“Gale, my goodness,” Mrs. Silva says, her voice soft but edged with that particular small-town bluntness. “We heard about the fire. That gas line . . . your grandfather should’ve fixed it ages ago. So sorry to hear about the house, but I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Gale smiles, her voice calm but polite as she thanks her, brushing off the condolences with practiced ease.
As we fill our cart with the basics—bread, eggs, some fruit—neighbors keep stopping us, offering condolences, whispered concerns, and awkward reassurances. We evade them by putting stuff in the cart, pretending they are on an imaginary list. By the time we make it out, the truck bed is full of groceries, and Gale looks drained.
Back at the house, the rhythm returns. We unpack, cook a simple meal together, and laugh as I try to guess how much pasta to make—ending up with enough for a family of ten.
Later, we sit by the fireplace, the soft crackle of flames filling the room with a sense of calm. The flickering light plays across her face, highlighting the weariness she’s tried so hard to mask and the determination that always seems to linger beneath. I watch her, the way her fingers trace the edge of her mug, the slight furrow in her brow as her thoughts drift somewhere I can’t quite follow.
“How does it feel to be back?” I ask, breaking the silence, my voice low, careful.
She looks up, her gaze meeting mine as if she’s been waiting for the question. “It’s . . . strange,” she admits after a moment, her tone honest, unguarded. “I thought at some point this place would feel like home, but it doesn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.”
I nod because she’s right, it’s too soon and we’re staying here temporarily so there’s no point to say we’re adjusting to this new place. I reach for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. “Once the new house is ready, we’ll make it ours. All of it. The house, the town, whatever’s next. No one’s taking it from us.”
Her smile softens, and for the first time since we arrived, I see something in her eyes I hadn’t realized was missing. Hope. It’s quiet but undeniable, flickering there like the firelight playing across her face. My heart stumbles, caught in the gravity of it, and before I can second-guess the impulse, I reach for her.
She lets out a soft gasp as I pull her into my lap, her hands instinctively resting on my shoulders. Her eyes search mine for a moment, something unspoken passing between us, and then I kiss her. Deeply. Completely. It’s not gentle or measured—it’s raw, urgent, a collision of everything we’ve been holding back.
Her fingers thread into my hair, and I feel the last of my restraint unraveling. My hands move over her, memorizing the shape of her waist, the curve of her hips. She shifts closer, her breath hitching against my lips, and suddenly, there’s no space left between us.
We fumble with buttons and zippers, a flurry of hands and hurried movements. Her sweater slips from her shoulders, pooling around her waist, and my own shirt is lost somewhere in the mix. The urgency is electric, every touch igniting something deeper, something we both need.
The world outside fades away as we lose ourselves in each other, the firelight casting a warm glow over the moment we’ve both been waiting for.
Her nipples are taut, inviting, and I can’t resist the silent plea in the way they stand at attention. I take one into my mouth, sucking deeply, then flicking it with my tongue until her sharp gasp turns into a full-throated moan. My lips move to the other, giving it the same attention, drawing a cry from her that sends a rush of heat straight through me. She loves this—loves when I take my time, when I make her feel every second of it.
My hand trails down her body, slow but deliberate, until I find her core. She’s already warm, already slick, and when I slide a finger inside her, she arches against me, her breath catching in a way that’s both desperate and intoxicating. I add another finger, my movements firm and purposeful, and her hips start to rock, meeting me, taking me deeper. Her wetness coats my hand, her body responding to every touch, and I can’t stop myself from whispering against her skin, “You’re perfect. Every inch of you.”
Her nails dig into my shoulders, her cries filling the air, and I know she’s close. I’m completely lost in her—in the way she moves, in the way she feels, in the way she’s mine in this moment, and nothing else matters.
Her breast fills my mouth, her nipple hard and perfect against my tongue as I suck deeply, greedily, pulling a throaty moan from her lips. The sound is everything—raw, honest, a melody that’s ours alone. She arches into me, pressing closer, silently begging for more, and I give it to her, my lips closing around her other nipple, my teeth grazing lightly before my tongue soothes the sensitive peak. Her hand tangles in my hair, holding me there as if she can’t bear for me to stop, and I wouldn’t dream of it.
I push three fingers inside her in one fluid motion. She gasps, her back bowing as she takes me fully, and I curve my fingers, finding that spot that makes her lose herself. My palm presses against her clit with every thrust, the friction perfectly tuned to her body, her needs. She’s everything—hot, tight, and responsive, the way her walls clench around me telling me exactly what she wants.
Her cries grow louder, filling the space around us, and I glance up, my lips still teasing her breast, to see the way her head tilts back, her lips parted in ecstasy. She’s stunning like this, completely unguarded, trusting me to know her, to take her where she needs to go. And God, I love her for it. Love the way she gives herself to me, body and soul, like there’s no fear, no hesitation—just us.
I slow my movements for a moment, pressing deeper, my palm grinding against her clit in the perfect rhythm. Her breath hitches, her hips rolling to meet me, and I can’t help but marvel at the way we fit, the way her body knows mine, trusts mine, as if we were made for this. For each other.
“You’re so beautiful. So fucking beautiful, darling and so fucking mine,” I whisper against her skin, the words tumbling out unbidden but completely true. “I love watching you like this—letting go. Trusting me.”
Her answer is another moan, her hands gripping my shoulders as she rides the edge I’m holding her on. And I vow, in that moment, to never let her feel anything less than this—to always keep her in this place where she’s safe, adored, and wholly mine.
Her body tightens, her cries turning into a broken scream as she shatters, her release pouring over my hand. She’s wild, trembling against me, and I know this is all me. Every thrust of my fingers, every press of my palm—I made this happen. Watching her come undone, trusting me to bring her here, is the most intoxicating thing I’ve ever felt.
As she catches her breath, she pushes me back onto the couch, her eyes blazing with intent. She positions herself atop my hips, her hands braced against my chest, and I can feel the heat of her core pressing against me, slick and ready. But before she can take me in, I grab her wrists, gently halting her.
Fuck.
“I don’t have a condom, baby,” I say, my voice low, thick with need, though every fiber of me wants to let her keep going.
Her gaze softens, but there’s a fierceness in her eyes, too—a certainty that takes my breath away. “Do we need one?” she murmurs, her voice tender, intimate. “I’m on the pill. I showed you everything—I have a clean bill of health and so do you. I want this. I want you. All of you. No barriers. Just us.”
Her words slam into me, more powerful than I expected, and I realize I want the same. To feel her completely. To give her every part of me, as she’s offering every part of herself. “You’re sure?” I ask, needing to hear it again, needing to know this is what she wants.
She leans down, her lips brushing mine, her voice a whisper against my skin. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I trust you.”
Those three words undo me. My grip on her wrists loosens, sliding down to her hips as she lifts herself, positioning me at her entrance. The first press of her heat steals my breath, her body wrapping around mine inch by inch until I’m buried completely inside her. No barriers. No distance. Just us.
