No shields.
Every emotion I’ve spent years trying to hide from is there in my eyes, laid bare for him to see.
He moves inside me like he’s relearning me, and I commit everything about this moment and him to memory. The tremor in his arms. The way his jaw tightens when he’s close. The faint scar near his ribs I’ve kissed dozens of times.
I used to think letting someone this close would break me.
Now I realize it’s the only thing that’s ever made me whole.
My body bows, tension coiling tighter until his name is the only thing I can force out. “Oliver…”
His grip on my hand tightens. “I’ve got you,” he says against my mouth. “I will always have you.”
That’s all it takes for pleasure to hit like a lightning strike before splintering through every nerve. He follows me over the edge with a sound that’s half groan, half prayer. The way my name leaves his lips like a vow undoes me completely.
For a suspended, weightless moment, everything stops.
The air.
The noise.
The ache.
All that’s left is our hearts beating in tandem and the languid slide of skin against skin.
When the world finally steadies, Oliver rolls to the side without pulling away, his body still joined with mine. He holds me like letting go might undo every promise we’ve made to each other. His palm rests over my sternum, as if needing to feel the proof that I’m still here.
Still his.
“Home,” he whispers into my hair, the sound rough with exhaustion and awe, as if he’s naming something sacred.
There’s not a single part of me that doubts him.
He shifts just enough to stare at me, his thumb drifting along my cheekbone. “Are you okay?”
“More than okay.” The words come out soft yet sure, like a truth I’ve carried too long. “For the first time in my life, I feel safe.”
He doesn’t speak right away. He just looks at me like I’m the answer to a prayer he didn’t think anyone was listening to.
His lips find my temple and linger there. “Good. Because with me, you always are.”
We lie tangled in the hush that follows, the moonlight painting a pale glow across our skin. His breathing steadies beneath me, and I realize I’ve instinctively matched mine to it.
His hand drifts lower, settling over my stomach. The touch is tender, and a lump of emotion forms in my throat as he strokes my skin. For the first time, that gesture doesn’t make me flinch.
It feels right.
Outside the window, the first streaks of dawn break across the skyline as light spills over glass and water.
Gradual.
Certain.
Inevitable.
Just like us.
Soon, real life will return.
