The angle was different—deeper, more intense. Tyler cried out, his back arching off the tarp, his hands scrabbling for purchase on my arms. I could see everything now—the flush spreading down his chest like wildfire, the way his mouth fell open, the tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Not from pain. From pleasure so overwhelming it spilled over.
"Look at me." My voice was wrecked, barely human. "Tyler. Look at me."
His eyes found mine, held them. Brown with flecks of gold, swimming with something Irecognized because I felt it too. Something beyond words, beyond sex, beyond anything I'd ever felt with anyone. A recognition. A claiming. A promise.
I moved faster, harder, chasing the edge. Tyler's hand found his own cock, stroking in time with my thrusts, and I watched his face contort with approaching release. His free hand clutched my forearm, nails digging in, leaving crescents in my skin.
"Tank—I'm?—"
"I know." I buried myself deep, hit that spot inside him that made him shake. "Come for me."
He did—his whole body seizing, my name tearing from his lips like a prayer, hot stripes painting his stomach and chest. The sight of him, the feel of him clenching around me, the sound of his voice breaking on my name—it was too much.
I followed him into oblivion with a groan that came from somewhere deeper than my throat, deeper than my chest. From somewhere I didn't know I had until this man found it. For a long moment, neither of us moved. Just breathed. Just existed. Just held on.
Then Tyler laughed—a soft, breathless sound, almost disbelieving. The kind of laugh that bubbles up when words aren't enough, when the body has to express what the mind can't contain.
"Holy shit."
I collapsed beside him, careful to avoid crushing him against the hard floor. Both of us sticky and sweaty and breathing hard. The concrete was uncomfortable beneath the thin tarp, the air thickwith the smell of sex and motor oil and something that was just us. My heart was still racing, my skin still tingling, and I'd never felt more content in my life.
"That was..." Tyler trailed off, shaking his head. His hair was a mess, plastered to his forehead with sweat, and there were red marks on his hips where I'd gripped too hard. He looked wrecked. He looked perfect.
"Yeah." I turned my head to look at him, found him already looking at me. "It was."
His hand found mine, fingers interlacing. We lay there in silence for a while, listening to our heartbeats slow, letting the world outside the garage doors cease to exist. The work lights hummed overhead. Somewhere outside, a distant voice called out—someone checking the perimeter, going about the business of preparing for war. It felt very far away.
"I used to think I'd never have this." Tyler's voice was soft, almost wondering. "After Cross, after everything—I thought this part of me was broken. That he'd taken it, along with everything else."
"It's not broken." I squeezed his hand. "You're not broken."
"I know that now." He turned his head to meet my eyes. "You taught me that. Not just with words—with everything. The way you look at me. The way you touch me. The way you're not afraid of what I've been through."
My throat tightened. "Why would I be afraid?"
"Because most people are. They hear 'abusive ex'and they see damaged goods. Something to be handled carefully, pitied, kept at arm's length." His jaw tightened. "Cross counted on that. Counted on me being too broken for anyone else to want."
"Cross was wrong about a lot of things." I rolled onto my side, cupped his face in my hand. "You're not damaged goods. You're not something to be pitied. You're the strongest person I've ever met. And I don't want you despite what you've been through—I want you because of who you've become."
Tyler's eyes glistened. He blinked rapidly, looking away. "You can't just say things like that."
"Why not? It's true."
He didn't answer. Just pulled me closer, buried his face against my shoulder, and held on like I was the only solid thing in a world that kept trying to knock him down.
Eventually, he spoke. The words muffled against my skin. "Whatever happens tomorrow?—"
"Don't." The word came out sharper than I intended. I softened it by stroking his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple. "We come back. Both of us."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me." I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, to let him see the steel underneath my words. "I promise you. I promise that whatever happens, I will find my way back to you. And you will find your way back to me. That's not negotiable."
Tyler's eyes searched mine. Looking for doubt, maybe. Looking for the lie. He wouldn't find either. I meant every word with every fiber of my being. I'd faced down death a hundred times without flinching.But the thought of a world without Tyler in it—that was the one thing I couldn't accept.
"Promise me," he whispered. "Say it again."
"I promise."
