Page 221 of Bend

I swallow around the lump in my own throat.

“I’m scared too.”

That gets his attention.

“Of what?”

“All of it.” My thumb brushes beneath his eye. “Losing you. Losing Draygon. Waking up one day and realizing this still hurts exactly the same. Trying to make a home out of a place that still feels like him. I don’t know what comes next any more than you do.”

His forehead drops back against mine.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

His hands slide around my back and pull me closer.

“I just need to feel you.”

“I know.”

“I need to know you’re here.”

My throat tightens.

“So do I.”

I kiss him then, slowly, and there’s nothing frantic about it. It’s just both of us trying to remind the other that we’re still here, still breathing, still capable of holding onto something even when so much has already been ripped away.

Neither of us is fixing the other.

We’re just not letting the other fall alone.

I look into his eyes, searching for the man I know beneath the crushing weight of his grief, and I find him waiting for me, his gaze raw and open.

Thorne reaches between us, gripping himself while his free hand slides to my ass and guides me up. He circles the tip of his cock slowly through my folds, a hiss slipping from his lips before he presses against my opening, and I lower myself onto him inch by inch, feeling the stretch and the fullness of him as I take him deeper.

I gasp at the sensation, my forehead dropping against his as our breaths mingle in the narrow space between us.

Neither of us moves for a long moment. We just stay there, joined and trembling, letting the sheer reality of each other sink in.

I press my palm flat against his chest, my fingers splaying over the hard muscle of his peck. I need to feel it—the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart beneath my hand. It is the only proof I have that he is truly here, truly alive.

Thorne’s hands come up to my waist, his touch light, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid I might break under the pressure of his grip. He begins to trace the line of my spine, his fingers memorizing every curve, every dip of my back with a devotion that makes my chest ache.

He is touching me as if I am something sacred, something fragile and precious.

“Wolfe should be here,” Thorne murmurs, the words so quiet I almost miss them.

My throat tightens. “I know.”

His eyes stay on mine.

“He should be here with us.”

Something in his face twists, and I start moving again, slow and careful, rocking my hips against him while his hands stay firm around my waist. There’s pleasure there, but it feels secondary right now. Mostly, I just need the closeness. The warmth of him under me, the drag of skin against skin, the steady beat of his heart beneath my palm reminding me that he’s here.

That I’m here.