I tremble through the aftershocks. He doesn’t stop. With careful strength, he hooks my legs higher around his waist, lifting my hips to meet his. One hand cups my rear end as he sinks even deeper. Our faces are inches apart with his eyes never leaving mine—dark, desperate, pleading. The new position drags him against every sensitive place, especially hitting my clit, until stars burst behind my closed lids.
“Mine,” he growls low, hips snapping with controlled ferocity. Our breaths mingle. Sweat-slick skin slides together as he thrusts in and out of me. “Say it.”
His lips brush mine. Heat and need start building in my core again as I tilt my head back. He presses his lips to my exposed throat and collarbone.
I gasp. “Yours. I’m yours.”
He thrusts harder, like he’s pouring every unspoken apology into my body. Our hands find each other. Fingers lacing tight above my head as he uses the leverage to rock deeper, slower, grinding in circles that make my toes curl.
I pull my head back toward him. “Harder,” I beg into his mouth, voice raw. “Please, Scott—I need?—”
“Fuck—” His control fractures. His rhythm turns erratic, desperate. Plunging deep, he buries his face in my neck as he pulses hot inside me. He fills me in long, shuddering waves that drag another soft climax from my depths.
We collapse together on the bed, tangled in each other, shaking, our breaths mingling in harsh pants. He stays seated deep, softening slowly, but neither of us moves. My legs stay wrapped around him.
For long moments, we just exist there, chests rising and falling in sync, his head resting against my shoulder, the storm outside a distant rumble compared to the thunder still echoing in my veins. I can feel the faint aftershocks rippling through us both, small flutters where we’re joined, his warmth seeping deeper even as he softens. My fingers trace lazy patterns across his back, soothing, memorizing the map of scars and muscles I’ve missed for so long.
He exhales shakily against my lips. Then shifting his hips, he rocks into me. Enough to stir the sensitive places inside me that haven’t quite come down yet. The parts of me that want more. I let out a soft gasp, and my inner walls flutter around him in response.
“With pleasure, little one,” he whispers, voice rough and tender at once. He eases into lazy, shallow strokes that keep the afterglow humming between us. Slow glides that coax rather than demand, building heat gradually instead of chasing it.
This time is slower, softer, intimate in a way that tightens my chest. My heart lurches. We stare into each other’s eyes, breaths shared, bodies fused like they’ve remembered every curve. His thumb brushes my cheek, wiping away a stray tear I didn’t realize had fallen.
When release finds us again, it’s quiet, profound. This moment together, gazes locked, feels like a promise. A fragile brush of souls amid the storm, as though finally breathing after years underwater.
We lie entwined afterward through the night. His arms a warm cage around me, lips brushing my forehead, my temple, the corner of my mouth.
At one point in the night, he buries himself inside me again. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I’m right here.”
For now.
A part of me wants to believe him—wants to melt into his warmth and pretend the past decade never happened.
But deep down, the hurt still pulses. The abandonment, the silence, the bone-deep fear he’ll vanish again when the storm clears.
Tonight, I’ll allow myself this. Curl into his body, let my heartbeat slow to match his, inhale the rain and cedar scent of his skin like it’s the only thing keeping me afloat.
Because tomorrow, reality will crash back in. The villa awaits. No doubt another twist in the game looms. There’s still so much broken between us, and no amount of tangled limbs, orgasms, or whispered promises in this bed can mend it all tonight.
Chapter Thirteen
Day Five
* * *
Scott
* * *
Sunlight filters through the slatted shutters of the bungalow, soft and gold, turning the room into something almost peaceful. Lyla is still asleep against my chest. Her cheek presses to my skin. One arm drapes loosely across my ribs. Her breathing is slow, even, steady in a way that makes my heart stutter, remembering how it used to match mine years ago.
I don’t move. Don’t dare. Last night cracked something open between us—grief, truth, bodies finally saying what words never could. For the first time since the show started, I let myself feel something close to hope. Cautious. Fragile. One night doesn’t erase ten years of silence, doesn’t rebuild the trust I’d shattered when I walked away.
She lost a child because of me. Her entire world was turned upside down because of me. It’s no wonder she doesn’t trust me. I wouldn’t trust me.
But her head on my chest feels like proof we aren’t starting from nothing.
I trace the line of her shoulder with my thumb—barely touching, just enough to feel her warmth. Her hair smells like rain, salt, and us. I close my eyes and let the moment stretch, knowing it won’t last.
