Chapter 10 #3
He makes a sound in his throat that goes straight through me. “Fuck,” he breathes against my mouth. “Ollie.”
“This is what you promised,” I murmur.
His laugh is shaky. “Yeah. It is.”
We stumble toward the bed, shedding layers as we go—not frantic, but inevitable. Like gravity. Like something that’s been pulling at us all night finally gets to snap tight.
It’s hot. It’s desperate. It’s familiar in a way that makes my chest ache even as my body lights up.
Rafe’s hands are everywhere. He keeps kissing me like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to drink me in. My ring presses cool against his skin when I grip him, a grounding point in the middle of all this heat.
“I missed you,” he says into my throat.
“I’m here,” I answer. “I’m right here.”
He pulls back slightly, eyes dark and shining. “Tell me you’re mine.”
I swallow. “Always,” I whisper. “I’ll always be yours.”
His expression cracks for a fraction of a second, emotion cutting through desire like lightning. “God,” he breathes. “I love you.”
The words hit me harder than anything else tonight.
“I love you too,” I say, voice rough. “I love you.”
And then he kisses me again, softer and deeper at the same time, like he needs to anchor the words in something physical.
I go with him willingly, letting the heat pull me under, letting the room disappear until it’s just him and the bed and the desperate, familiar rhythm of us finding each other again.
It isn’t rushed, not really, but it’s hungry.
It’s the kind of hunger that doesn’t come from a single night apart.
It comes from weeks of airports and time zones and polite distances.
It comes from having to look normal in public when my body has been screaming for him in private.
Rafe touches me like he’s memorizing me all over again. Like he needs to make sure I’m still real. His mouth moves over my skin with reverence and impatience all at once, kisses that turn into softer bites, his breath hot against my throat.
“Look at me,” he murmurs, voice rough, and when I open my eyes, I find him already watching me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered.
I drag my fingers through his hair, tugging just enough to make him shudder. He swears under his breath, forehead dropping against mine as if he can’t decide whether he wants to take his time or lose his mind.
“Mine,” he whispers again, like a prayer.
“Always,” I breathe back.
The world narrows to sensation. To the way his hands hold me like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. To the way my ring presses cold against his skin when I grip him. To the way the bed shifts beneath us, the sheets twisting, the air thickening with heat and breath and quiet, feral relief.
Rafe makes a sound that I feel more than hear, and it tips me over the edge with him. Everything tightens. Everything breaks open. For a moment, there’s nothing except the rush of it—burning, overwhelming, unmistakably ours.
After, he slumps into me like gravity finally claims him.
When the intensity finally ebbs, it doesn’t leave emptiness behind. It leaves warmth. It leaves that heavy, satisfied quiet that only exists when two people who’ve been stretched thin finally get to fold into each other again.
Rafe collapses beside me, dragging me close until I’m half sprawled across his chest. His skin is still hot. His heartbeat is steady under my ear.
For a while, we just breathe. Then he shifts slightly and reaches toward the bedside table.
I lift my head. “What are you doing?”
“Wait,” he says. He pulls something out of the drawer and holds it up like it’s sacred. A small, folded piece of paper.
I blink. “What is that?”
Rafe looks suddenly shy, which is ridiculous on him. “Open it.”
I sit up slowly and take it. The paper unfolds into something simple: a torn-out page from a hotel notepad. On it, in his handwriting, is a list.
Not a setlist but a list of moments.
1. Your laugh in the kitchen.
2. The first time you wore your ring in our apartment.
3. Your hands on my face when you told me you were proud.
4. When you said “always” like it was a promise you meant.
5. Tonight.
At the bottom, he’s written:
One year. A thousand stolen pieces. Still you.
Emotion climbs into my throat so fast it feels like I might choke. “Rafe,” I manage.
“I didn’t have anything else,” he says quickly. “I’m in a hotel. I couldn’t exactly buy you a gift.”
“This is better,” I whisper.
He looks at me carefully. “Yeah?”
I nod, eyes burning. “It’s perfect.”
He smiles softly, before reaching up to wipe at the corner of my eye with his thumb. “You’re not allowed to cry on our anniversary.”
“I’m not crying,” I lie badly. “And it’s not technically our anniversary anymore.”
He laughs, quiet and warm. “Sure. And maybe we start celebrating twice if the second date means you come apart so fucking beautifully.”
Heat floods my cheeks. This man and his pretty words will always have the power to undo me. I fold the paper carefully and set it back on the bedside table like it’s something fragile. Like it deserves protection.
Then I crawl back into him. Once I’m in his arms, Rafe holds me so tightly, it’s almost painful, like he’s trying to lock this moment into his bones.
I sigh contently. The distance doesn’t feel like this defining thing. It’s there. It always will be. But right now, in this room, with the music still ringing faintly in my ears and the taste of him still on my lips, love feels louder.