“Don’t stop.”
“I have no intention of it.”
And he doesn’t. He gives me everything slowly at first, as if he wants to feel every reaction, hear every breath, learn every sound I make when I’m falling apart under his hands and mouth. Then the pace shifts. His control thins. The desperation we’ve been holding back for years finally shows, and it turns the whole thing wilder, needier.
It isn’t sweet, though there’s tenderness threaded through every movement. It’s want. Longing. Relief. It’s over a decade of unfinished business finally given somewhere to go.
At one point he stills just enough to brush my hair back from my face, his chest rising hard, his gaze locked on mine. “You okay?”
I nod, barely able to catch a full breath. “More than okay.”
He slides his hand along my jaw. “Tell me if you need anything.”
I pull him back down by the back of his neck and kiss him until the question disappears.
Then there’s no talking—only broken sounds, the rasps of breath, the soft creak of the mattress, him whispering my name as if it’s the only word left in the world.
I hold on to him just as tightly, my nails in his shoulders, his back, anywhere I can anchor myself, because suddenly the distance of all those lost years feels too vast.
He buries his face against my neck, breath hot and uneven, his grip tightening around me as the rhythm between us falters, rebuilds, then finally breaks.
“Pen—” he breathes, the rest of my name dissolving into a rough exhale.
The sound of his desperation sends something sharp and bright through me, and I cling to him as the moment crashes over me. I come on a whimper, and before I even recover, he’s there too, as if he was holding it at bay for me.
For a second, neither of us moves.
He remains braced over me, chest rising and falling hard, his forehead pressed against mine. Our breaths mix in the small space between us.
My hands loosen their grip on his shoulders.
“Jesus,” he murmurs.
I’m still catching my breath myself, my fingers tracing down his back.
Years of almosts and maybes and what-ifs, and somehow it all led here—to this quiet moment when neither of us has the energy to pretend we don’t belong exactly where we are.
He lowers himself beside me, pulling me against his chest as though this is our new normal.
And maybe it is. I hope to hell it is. I hope that we can get it right this time around.
Chapter
Forty
Decker
* * *
I keep waiting to wake up. Tonight was a dream, and I’ll wake up in my own bed, alone.
I run my hand down Pen’s arm, reminding myself that we’re here, together, and we are only going to move forward—together.
She’s asleep on my shoulder, and her hand is on my chest, and for the first time in as long as I can remember, the thing I want most is to be exactly where I am.
I press my lips to the top of her head.
She doesn’t stir, exhausted after our night of rediscovering each other.
