“It’s hurting Jake because he’s scared. Not because we’re doing anything wrong.” I shift closer, my shoulder pressing against hers. “He’s scared of losing you.”
“So, what do we do?”
“We give him time. We don’t apologize for something we’re not sorry for. And we wait for him to realize that you being happy is more important than his discomfort with how you got there.”
“You really believe that?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Even if it costs you your friendship with him?”
The question hangs between us. Brutal in its honesty.
Jake is family. Has been for as long as I can remember.
But Rachel—
Rachel is something else entirely.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
Her eyes fill again. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”
“You’re not making me choose. I’m choosing.” I reach up and brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I chose the moment I admitted I wanted you. I didn’t realize what that choice meant until now.”
“Marco—”
“I spent my whole life being careful. Making decisions based on logic and probability.” I keep my hand on her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. “And then you showed up, and none of that mattered anymore.”
She turns her face into my palm, and the space between us disappears. I don’t know who moves first—probably both of us at the same time—but then my mouth is on hers and she’s kissing me back.
It’s different from before. More desperate. More real. Like we’re both trying to prove something we can’t quite put into words.
Her hands fist in my shirt, and I pull her closer, shifting so she’s half in my lap. Her back presses against the side of the bed, and I brace one hand on the mattress beside her head.
“Marco.”
“I know.” I kiss her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat. “I know.”
She tugs at my shirt, and I help her pull it over my head. Her hands are on my chest immediately, fingers tracing scars I usually keep hidden. The bullet wound below my ribs. The knife scar on my left shoulder. The burn mark from a fire that nearly killed me three years ago.
“Tell me you want this,” I say against her mouth. “Tell me you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” Her voice is steady now. Clear. “I want you. All of you.”
I let her be certain for three heartbeats, then I take over.
I fist her hair, tilt her head back, and claim her mouth the way I’ve wanted to since the day she walked into this house. Deep, controlled, no room for anything but surrender. She moans into me, nails clawing my shoulders, and I know she’s done asking permission.
I stand, lift her with me, and pin her down over the edge of the bed, her knees still on the carpet. My shirt is gone in one motion, tossed aside. I shove my pants and boxers down just enough, cock heavy and aching against her ass through her thin leggings.
“Tell me you want this,” I rasp against her ear.
“Yes. Please, Marco.”
I yank her leggings and panties down to mid-thigh. She’s soaked. I slide two fingers inside her, curling hard, and she pushes back with a broken whimper. A third finger joins, stretching her open while my thumb circles her clit. She’s trembling, breath hitching against the duvet.
I pull my hand free, coat my fingers in her slick, and ease one into her ass. She gasps, clenches, then relaxes as I work it slowly, scissoring gently while my other hand keeps stroking her pussy. The dual sensation makes her shake harder.
