She doesn't finish. Doesn't need to. The words hang suspended between us, unspoken yet deafening in their clarity.
I never stopped missing you.
I never stopped longing for you.
I never stopped wanting you.
I never stopped... loving you.
Each possibility ignites another flame inside me, until I'm burning alive with fifteen years of denied truth.
Something primal erupts inside me. A growl tears from my throat as I surge upward, flipping our positions in one fluid movement. Her back hits the mattress, eyes wide with surprise that quickly melts into desire as I drive into her with renewed desperation.
"Neither did I," I confess against her throat, the words I've held back finally breaking free. "Not for a single fucking day."
Her body arches beneath mine, a sob of release tearing from her lips as she shatters completely. The sight of her coming undone beneath me, combined with the weight of our shared confession, snaps the last thread of my control.
My hands grip her hips hard enough to bruise as I thrust one final time, pouring everything I am into her. The pleasure is almost unbearable, radiating from where we're joined to the tips of my fingers, the soles of my feet, leaving me shattered and remade.
Her unfinished confession reverberates between us—those three words we're both still too scared to fully voice. But I hear them anyway, in the way she trembles against me, in how her fingers dig into my shoulders like she's afraid I'll disappear.
And I answer in the way I hold her—like something precious finally returned to me after years of searching in the dark.
After I collapse beside her, I wrap my arms around her, holding her close as aftershocks ripple through both our bodies. My lips find her temple, tasting salt and satisfaction as we slowly drift back to reality.
In the aftermath, as our sweat cools and our hearts find their rhythm again, I know with bone-deep certainty that this wasn't just sex. This was a reclamation. Redemption.
The healing of wounds years in the making.
Her body fits against mine, perfectly sculpted for this purpose, and the weight of her in my arms feels like the answer to a fifteen-year-old question. She's mine, and I'm never letting her go again.
14
Bella
Sunlight streams through my gauzy curtains, the angle suggesting it's well past morning. I feel his gaze before I open my eyes—that familiar electric awareness that's always existed between us.
When I finally look at him, I see Ares propped on one elbow, watching me with an intensity that makes my breath catch. His dark hair is deliciously mussed from our earlier activities, his expression so open it makes my chest ache.
"How long was I out?" My voice is still husky from sleep—and other activities.
His fingers trace my cheekbone, feather-light. "About an hour. It's just past noon."
Heat floods my cheeks as memories of the morning crash over me. Him showing up at seven AM with coffee and files, the revelations in Gran's diaries, and then... everything else. The desperate kisses, the way he touched me, how perfectly we fit together—like fifteen years never passed. Like we were still those kids stealing moments in the rose garden, before everything shattered.
"Hey." His thumb brushes my bottom lip. "I can hear you overthinking from here."
"This complicates things,” I whisper, voicing the fear that's been building. "What we did—"
He cuts me off with a kiss, soft and sure. "Let's take it day by day, Red. Just..." His forehead presses against mine. "Let's enjoy this. Us."
Something in my chest unfurls at his words, at the gentle way he's touching me. His hands slide into my hair, cradling my head like I'm something precious.
His phone suddenly buzzes on the nightstand, the shrill tone shattering the quiet intimacy. Ares sighs, glancing at the screen. "Probably my father. They don't like being ignored."
Bile rises in my throat at the mention of Olivia and Theodore Saint. The idea of them somehow intruding on this moment, this fragile connection we're rebuilding, makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
Ares catches the shift in my expression, his brow furrowing. "Hey, don't." He snatches up the phone, silencing it with a decisive swipe. "They can't see you through the screen, Red."
