I grab her hand and pull her down the hallway, shouldering my bedroom door open.
The second we’re inside she’s pulling at my shirt, desperate and fumbling and I help her because I need her hands on me. Need to feel her touching me like I’m real, like I’m here, like I didn’t almost get seriously hurt tonight.
The shirt comes off and her fingers immediately go to the bruising spreading across my shoulder and ribs.
“God, Roman.” Her voice cracks slightly. “It’s so dark already.”
“Doesn’t hurt.” That’s a lie. It hurts like hell. But not as much as the look on her face. “Hey. I’m okay.”
“You’re not okay, you’re?—”
I kiss her to stop the words. Kiss her until she’s kissing me back instead of cataloging injuries, until her hands move from the bruising to my chest, my shoulders, threading through my hair.
“I’m here,” I tell her. “I’m fine. And I’m about to spend the next hour proving it by making you come so many times you forget how scared you were.”
Her breath catches. “Hour?”
“At least.” I reach for the hem of her shirt, pull it up slowly. “Because I love you. And I need you to understand that it means I’m never letting you go. I’m keeping you.”
I reach around to unhook her bra, slide the straps down her arms. The bra hits the floor and I step back to look.
Her chest is flushed, nipples already tight, breathing fast. The soft lamplight catches on her skin and I’m struck by how fucking gorgeous she is. How lucky I am that she’s here, in my bedroom, looking at me like that.
“Your jeans,” I say, voice rougher than I intend. “Take them off.”
She reaches for the button but her hands are shaking slightly. From adrenaline or fear or want or all three.
I watch her push them down, watch her step out of them, watch as she hooks her thumbs in her underwear and slides those down too.
And then she’s completely bare in my bedroom.
I reach for my waistband with my good hand, shove the sweats and boxer briefs down together, kick themoff.
And then we’re both naked and the air feels electric.
“Get on the bed, Moxie,” I tell her. “On your back.”
She climbs onto the bed, settles against my pillows, and I take a moment to just look.
Marnie in my bed. Hair spread out, skin flushed, eyes on me.
Marnie who told me she loves me tonight. Who stood in that hospice room and said it even though she was terrified.
Marnie who I get to keep.
“What are you thinking?” she asks softly.
“That I’ve wanted this for so long.” I move to the bed, kneel beside her. “That I can’t believe you’re actually here. That I love you so fucking much it scares me.”
She reaches up, fingers gentle on my face, and kisses me back.
I could stay here. Could just kiss her for hours and be happy.
But I need more. Need to taste her, touch her, make her come apart until she understands exactly what she does to me.
I break the kiss and settle between her legs, the weight of me pressing her into the mattress.
The feel of her skin against mine is overwhelming. Soft and warm and exactly right.
