Chapter 60
Chapter Sixty
Mara
He’s still inside me.
His forehead rests against mine, his breath brushing over my lips, warm and uneven. His words echo through the silence he left behind—the ones he wasn’t supposed to say. The ones I didn’t know I needed until they shattered me wide open.
You take your time. You guard your heart. I’ll be right here. I’m yours, Mara.
God.
This man. I can’t not fall for him. I can’t not love him. It’s impossible not to become . . . whatever we’re becoming, and it feels right.
There’s no guilt now when I think about us being together.
Me loving him freely. Do I have a lot to work through for the next lifetime?
Probably. Life hasn’t been easy, but it’ll be a lot easier if I have him right beside me while I’m trying to heal.
Isn’t that what’s been happening since I arrived?
“You love me,” I say, smiling because I believe him.
He’s been showing it to me all along, hasn’t he?
I reach up and trace the line of his jaw with trembling fingers, brushing over the stubble I’ve grown used to, the warm skin that’s starting to feel like home.
“You weren’t supposed to say that,” I whisper, voice thin and shaking.
He shifts, just enough to look at me, eyes dark and unguarded. “I know.”
“You told me we’d wait.”
“I know,” he says again, softer this time. “But it was already inside me. I couldn’t keep it in, not when I’m this close to you.”
I nod, even though I should say something back. Something reassuring.
But my heart is loud now. Thudding in my ribs like it wants to speak for me. Like it’s tired of hiding behind grief and fear and the ache of all the people who didn’t stay.
Alec is still here.
My throat tightens as I cup his face in both hands, pulling him down so our mouths meet in a soft, slow kiss. It’s not about heat this time. It’s not about need.
“Can I tell you a secret?” I ask.
He nods, swallowing hard.
His forehead stays pressed to mine like he’s trying to pour himself into me—every breath, every unspoken word, every piece he never thought he’d give away.
His chest rises unevenly against mine. Our bodies still tangled, still connected in the most intimate way, and yet this moment is so much more than physical.
It’s everything.
“I love you too,” I whisper again, softer this time. My lips barely move, but the words feel like they reshape the air around us. “So much, it scares me.”
His breath catches, and I feel it—feel him—everywhere. My thighs tremble, my fingers tremble, my whole heart trembles at the truth we just admitted.
What we just became.
He doesn’t say anything right away. He just lowers his mouth to mine and kisses me—slow, deep, and unhurried. The kiss feels like it could completely unravel me . A searing promise pressed into lips and tongue and breath.
A promise I didn’t know I needed.
His hand drifts up the side of my body, over my ribs, my arm, like he’s relearning me. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of me from the inside out.
And I let him.
I let him see me. All of me.
“You scare me too,” he murmurs against my mouth, voice hoarse, broken open. “Not because I doubt this. But because I’ve never wanted something so much.”
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes. His eyes are wet. Not crying—just open. A look that says everything without needing to be translated.
“You could wreck me, Mara. But I’d let you. Gladly.”
My throat tightens, my hands drifting down to his shoulders, my legs wrapping tighter around his waist like I can keep us in this moment. Like if I hold on hard enough, the outside world won’t matter.
“I don’t want to wreck you,” I breathe.
“I know. That’s why I trust you.”
How did I get here? How did we get here? From bruised beginnings and guarded hearts to this—love spoken between kisses, warmth shared in silence, bodies joined like prayer.
He moves slightly inside me, slow, tender. A breath of motion that feels like home. Like us.
“I don’t want to go anywhere,” he adds, forehead brushing against mine again. “So take your time, Mara. I’ll still be here when you’re ready to jump.”
I press my lips to his, slow and reverent, tasting him like he’s a memory I don’t ever want to fade.
“I think I already jumped,” I whisper against his mouth.
His smile is soft, crooked, reverent. And then he kisses me again—this time, with all the heat and emotion wrapped in it. Not rushed, not hungry. Just deep.
A love letter written in lips and tongue and sighs.
And as we move together again, it’s slower now, gentler. Like we’re not trying to lose ourselves in each other—but find everything we thought we’d lost.
Maybe that’s what this is.
Healing.
Hope.
Love, whispered between heartbeats, cradled in bodies that finally feel safe.
Not rushed. Not borrowed. Not conditional.
Just real.
Raw.
Ours.
For the first time in so long, I let myself believe that it’s okay to want this.
To want him.
To stay and think about forever.