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Still, she doesn’t wake even as I carry her upstairs and into the bedroom. I nudge the door shut with my foot and lay her down.

Taking a selfish second, I linger to trace the line of her jaw with my gaze. There’s a faint worry line etched between her brows, even in sleep.

God, Lena.

I finally force myself to step away and head for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the grease and tension from the day.

When I’m done, I go back into the bedroom, push aside the covers, and climb into bed next to her.

The moment my weight dips the mattress, she stirs, and I curse under my breath.

“You’re home,” she murmurs, voice still thick with sleep.

I lay my hand over hers where she’s placed it on mychest. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

Her eyes remain closed, but her brows pinch like she’s not sure if she wants to melt into me or push me away. It breaks my heart, that flicker of uncertainty.

We used to move in sync, no second-guessing. Now, she’s half-lost in grief, still trying to figure out if she’s allowed to need me.

A long pause follows, and I think she’s drifting off again, but then her voice comes, cracking on the edges. “Wes?”

I shift, turning my head toward her. “What’s up, baby?”

She slides her hand up, clinging to me wherever she can. “I need you tonight.”

Those words punch the air from my lungs and stoke a fire in my chest.

Need me.

I’ve been waiting for this moment for weeks, for Lena to finally admit she needs me too. Not just in quiet gestures, but in words that matter. I shift closer, my arm sliding around her waist, pulling her gently against my chest. Her body molds to mine, and I exhale at how perfectly she fits here.

She presses her forehead to my collarbone, her voice so fragile it nearly breaks. “Please…just don’t let go.”

“I won’t. I’m right here.”

Her hands slip up my bare chest, fingertips trembling. She presses into me, trying to get closer, trying to erase the lingering grief, if only for tonight. My hand trails down her spine, feeling her warm through the thin fabric of her tank and shorts. When she tilts her head back, exposing the delicate line of her throat, I kiss her there, breathing her in.

“Please,” she whispers again.

This need she feels tears me wide open, but it also sets my pulse racing.

My lips find hers in the quiet stillness of the room, tender at first, careful to let her lead and set the pace. She sighs softly into my mouth, parting her lips to invite me deeper, and my heart pounds painfully. This is what she needs—comfort, warmth, connection. And fuck, I’ll give her every bit of myself if it helps erase even a fraction of her pain.

I pour every ounce of reassurance I have into that kiss, letting her know she’s safe, she’s wanted, she’s not alone. But soon, her hands are pushing at my boxers, fingers grazing my skin in restless need.

I let her strip them off. Her clothes soon follow until she’s bare beneath me, and her pale curves are illuminated by the faint moonlight slipping through the window.

God, she’s beautiful.

Her gaze locks on me, glassy but intense.

“I’ve got you,” I say, kissing her again, deeper this time, a slow drag of lips and tongue that coaxes a quiet moan from her throat.

She arches under me, letting her legs fall open in silent invitation.

Taking my time, I explore her body, memorizing every curve, every shift of muscle, each small gasp or sigh that tells me I’m giving her what she needs. This isn’t about chasingmypleasure, even though it’s there, thrumming under my skin. It’s about soothing her grief, replacing her pain with warmth, with life.

I shift between her thighs, guiding myself in. She gasps softly, her nails biting at my shoulders, and that single sound resonates through my entire body.