Chapter Twenty-Seven

STEPHEN

I could feel her tears soaking into my shoulder, warm and steady, but I didn’t care. Not about the dampness of her skin against mine. That didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was still here. Still real. Still breathing beside me in this hell storm of my making.

That was enough to bring me some semblance of comfort … even if I didn’t feel worthy of it.

I couldn’t sleep.

I lay there in silence, my eyes open to the darkness, and let the tears I’d buried my entire life—~years~ of them—finally fall. Each drop spilled down my cheeks, hot and foreign, like my body wasn’t used to this kind of grief.

Her hand lay over my heart, warm and steady.

Even in her own pain, she was trying to soothe me.

I listened to her breathing … slow, calm, rhythmic. I knew that breath pattern by heart now. I knew her like I knew the feel of my skin. She was close to sleep—maybe already there.

I waited.

Not because I needed peace.

But because I was a coward.

I waited until her awareness dulled, until I was sure she wouldn’t hear me. Because I didn’t know if I could survive her response. Because the truth that lived behind her eyes terrified me more than anything else I’d ever faced.

And then, quietly, I whispered the words that had been buried inside me for days, weeks … maybe even a lifetime.

“I’d die without you.”

I closed my eyes, my throat thick, and let the last of the tears slide down my face.

But then—like a ghost breaking through the dark—

“Living without you is impossible. Losing you would not be worth living…”

Her voice.

Soft. Frayed. Shattered.

But ~there~.

Her words hit me like a freight train—stopping my breath, making my whole body go stiff beneath her touch.

I thought she had drifted off. I thought she wouldn’t remember.

But there she was again—my girl. My world. The woman who somehow always knew exactly when to pull me back from the edge of ruin.

I didn’t know what came next. I didn’t know what this meant for us, not really. But I knew one thing:

I had to become the man she deserved.

She was the only one in this world who had ever been worth fighting for.

I turned to face her, every part of me trembling, raw. I reached up and gently stroked her hair, brushing it from her face. When I saw her eyes—those beautiful, tear-stained eyes—I shattered all over again.

I wiped the tears from her cheeks with my thumb … but they just kept falling.

I had done this. Me. I was the reason for every tear sliding down her perfect skin. I had promised her the world and handed her pain instead.

What kind of man does that to the woman he loves?

“Baby, please…”

My voice cracked. I wasn’t even sure what I was asking for. Forgiveness? Redemption? A second chance at something I didn’t deserve?

She looked up at me, her eyes meeting mine with a depth that pulled the breath from my lungs.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I needed to be her comfort. I needed to feel her again, know her again. We had to find each other in the wreckage we were laying in.

I inched closer, my body sliding against the sheets. Every inch felt like a mile. I was waiting—bracing—for her to push me away.

She didn’t.

I reached for her face with reverence, kissing each tear that spilled, each drop of sadness I had caused. I kissed her cheeks like they were made of porcelain, afraid of breaking her more than I already had. My hands cradled her gently, tilting her face toward mine as her sobs broke open again.

God, it gutted me.

I lay there, breathing into her pain, letting the taste of her sadness burn itself into my mouth. If I could take it all away, I would’ve. If I could bleed for her in place of every tear, I’d cut myself open and drain dry.

Her hands found mine. Soft. Slow. Moving across my ribs, down the length of my arms, wrapping around the hands that still cupped her face. And she looked at me.

We stared, unmoving—two souls laid bare, two hearts searching for one another in a sea of uncertainty.

“I’m so sorry I did this to you, baby…” I choked out. “Seeing your pain is killing me and I hate myself for being the cause of it. Tell me what I need to do. I’ll do anything. Please. I’m giving you my all—all I am is yours for the taking.”

She breathed deeply. I could see the storm behind her eyes. I knew it well—it mirrored mine. An endless war between trust and love, between betrayal and the ache to stay.

I pleaded with my gaze.

And then, at last, she spoke.

Softly.

“Kiss me, Stephen…”

My breath hitched.

She was giving me a chance.

Her eyes shimmered, holding my soul in their gaze, and then came the words that reached inside my chest and squeezed my heart like a fist.

“I want you to feel comfortable with me. I want you—I’ve wanted you since we first met. I want all of you … the good, the bad, and the ugly. But I won’t kiss you until I know you want me to. Want all of me like I want all of you. So if you truly feel this too—like you once said to me—kiss me. Please. Show me you feel it too.”

She used my words.

Words I had said to her when she was vulnerable.

She was handing them back to me now like a challenge. Like an invitation.

But also, like a warning.

This was her line in the sand. Her truth.

I nodded slowly, reverently, and brought her face back to mine.

“You are my all.”

And then I kissed her.

It was slow. Tender. Full of reverence and desperation. A kiss made of apologies and hope. Of love that had been tested and still somehow found its way back. I poured every word I couldn’t say into it. Every “I’m sorry,” every “don’t go,” every “please stay.”

Her hands gripped my waist, pulling me in closer as she sighed into me. Her body melted into mine, giving herself again. Our mouths moved in sync, unhurried, tongues entwining softly, sensually—safely.

And when she pulled away just enough to breathe, her eyes met mine.

“Stephen … make love to me.”

It wasn’t just desire.

It was surrender.

“I have given all of myself to you. You have my heart and soul. You have all I am. Give me all of you in return.”

I was shaking.

I thought I’d lost her.

And now, I had her in my arms again.

Carefully, reverently, I slid her panties from her body, each movement a vow that I would never take her for granted again. Somehow, it felt like she was unlocking me, setting me free.

Her skin was covered in goosebumps, trembling under my fingers. The taste of tears still clung to us, the air saturated with the salt of grief and hope. I brushed my jaw—freshly shaved—against her sensitive nipple, and she arched beneath me, a soft moan escaping her lips.

God, ~my girl~.

I suckled at her breasts like it was the last meal I’d ever have—desperate to remember every taste, every sound she made. Her moans wrapped around me like silk. I wanted to bury myself in her, drown in her.

I slid lower, kissing every inch of her trembling body.

Her scent hit me—clean and sweet, musky with arousal—and I was undone.

I opened her gently. Ran my tongue along her folds, teasing her clit with feather-soft flicks, drawing moans from deep within her chest. I nuzzled in closer, letting my breath warm her most intimate parts, letting my tongue dance over her in long, slow swipes.

She writhed beneath me, moaning, pleading.

“More, Stephen. Please … all of you…”

I gave it to her.

Because she had already given me everything.

And now it was my turn to show her I was hers.

Body and soul.

Forever.

I smiled and relented, then dipped low again, sealing my lips around her sweet, swollen hood.

She cried out—cried—a sharp, beautiful sound of raw pleasure that echoed through the silence. Her fingers dove into my hair, clenching, tugging, grounding herself in the reality of the moment. She thrust up into me, her body trembling with need, writhing beneath the weight of everything we were finally laying bare.

I could barely breathe.

Didn’t care.

Every gasp she gave, every breathless moan … it lit something divine inside me. I hummed softly, the vibration against her clit sending her spiraling, my hands reaching up to knead and caress her breasts. I teased her nipples with my thumbs, massaging circles into her skin until she arched, until the purrs from her throat melted into tiny, fractured sobs of need.

She was everything I needed in this world.

Every part of her.

I felt her start to quake, the rhythm of her breathing hitching. Her hands tugged harder at my hair as my tongue danced inside her, stroking, curling, tasting. I was going to be rewarded. I knew it. I could feel her clenching around the air, her core ready to give, the pressure building like a perfect storm.

I slowly pulled away.

She whimpered at the loss, but her eyes met mine—hooded, flushed, hair wild and cheeks pinked with fire. Her breath came in short, beautiful gasps.

“I need you, Trinity,” I whispered, my voice nothing more than a shaky breath escaping my chest.

I stood, unsteady on my feet, my knees weak with the weight of what this night meant. She propped herself up, nipples hard, her chest rising and falling like waves caught in a storm. Even in this raw, breathless state, she was the most stunning thing I had ever seen.

And then she said it again.

“Make love to me.”

I struggled out of my briefs, my hands shaking with emotion, with anticipation. With everything. No one had ever made me feel this way—like I was on the edge of heaven and hell and she was the only hand I’d reach for in either.

I crawled back onto the bed, kissing her as I hovered above her, my body gently sliding against hers, our skin brushing, my cock thick and heavy against her soft folds but not yet inside. Her hips lifted, grinding against me, begging for more friction, more connection. I sucked at her ear and felt her entire body melt, her back arching up into me.

I shifted her legs up with care, adjusting myself to her entrance.

For a long moment, I just looked at her.

She looked back—eyes heavy, face flushed, her heart right there in her eyes. And then her lips parted, and those words came again, soft and begging:

“Love me, Stephen. Please. Love ~all~ of me.”

And I did.

I pushed inside slowly, my entire body groaning as I sank into her warmth. My breath left my lungs in a ragged exhale as her tight heat wrapped around me, gripping me like we were two halves of the same creation.

She whimpered beneath me, purring as I pressed deeper. I spat into my hand and reached between us, rubbing at her clit to help her open more for me. Her legs trembled. Her breath hitched.

And when I moved—long, slow strokes inside her tight, dripping heat—I squeezed my eyes shut. Because if I looked at her, if I saw the bliss stretching across her face, I’d lose it.

But she moved with me. Hips grinding up, body arching into each thrust.

“More,” she purred against my ear. “Please, Stephen … I need more.”

I gave it to her.

I pounded into her now, groaning with each stroke, her cries echoing my own. The sheer beauty of it all overwhelmed me—the love, the desperation, the fear of losing her still haunting every breath.

After a while, I whispered for permission to move her.

She moaned, nodded—her body too lost in sensation to speak.

I lifted her gently and rolled her onto her stomach, laying her flat across the mattress. Her back arched, ass high, legs parted wide in offering. She groaned, that low guttural sound of a lioness in heat, ready for her mate.

I swallowed and spread her cheeks, steadying myself before sliding back into her slick, perfect heat.

I drove into her with slow, powerful thrusts. Each slap of our bodies filled the room, sharp and raw, a drumbeat of our reconnection.

She pushed back into me, the resistance only making me crazier for her. I leaned forward and grabbed her wrists, threading our fingers together, pinning them above her head as I rested my weight on her back, my breath ragged against her ear.

And then she came.

She ~shattered~ beneath me—her moan turned to a cry, her body quivering, her cunt clenching around my cock like it never wanted to let me go.

Still, I didn’t stop.

I kept moving, slow now, deliberate.

I pulled out, trying to give her a breath, but then—

“Don’t stop… please. Give me all of you. I need you.”

How could I ever deny her?

I slid back in, deeper this time, stretching her, filling her. My body curled over hers, one hand still entwined with hers, the other slipping under her belly and pulling her even closer to me.

Our bodies locked.

My thrusts deepened.

I was so close.

“I love you, Trinity. I love all of you,” I breathed against her skin, over and over again, the words catching in my throat like prayers I didn’t know how to speak until now.

“Stephen…” she whimpered, her voice trembling with need.

And then I broke.

The heat burst from me, wave after wave, as I emptied everything I had into her. My body shook, the tears returning unbidden, streaming down my cheeks. My arms wrapped around her waist, holding her to me, never wanting to let go.

“I love you,” I whispered. Repeatedly, into her skin, into the spaces between our bodies, into her heart.

My face pressed to her back, my breath shallow and desperate.

I stayed inside her, not ready to leave her warmth, not ready to face a world where this moment might be our last.

Her scent—salty tears, sweat, her arousal, her shampoo—was everywhere. I breathed her in like oxygen, like my next breath depended on it.

And then—

Softly, like a lifeline tossed into my ocean of doubt—

“I love you too.”

My tears came harder.

But this time…

They were filled with hope.