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“Okay,” she says so quietly it’s nearly lost in the grandeur of KnightsGate’s echoing halls.
We move together, her hand in mine as I lead her away from the shit that is no doubt hitting the fan downstairs. Alistair is pissed. He gets defensive about our territory in a way that we don’t, and that’s saying something. Anyone encroaches on his land, and he goes spare.
But this is more important. There’s a storm in my mind, thoughts clashing like thunder, each one screaming about how I need to fix what’s fractured between us.
My room isn’t far, and every step closer ramps up the tension, winding tight in my chest. I need to get this right. For her. For us. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. Because when Ever looks at me with those eyes that shift like the rolling English hills outside, I know there’s no walking away. Not now. Not ever.
Leading her into my room, the door shuts behind us, a slight sound that feels like it booms in the silence.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” Her eyes meet mine, those green pools that seem to see right through me. I swear they change with her thoughts, and right now, they’re stormy and fierce.
“Start with the truth,” she says, and there’s an edge to her voice, a sharpness that tells me she won’t accept anything less.
“Right, the truth.” My hands are restless, so I shove them into the pockets of my black pants. “I hate the way I treated you. It was wrong.”
“You’ve said all this earlier.”
“I know, but it’s eating me alive.”
She shifts, crossing her arms over her chest, defensive. The space between us is just air, but it feels like miles of thorns and ice.
“I’m sorry. For everything I did. It was messed up, and you didn’t deserve any of it.”
Her eyes snap back to mine, and there’s a flicker of something that might be hope, or maybe it’s pain—too hard to tell. But it’s raw, and it’s real, and it’s more than I could’ve hoped for.
She sighs heavily. “Thank you for saying that.”
“Nothing to thank me for. I should have been better. I should have?—“
“Stop.” She holds up a hand, and I fall silent. “I get it, I do. The heat of the moment, the knowing there was more to come. I’m not mad or afraid; I’m just a bit confused. You acted in a way that was different to how I perceived you, I guess. I’m not blaming you; I’m just trying to understand it.”
“I know. I don’t seem as intense as Alistair, but underneath it, I’m obsessive and possessive, and while this started as an infatuation with you, I’ve fallen for you in ways that have scared me.”
Her eyes, pooled with tears, meet mine. “Same.”
“Fuck, Ever.” With a deep breath, I lean forward, my hands shaking as they find her cheeks. Her skin is soft under my touch, and it feels like everything else fades away. It’s just us—her pain, my guilt—all of it hanging in the air, thick and heavy. My thumbs brush away the dampness from her eyes. Her eyelids flutter at the contact, and for a moment, she leans into my touch, vulnerable and so damn beautiful it hurts to look at her.
She doesn’t pull back, and that’s all the permission I need. Closing the gap, I wrap her in my arms, pulling her close to me. Our bodies press together, a tangle of limbs and whispered breaths. She’s a warm presence against me, real and solid. It’snot about desire—it’s about needing to feel connected, to share something exposed and true.
“Ben,” she breathes out, her voice cracking with emotion. Her arms come around me, hesitant at first, then with a strength that speaks of her resilience. We’re two people, scarred and searching for something like peace in each other’s embrace.
“Shh, it’s okay,” I say, though I’m not sure who I’m trying to reassure—her or myself. But here we are, clinging to each other as if we can somehow merge our broken pieces into something whole. It’s a desperate kind of intimacy.
I pull back so that I can kiss her deeply, passionately, so I can show her what she means to me.
It’s a kiss that seals promises without words, a silent vow. Her lips are soft but insistent, and she responds with a fire that lights up the dark places inside me. I know then that I’m lost to this girl - to her touch, her taste, the very essence of her that somehow calms the havoc in my soul.
My hands roam over her back, careful of the inscription down her spine, pulling her even closer. I want to memorise every curve, every line of her body against mine. There are no barriers now, just a need and an unspoken forgiveness that hums between us like electricity.
I tug at her shirt, fingers desperate and searching. “I need you,” I whisper against her mouth. This isn’t just about making love; it’s about healing through each other.
When she doesn’t stop me, I yank the tee over her head and lift her up without breaking the kiss and carry her to the bed. Laying her down gently, I hover above her, drinking in the sight of her beneath me. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly; there’s a blush on her cheeks that matches the intensity in her eyes.
The world outside this room doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just us—our past hurts, bleeding into this single moment of connection. Reaching out, I undo her jeans and tug them off asshe kicks her shoes off, her movements matching the urgency in mine. I need her bare, I need to feel every inch of her skin against mine. She lifts her hips cooperatively, and the denim slides away to reveal the softness of her legs, the vulnerability that she now offers freely.
Her eyes follow my every motion, still filled with unshed tears.
Like a man starved of sustenance for far too long, I strip off and descend upon her with kisses that chart a path from her lips down to her neck. Each brush of my mouth against her seems to erase a little more of the pain we both carry. When my fingers unclip her bra, she gasps—a sharp intake of breath that signals permission and need.
