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"Tell me to stop."

She doesn't.

I kiss her, gentler than before. No anger now, just longing. Seven years of wanting her all poured into this one kiss.

She slides her hands up to my shoulders, then around my neck. She presses against me, her body fitting perfectly as if we were never apart.

I guide her backward until she hits the edge of the table. She pulls me closer, threading her fingers through my hair and tugging just enough to make me groan against her mouth.

"I've missed you," I murmur against her neck, breathing in her scent. "Every part of you."

She arches into me as my hands slide under her shirt, tracing the soft skin of her waist. "Don't think this means I forgive you," she says, but her body contradicts her words.

"I don't need forgiveness, I need you, right fucking now." I capture her mouth again, deepening the kiss until she moans against my lips.

I want to take my time, to relearn every inch of her, but need overrides patience. She grips my shirt, pulling me tighter against her, the heat between us building even through our clothes.

"Not here," she whispers, eyes darting toward the stairs.

I take her hand and lead her to my bedroom. I kick the door shut behind us and pull her to the bed, covering her body with mine.

"Are you sure?" I ask, needing to hear her say it.

Her answer is to pull my shirt over my head. She explores the new scars on my torso with her fingertips. "What happened here?" she asks, tracing a jagged line across my ribs.

"Knife fight. Barcelona."

Her fingers move to another scar on my shoulder. "And here?"

"Bullet. Grazed me in Paris."

She looks up at me, sadness in her eyes. "You lived a whole life I know nothing about."

"A half-life," I correct. "There was always something missing."

I kiss her again before she can respond, before she can put her walls back up and shut me out. I grab the hem of her shirt and pull it up over her head.

The sight of her bare skin in the moonlight steals my breath. "You're fucking gorgeous," I tell her.

A blush colors her cheeks. "I've had a baby, Declan. I'm not the same perfect ten you left behind."

I trace the faint stretch marks on her stomach, marks earned bringing my son into the world. "You're more gorgeous now."

She pulls me down for another kiss, tugging at the drawstring of my sweatpants. I help her, shedding the rest of my clothes before removing hers.

When we're both naked, I pause, taking in the sight of her. "I want to see all of you, every inch I have missed," I say.

"Stop talking." She pulls me down, wrapping herself around me.

I slide my cock into her, watching her face as I do. Her eyes widen, lips parting on a gasp. I stay still, buried deep inside her, nothing has ever felt more like home.

"Declan," she whispers.

I move inside her, hard and deep. She arches off the bed, her nails dig into my back, drawing blood like I am in a fight, only this is one I don't want to win. I want to drag it out all night.

"You're mine," I tell her. "You've always been mine."

"Prove it," she challenges.