him, holding just as tight. “I’m not running this time.”
I didn’t see myself anywhere but with this man. That much I knew to be true.
After, we stayed tangled beneath the quilt, the early light washing over us. Eric’s arm circled my waist. His breath brushed the top of my head.
