She closed the distance between them in two steps, her hands coming up to cup Marianne's face. The kiss was fierce and desperate, tasting of salt and grief and hope.
Marianne's hands found Isla's waist, pulling her closer, feeling the heat of her body through the sweat-damp fabric of her workout clothes. The kiss deepened, tongues meeting in a dance they both remembered, bodies pressing together with the urgency of second chances.
"I'm still angry," Isla gasped against her mouth.
"I know."
"I'm still hurt."
"I know."
"This doesn't fix everything."
"I know." Marianne pulled back just enough to look into Isla's eyes. "But is it a start?"
"I don't know." Isla's hands were still cupping her face, her thumbs tracing the line of Marianne's cheekbones. "You broke something in me when you left. Made me question everything I thought I knew about us. About myself."
"I'm sorry." The words felt inadequate, but they were all Marianne had.
"I know you are. I can see it." Isla's eyes searched hers. "But sorry isn't the same as trust. And I don't know if I can trust you again."
"Tell me what you need." Marianne's voice was steady despite the fear coiling in her stomach. "Tell me how to prove that I've changed."
"I don't know if you can prove it. I think you have to show me. Over time. Through choices that matter." Isla's thumb brushed her mouth. "But right now, in this moment, I need to feel something other than angry. Something other than afraid."
"I can give you that."
Isla's answer was another kiss, longer and deeper than the first. Her hands slid into Marianne's hair, pulling her closer, as if she could merge their bodies through sheer force of will.
"My apartment," Isla breathed. "Now."
---
They barely made it through the door.
Isla pushed Marianne against the wall of the entryway, her mouth hungry and demanding. The kiss was nothing like their previous encounters, no careful restraint or practiced technique.This was raw and messy, full of teeth and tongue and the desperate need to feel something other than grief.
"I hate that I still want you." Isla's voice was rough against Marianne's throat. "I hate that you can walk back into my life and make me forget how much you hurt me."
"I know." Marianne's hands found the hem of Isla's tank top, pulling it over her head. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing." Isla's fingers worked at the buttons of Marianne's blouse. "Show me instead."
The clothes came off in a tangle of frustrated movements and impatient hands. They stumbled toward the bedroom, lips never separating for long, bodies pressing together at every opportunity. By the time they fell onto the bed, they were both naked and breathing hard.
Marianne pinned Isla to the mattress, her body covering the woman she had missed with an ache that had never faded. "Let me show you," she whispered. "Let me prove that I'm here. That I'm not going anywhere."
"Marianne—"
"Please." She kissed along Isla's jaw, down her throat, across the collarbone she had memorized weeks ago. "Let me worship you. Let me show you what you mean to me."
Isla's breath caught as Marianne's mouth found her breast, tongue circling the sensitive peak. Her hands tangled in Marianne's hair, pulling her closer, urging her on.
Marianne took her time. Moved down Isla's body with deliberate attention, learning her again like a map she had been forced to put away. She kissed the curve of her ribs, the plane of her stomach, the sharp angle of her hip. She pressed her lips to the inside of Isla's thigh and felt the muscle tremble beneath her touch.
"I missed you." The words came out muffled against Isla's skin. "Every night. Every moment. I missed you."
"Then prove it."
