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“Wes,” she whimpers, face contorting with emotion—pleasure, relief, heartbreak, all tangled together.

I move gently at first, each thrust deliberate, sinking into her over and over.

This,I tell myself.This is how we remind each other we’re alive.

Her eyes flutter, lids heavy, and the smallest smile lifts her lips.

Legs wrapping around my hips, she draws me deeper, wanting more. I comply, tension coiling in my stomach, but I maintain a careful pace. Each push and pull is about giving her what she wants.

With a quiet moan, her nails scrape down my back, urging me faster. I growl low, head dipping to trail kisses over her neck, wanting to worship every part of her that trembles beneath me.

The pressure builds between us. I hear her breathing stutter and her body tighten around me, as I stroke my hands up her sides, cupping her face again. Her eyes flick open, meeting mine with a heat that sends shivers down my spine.

Pressing my lips to hers at the exact moment she dissolves, her body seizes around me with a soft cry of my name. The rhythmic clench of her orgasm pulls me under too, a rush of warmth flooding my veins as I groan into her mouth.

It feels like forever before the tension ebbs. I hold her tight, chest heaving, mind spinning with the mingled swirl of desire and tenderness. Her breath comes in unsteady gasps, arms still looped around my neck. I kiss her shoulder, her collarbone, any part of her I can reach, reassuring her it’s okay to let go.

Finally, I roll carefully, keeping her close. She curlsinto me and tucks her head under my chin. Neither of us speaks. We just breathe with our hearts thumping. The silence is thick with the words we can’t say yet. But that’s fine. We have time.

I feel her soft lips press a final kiss against my chest, and she drifts off, lulled by the steady drum of my heartbeat.

For the first time in weeks, she sleeps peacefully.

She might not realize it yet, but she’s my everything. My solace, my home, my goddamn purpose.

And I’ll spend every moment I have proving to her that I deserve to be hers.

Fifty

Lena

Inever thought something as ordinary as the smell of coffee could feel like hope, but this morning, it does.

For the first time in weeks, I don’t wake up with that dull weight in my chest. It’s still there, but it’s softer. Like grief finally paused to catch its breath, and let me do the same.

I blink against the pale morning light, still half tucked into sleep.

Wes is by the nightstand, setting down a mug. The soft clink of ceramic on wood finishes dragging me into consciousness. He doesn’t speak right away, and just looks at me with those warm eyes, that sleepymouth tugged into a lopsided smile like he’s quietly glad I exist.

“Morning, baby,” he says.

That voice. I could wrap myself in it and forget how to worry.

I roll onto my back, stretching under the duvet until my toes push against cool sheets.

A sleepy sigh leaves my lips. “Why aren’t you at work? Did hell freeze over?”

Wes Turner doesn’t take days off. He doesn’t slow down. He doesn’t rest unless his body forces him to.

“Took the day off.”

My eyes narrow, trying to shake the fog from my brain. “You took a day off?”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but it’s definitely something.

“Is everything okay?” I ask because I need to know what prompted this little miracle.

“Just figured if I was ever going to do it, today might be the day.”