His hands gripped her thighs, trembling. “No. But I want to give you more than broken pieces. I want to give you all of me, the way I was. The way you deserve.”
“Let me decide what I want.” Her forehead pressed to his. “And right now, all I want is you, however you are. Whatever you can give. This isn’t a test, Dante. It’s a reunion.”
He opened his eyes, filled with fear.
She kissed him. Slowly. Deeply. Without hesitation or rush. Her lips were a promise. They were a soft landing. His fingers dug into her hips, desperate but careful, pulling her closer until not a sliver of air remained between them.
The heat between them rose quickly, breath mixing as their kisses grew hungry and intense. Her hands moved across his warm chest. He groaned, low and rough, when her lips trailed down his jaw, her teeth scraping lightly over his pulse point.
But then, his breath hitched. His body tensed, not with pleasure but with fear. He froze beneath her, the memory of evil eyes, cold hands and rough bindings flooding his senses.
“Dante?” She pulled back just enough to see his face.
His throat worked. “I can’t… something isn’t… It’s not happening the way it should. I’m sorry.” His shoulders hunched like a man bracing for impact. “Shannon, I’m trying. God, I’m trying so hard.”
She cupped his jaw firmly and brought his gaze to hers. “I don’t need perfection. I need you breathing. I need you here with me, in this room, on this bed. Not back there. Never back there.”
He let out a shaky breath. “I don’t want to disappoint you.”
“You couldn’t,” she said softly. “Even if you tried.”
He stared at her for a long, unsteady moment. Then she kissed him again slowly. She guided his hands to her waist, to her back, to the small curve of her spine. He felt her wanting him, not out of pity, but out of love so deep, it made his chest ache. She took his hand in hers and slid it beneath her own shirt, pressing his palm flat against the frantic beat of her heart.
“Feel that?” she whispered. “That’s for you. Only ever for you.”
The fear in his muscles softened beneath her touch. His breaths lengthened, and his hands steadied as her lips brushed his ear. “You’re not failing. You’re healing. Let your body come with you when it’s ready. We have all night. We have the rest of our lives.”
He exhaled hard and rested his forehead on her shoulder. “Shannon.”
She tilted his face up. “Look at me.”
His eyes were dark with want, fear, and something new: hope. They moved slowly—uncertain at first, rediscovering rhythms.
She kissed him again…and this time when it became clear that, yes, he could, and yes, he wanted to, and, yes, she wanted him to—they let the rest fall away.
There were no machines. No ghosts. No pain that mattered. The tension melted into hunger, into intention. His body caught up slowly, then with increasing confidence, the connection between them shifted, deepened, thickened with heat and trust. His hands slid up her back, surer now, guiding her closer. Hepeeled her shirt over her head, his gaze reverent as it roamed over her skin.
“Are you sure?” he whispered against her mouth, his voice thick with emotion.
“Very sure.”
He kissed her like a man starving and finally allowed to feed. His body, cautious at first, rose to the moment. His heat, his strength returned in subtle pulses beneath her palms. His breath grew rougher, his touch more certain, his need more unguarded and alive.
He unhooked her bra, his fingers tracing the straps as if they were sacred artifacts. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs circling her nipples, watching them tighten into hard peaks.
She arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping her lips. The sound was a catalyst. It broke the last of the dam inside him.
He rolled her, his strength surprising them both. He laid her gently on her back, his body covering hers. After another deep kiss, he stood and dropped his pajama pants. He helped her shed the rest of her clothes, until there was nothing left but skin on skin, scarred and smooth, a testament to survival and love.
His mouth found her breast again, his tongue swirling around the sensitive peak before he drew it deep into his mouth. She tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him to her, her hips rising instinctively to meet his. He moved to her other breast, giving it the same loving attention, his hand tracing a path down her stomach, lower, to the slick heat between her thighs.
He stroked her gently, exploring, learning her all over again. His touch was hesitant at first, then grew bolder as her soft cries encouraged him. He slid a finger inside her, then another, his thumb circling her clit.
“Dante,” she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders. “Please… I need you.”
He rose over her, his eyes locking with hers. There was no fear, only a fierce, unwavering love. He positioned himself at her entrance, his body trembling with the effort of holding back, of giving her control.
“Take me,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Take all of me.”
