And suddenly, I can’t hold back anymore. I turn toward him. He meets my gaze, and something shifts. I need this—needhim—more than anything.
I lean in and kiss him.
It starts tentatively, like neither of us is sure we’re allowed this. But the moment our lips touch, it deepens—slow, searching, aching. Grief and want spill between us, not in frenzy but in a quiet kind of desperation. My hands slide into his hair, holding him close, and he pulls me tighter against him, like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he lets go.
The world tilts as we sink back into the grass, the earth cool against my spine while the sun warms my skin. He hovers over me, his breath uneven, eyes searching mine as though asking if I truly mean this. My answer is a kiss, gentler this time, trembling with everything I can’t put into words. That’s all it takes. The wall between us crumbles.
His touch is reverent. Each button he undoes, each piece of fabric he slides away, feels like a vow, like he’s unwrapping not just my body but the parts of me I’ve kept hidden. His own clothing follows, then his lips trail across my throat, over my collarbone, pausing to linger where my heart hammers against his mouth. When he closes his lips around my nipple, it’s not wild, not rushed—it’s tender, coaxing pleasure that mingles with the ache of sorrow still lodged in my chest. I gasp, arching into him, and the sound seems to anchor him, to assure him I’m here. I’m his.
Heat floods me. My thighs part as he kisses lower, slow enough to torment.
I moan, fisting the grass.
When his mouth finally finds me, it isn’t a storm. It’s worship. Soft, patient, devastating. His tongue moves with care, his hands holding me steady, giving me no choice but to surrender. Tears prick my eyes as pleasure swells, fragile and overwhelming. When release takes me, it breaks down the walls I so meticulously built.
I’m still trembling when he presses kisses against my thighs, easing me down, refusing to rush me. His name slips from my lips in a whisper.
He groans into me, the vibration making me shudder. “So sweet. So perfect for me.” His voice is muffled, hungry. He grips my hips when I writhe, holding me exactly where he wants me. “Don’t run, Esme. Take it. Take everything I give you.”
A cry rips out of me. He plunges into me, relentless but patient, wringing every sound from me until I’m sobbing his name.
My climax crashes hard, but he doesn’t stop—he keeps going, coaxing me through it.
“Marcus… I want…”
“What do you want?”
“I want you.” The words pour out of me and break down my last remaining brick.
His lips crash to mine. Mouth slick, eyes molten. He cries out my name, and it feels more than physical. Like he, too, is letting go of his barriers. “You were made for me.”
“Yes,” I gasp, wrapping my legs around him to pull him deeper.
We move together, his hands gripping my face so I can’t look anywhere but at him. Not that I want to. I see everything I feel in his expression. Everything I’ve been too afraid to feel until this moment. His thrusts come faster, rougher, dragging another moan out of my throat.
He leans back, dragging me with him until I’m straddling him. His arms wrap around me, cocooning me. Wordlessly, his actions tell me I’m home. One hand grips my hip, the other slides between my thighs, stroking until I’m sobbing again.
“Come for me,” he rasps. “I need to feel you fall apart around me again.”
And I do—hard, shaking, clenching tight as I scream his name. It drags him with me, his thrusts faltering, a guttural roar tearing from him as he spills inside me, heat flooding me.
We collapse together, tangled, panting, raw. His chest is my pillow, his heartbeat pounding against my palm.
For once, the silence after isn’t loaded with questions. It’s peace. And truth. This isn’t just sex. This is us.
The rustle of footsteps snaps the fragile cocoon we’ve built, shattering it like glass. My body jolts, panic flooding in where bliss had just been. We scramble for our clothes, fumbling with buttons and laces, fingers clumsy from the aftershocks still buzzing through me. My skin is flushed, my lips swollen, my heart still galloping, and now shame prickles hot across it all, colliding with the tenderness that had only just settled in my chest.
Leonard appears, a smirk tugging at his mouth. His eyes catch every detail—the grass tangled in my hair, the hastiness of Marcus dragging his shirt back on, the tremor I can’t quite hide in my hands. Heat surges up my throat, my cheeks burning under the weight of his knowing look. He doesn’t have to say a word; his expression does all the talking.
His face grows serious. “Victoria will be up soon, and she’ll need to feed. That means we’ll have to fuel up.”
I nod, and Marcus reaches for my hand. “All right.”
30
MARCUS
Icould kill Leonard for intruding on my time with Esmerelda. The thought of him almost seeing her naked makes me want to rip his eyeballs out and shove them up his ass so he can see what an asshole he is. But also, I didn’t want the bubble we were in to burst. Especially when I could feel the shift in Esmerelda. I wanted to explore it more. Hell, I wanted her to tell me outright how she felt, but then… I shouldn’t blame Leonard. He was only doing the right thing.
