Page 27

Moving Forward

T he Boston skyline glitters against the night sky, a constellation of lights that once seemed as distant and unreachable as the stars themselves. From Erik’s and my new apartment balcony, the city looks peaceful, ordinary—a world away from the courtrooms and depositions that have consumed our lives these past months.

I wrap my hands around my coffee mug, letting its warmth seep into my fingers. Even in early summer, the evening air carries a chill. Or maybe that’s just me, my nerves making me shiver despite the mild temperature.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Erik slides the balcony door closed behind him, handing me a soft throw blanket before taking the chair beside mine.

I smile, draping the blanket over my legs. “My thoughts are worth at least a dollar these days. Inflation.”

“Hmm.” He pretends to consider this. “How about a dollar and this?” He pulls a small white bakery box from behind his back, opening it to reveal a chocolate cupcake with a single candle.

“What’s this for?” I ask, genuinely confused. It’s not my birthday, and we don’t have any anniversaries I’m aware of.

Erik lights the candle with a match, the tiny flame casting shadows across his face. “Six months since the raid. Six months of freedom.” His eyes meet mine, serious now. “I thought that deserved some recognition.”

The realization hits me like a physical force. Six months since David’s team stormed my parents’ mansion. Six months since we were rescued from what was meant to be my introduction to society and Erik’s indoctrination. Six months of building a new life from the ashes of my old one.

“Make a wish,” Erik says softly.

I close my eyes, feeling childish yet strangely hopeful, as I blow out the candle. When I open them again, Erik is watching me with that expression that still makes my heart stutter—like I’m something rare and precious, something he can’t quite believe is real.

“What did you wish for?” he asks.

“Can’t tell you. Then it won’t come true.”

He laughs, the sound warming me more than any blanket could. “Fair enough.”

We share the cupcake in comfortable silence, watching the city lights wink on and off in the buildings below. I think about how far we’ve come since that night—the trials, the therapy, the slow, painstaking process of building something new from the wreckage of our lives.

“The sentencing is tomorrow,” I say finally, setting down my empty mug. “For my parents.”

Erik nods, his expression sobering. “Are you going?”

“Yes.” The decision had been difficult, but ultimately clear. “David said that the judge asked if I wanted to speak in front of everyone. I suppose, in a way, he’s trying to give me a chance at closure, to tell them things without being afraid or interrupted. At first, I said no, but then I changed my mind.”

“That’s okay,” Erik says, reaching for my hand. “You do whatever you need.”

His thumb traces circles on my palm, a gesture so simple yet so grounding. After six months, he still asks before touching me, still watches for signs of discomfort, and still gives me the space to say no. The irony isn’t lost on me—I’ve spent my whole life with people who took without asking, and now I have someone who asks without taking, and sometimes it still terrifies me.

“I had a dream last night,” I tell him, the words catching in my throat. “About Munich.”

Erik stills, his hand tightening slightly around mine. He knows what happened there, knows how they broke me down and rebuilt me into what they wanted. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not—I mean, it wasn’t like the usual nightmares. In this one, I went back there. On my own. And I walked through those halls, and I looked at all those machines and drugs and…” I swallow hard. “And I wasn’t afraid. I was just… done. Like it couldn’t hurt me anymore.”

Erik’s eyes, storm-gray in the dim light, study my face. “What do you think that means?”

“Dr. Marshall says dreams about confronting trauma can be a sign of healing.” I look down at our intertwined fingers. “That my brain is processing what happened, trying to make sense of it.”

“Do you believe her?”

The question is gentle, without pressure or expectation. That’s what I love about Erik—he never tells me how to feel, never assumes he knows better than I do what’s happening in my own mind.

Love.

The word surfaces from somewhere deep inside me, no longer a frightening concept but a simple truth I’ve been carrying for months now. I love Erik Stone. I love his steady presence, his quiet strength, the way he’s stood beside me through this nightmare without once making me feel like I owe him anything for it.

“Luna?” he prompts when I don’t answer his question. “You okay?”

“I love you.”

The words hang in the air between us, unexpected yet somehow inevitable. Erik’s eyes widen, his lips parting slightly in surprise.

“You don’t have to say it back,” I add quickly, suddenly uncertain. “I just—I needed you to know. After everything, all these months of me keeping you at arm’s length, pushing you away when things get intense… I thought you should know why I’m so scared. It’s because I love you. And loving someone has always been the most dangerous thing I could do.”

Erik sets down his mug carefully, then shifts his chair to face me fully. “Luna Queen,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, “I have been in love with you since that day on the cliff. Probably even before that, if I’m being honest with myself. I’ve just been waiting for you to be ready to hear it.”

My heart hammers against my ribs, a fluttering bird trying to escape its cage. “Really?”

“Really.” He raises our joined hands, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. “I love how brave you are. I love your strength and your resilience. I love that, despite everything you’ve been through, you still have this capacity for kindness that takes my breath away.” His eyes hold mine, unwavering. “I love you, Luna. All of you. The parts that are healing and the parts that are still broken.”

Tears blur my vision, hot and unexpected. I’ve cried more in the past six months than in all the years before combined—as if my body is making up for lost time, releasing all the emotions I kept locked away for so long.

“I’m still a mess,” I warn him, my voice thick.

“I’m not exactly the poster child for stability myself,” he reminds me with a small smile. “We’ll be messes together.”

I laugh through my tears. “That’s very romantic.”

“I’m serious.” He reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch featherlight. “Luna, I don’t expect you to be magically healed. I don’t expect our relationship to be like everyone else’s. What we’ve been through, what you’ve survived—it’s extraordinary. All I want is the chance to keep loving you through whatever comes next.”

His words surround me like a shield, protecting me from the doubts that still whisper in my darkest moments. For months, I’ve been waiting for him to realize what he’s signed up for and walk away. But Erik isn’t walking away. He’s walking toward me, eyes wide open, seeing all my damaged pieces and loving me not despite them, but because they helped shape me.

“Come inside?” I ask, standing and offering him my hand. The request is simple, but the intention behind it isn’t. For once, I’m not running from intimacy—I’m choosing it.

Erik follows me into the apartment, the balcony door sliding shut behind us. Our living room is warm and inviting, with books stacked on every available surface and a worn leather couch that has become my safe place on many difficult nights.

I turn to face him, heart racing but mind clear. “I want to be with you tonight,” I say, the words coming easier than I expected. “Fully. If you want that too.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes. “Are you sure?” he asks. Even though we’ve had sex few times before, we both know what I’m offering this time is different. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

“I’m sure.” I step closer, eliminating the careful distance he always maintains. “I’ve spent my whole life with people taking what they wanted from me. I want to know what it’s like to give myself to someone I choose.”

Erik’s breath catches. “Luna…”

“I know it might be complicated,” I continue, needing him to understand. “I might panic, or cry, or need to stop. But I trust you. And I want this. I want you.”

He cups my face in his hands, his touch reverent. “We’ll go as slow as you need. And we can stop anytime—just say the word.”

“I know.” And I do know, with a certainty that still surprises me after years of having my boundaries ignored and violated. Erik would never hurt me. Erik would never push. Erik sees me—really sees me—and loves what he sees.

I rise on tiptoe to kiss him, my hands finding his shoulders for balance. Unlike our previous kisses, tentative and careful, this one deepens immediately. Heat flares between us, familiar yet different—because this time, I’m not pulling away. This time, I’m leaning in.

“Bedroom?” Erik whispers against my lips.

I nod, letting him lead me down the short hallway to the room. Moonlight streams through the curtains, bathing everything in silver. Erik stops by the bed, his hands gentle on my waist.

“Can I—” he starts to ask.

“Yes,” I interrupt, tired of fear, tired of hesitation. “Whatever you’re asking, yes.”

He smiles, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I was going to ask if I could turn on the lamp.”

“Oh.” I laugh, embarrassed. “Yes, that too.”

The soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminates his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips. I’ve never truly allowed myself to look at him like this, to appreciate how beautiful he is—not just physically, but in the way his eyes reflect every emotion, holding nothing back from me.

He pulls me close, his breath warm against my skin as he lowers his mouth to mine. His kiss is slow, unhurried, the pressure tender and searching. He could devour me at this moment—I could devour him—but neither of us is interested in power games. All we want is this—to be with each other, to have each other, to be vulnerable with someone we trust.

Erik’s fingers trace my spine through the thin material of my shirt, sending shivers of sensation dancing along my nerves. The familiar warmth unfurls in my core, even stronger now that I’ve finally given in to the attraction, desire and trust that have been building between us since the very first night we met.

This isn’t an exchange; it isn’t payment for anything. It’s just us, laying our damaged pieces in the moonlight and trusting each other to hold them.

Erik breaks the kiss, his eyes seeking mine. “How are you feeling?”

The question takes me by surprise. No one has ever cared about my feelings—my responses, my opinions, sure, but never my emotions. I laugh, slightly breathless. “Surprisingly good. It’s nice… being able to feel everything for a change.”

His brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“When it wasn’t my choice, when it was someone else telling my body what to do, I couldn’t feel anything,” I say, surprised at the steadiness of my voice. “I would shut down, disassociate from it. It made it bearable, I suppose.”

“And now?”

“Now…” I smile, because I don’t know what else to do with the love burning inside me like a wildfire. “Now, I feel everything. And it’s beautiful.”

Understanding softens his features. “God, Luna, I?—”

I cover his mouth with mine, silencing him. “I know,” I murmur. “And I feel the same way.”

There will be more talks about the nature of this relationship and the challenges that stand in our way. But none of that matters right now. What matters is this. What matters is us.

Erik slips his arms beneath my shirt, fingers brushing my skin like he can’t touch me fast enough. As his hands skim up my back, the fabric follows, trapping my arms above my head. I help him pull the shirt over my head, relishing the freedom of feeling his body against mine.

His hands move back down, slipping beneath the waistband of my jeans. His touch is addictive, his fingertips leaving trails of sparks wherever they brush. Heat pulses between my legs, aching, desperate.

“More,” I whisper. “Please, Erik.”

In a series of movements that might be practiced and might just be very well-laid plans, he peels off my jeans, removing them along with my underwear. I can feel his growing erection against my stomach as he begins unbuttoning his shirt.

I’ve seen him shirtless before, but not like this. Tonight is different. Everything about this is different. It’s infinitely better.

I run my fingers over the taut skin of his abdomen, enjoying the tiny flickers of his muscles tensing. I gently pull his shirt all the way off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Every inch of him is muscle and man, lean and honed to perfection. But there’s something deeper within him, a kind of strength he didn’t learn from hours at the gym.

“You’re beautiful,” I say, sounding dazed.

He chuckles. “You make me sound like artwork in a museum or something.”

“You’re so much more than that.”

“You’re stealing all the good lines tonight,” he laughs, stepping out of his pants and taking his briefs off with them.

Seeing him, really seeing him, makes me tremble. He’s everything I didn’t know I could have.

“Why aren’t you naked yet?” he teases, his hands teasing at the straps of my bra.

“Well, my shirt doesn’t remove itself,” I answer, already leaning into him as he brings his lips down to kiss me again.

He helps me shimmy the straps off, following them with his lips and tongue, his breath fanning across my skin. By the time my bra hits the floor, I can barely stand.

He picks me up as if I weigh nothing at all and carries me to the bed, setting me down gently on the mattress and then following me.

I expect him to move on top of me right away, but instead, he leans over to brush his lips across my collarbone. “Is this okay?”

“Mmm.” Is that really the only sound I can make? “God, yes.”

He works his way down with soft, gentle kisses, lighting fires along my skin. “I’m going to show you how this should feel,” he promises, his voice a low rumble.

And then he’s doing just that, moving farther down and spreading my thighs. He ducks his head, his tongue flickering against my clit, and my entire body jolts.

“Easy,” he whispers, his breath a tease. “Relax for me.”

I want to argue that there’s no way I’m relaxing with him doing that, but then he’s really doing that, and his mouth is amazing, and all I can do is dig my fingers into the blankets and let him melt my brain.

There’s nothing forceful or harsh about his approach, and it isn’t long before the heat builds between my legs, and my back arches, and my breaths are coming faster, and I’m gasping something or another, but I couldn’t tell you what, because the orgasm is completely blinding.

When I can breathe again, he’s wiping his face on the sheets and grinning down at me. “Pretty great, huh?”

“Yeah.” Words seem far too difficult to form into coherency. “Let’s do that forever.”

“Tempting,” he laughs, but his eyes are darker. “I actually want to be inside you. If that’s okay.”

“Yes,” I sigh, and even though I’m already dripping and ready and would be more than happy to do this all night, the fact that he’s asked doesn’t escape my attention. “Yes, definitely.”

He leans down, covering my body with his own. In the moment before he kisses me, I look up and see his expression—worship and adoration and awe and love. Then his lips find mine, and I know exactly how to show him how I feel.

“Hey,” he breathes, pressing his forehead to mine. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And that’s the last coherent thing either of us says for a while, as the weight of his body pins me in place. His kiss lights my veins on fire, demanding and yet tender. He slips inside me easily, and the fullness feels so right that I wonder why it took me so long.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

I nod and nudge my hips up to encourage him.

“Holy shit.” His voice is ragged, strained. “You feel amazing.”

Then his lips are on my throat, hot and desperate, and the rest of the world falls away.

I dig my nails into his back, using them to hold myself steady as he slowly starts pumping, savoring every second. His dick feels heavy inside me, hot and thick and aching, and I squeeze around him with every thrust just to hear him moan.

“God, Luna,” he groans, burying his face in my neck. “I’m not going to last long.”

“That’s okay.” I tangle my hands in his hair and meet his rhythm, arching into him. He fills me perfectly, moving inside me with a certainty that I’ve never experienced before.

Everything about this is different—and it isn’t the fear of intimacy or the demons of my past that finally make me able to do this. It’s Erik. It’s how he listens, how he cares, how he looks at me like he truly believes that I’m more than the sum of what was done to me.

“Luna,” he gasps, his thrusts becoming erratic. “I’m close.”

In response, I dig my heels into the small of his back and tip my head up to kiss his throat. “Come for me,” I murmur, teeth grazing his skin. “It’s okay.”

“Aah.” He makes a strangled noise, and then his cock throbs, and heat floods between my legs, and the look of pure ecstasy on his face is so intoxicating that I decide right then I never want to forget it.

He groans as I shift under him, supporting himself with his forearms as he rolls off to lie beside me. He brushes sweat-soaked hair from his face, his breathing gradually slowing.

I turn my head on the pillow, enjoying the way the lamplight casts shadows across his bare chest.

“How are you?” he asks when he can speak again. “Was that okay?”

“That was amazing,” I murmur. “Best I’ve ever had.”

He laughs but can tell the compliment is sincere. “High praise.”

“You deserve it,” I say, running my fingers through his hair. “I thought sex was supposed to be awful, but you…” I trail off, too overcome to finish the sentence.

His expression softens, growing more serious. “There’s nothing awful about sex when it’s with a person you love. When it’s about mutual pleasure instead of power.”

“I think I’m finally starting to understand that.”

“You’re so strong, Luna,” he says softly. “I knew it the moment I met you.”

I shake my head, looking away. “That wasn’t me. That girl was… broken. Not strong.”

He rolls onto his side, meeting my gaze. “It was you,” he corrects gently. “That girl is who you are. Every version of yourself, even the wounded parts.”

I consider what he said, checking in with myself in the way Dr. Marshall has taught me. My body feels relaxed, content. My mind is quiet for once, not racing with fears or memories. “I think you’re right,” I answer truthfully. “I feel… different. Better. Present. Like I’m fully in my body for the first time in years.”

“That’s good.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “You deserve to feel that way all the time.”

“It won’t always be like this,” I warn him, practicality asserting itself. “I’ll have bad days too.”

“I know.” His arms tighten around me, secure but not confining. “And I’ll be here for those days too. All of them.”

I lift myself up on one elbow to look at him, struck again by the openness of his expression. “How do you do that? Just… accept everything without question?”

“It’s not without question,” he assured. “I have plenty of questions. I worry about you. I worry about us. But I’ve never doubted whether you’re worth it, Luna. Not once.”

Tears prick my eyes again, but these aren’t the desperate, fearful tears I’m used to. These feel different—cleansing, almost. “I used to think love was just another way to control people,” I confess. “A weapon my parents used to keep me in line.”

“And now?” Erik brushes a tear from my cheek with his thumb.

“Now I think maybe it’s the opposite.” I catch his hand, pressing it against my face. “Maybe real love is what gives you the strength to break free.”

Erik smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and crinkles the corners. “I think you might be right about that.”

I settle back against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. Outside, the city continues its night symphony of distant sirens and passing cars. In courtrooms across the country, the cases against my parents and their associates move forward, justice grinding slowly but inexorably toward conclusion. The world keeps turning, keeps changing.

And here, in this quiet room, I’m changing too. Not all at once and not without setbacks—healing isn’t linear, as Dr. Marshall reminds me weekly. But tonight, I’ve taken a step I once thought impossible. I’ve chosen vulnerability instead of walls and connection instead of isolation. I’ve given myself to someone I love and, in doing so, reclaimed a piece of myself that was stolen long ago.

“Erik?” I murmur, already drifting toward sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for waiting for me.”

His lips press against my hair, his voice soft but certain. “I would have waited forever.”

I believe him. After a lifetime of lies and manipulation, I finally believe someone when they say they love me. And maybe that’s the greatest victory of all.