5. Pope #2
"I'm going to spend the rest of my life making up for lost time," I tell her, cupping her breasts in my palms, feeling her nipples harden against my skin. "Starting now."
"Then stop talking," she breathes, "and start showing me."
I lower her onto the bed like she's something precious. Because she is. She's the most precious thing I've ever held, and I wasted seven years not holding her.
Never again.
I take my time. Kiss every inch of skin I can reach—her throat, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. She arches into me, fingers threading through my hair, soft sounds escaping her lips that make me want to swallow every single one.
"Ryder..." My name comes out like a prayer.
"I've got you." I kiss down her stomach, over the soft curve of her belly, nuzzling the lush swell of her hips. "I've got you, sweetheart. Just let me take care of you."
I hook my fingers in her panties and drag them down her legs. She's already wet for me, glistening in the low light, and the sight makes my cock throb painfully against my jeans. But this isn't about me. Not yet.
I settle between her thighs and look up at her. "Eyes on me."
She props herself up on her elbows, watching as I lower my mouth to her center.
The first taste of her makes me groan. I lick through her folds slowly, savoring her, learning what makes her gasp and what makes her moan. When I circle her clit with my tongue, her hips buck off the bed.
"Oh god—"
"That's it." I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right while my tongue keeps working. "Let me hear you. I want to hear every sound you make."
She doesn't hold back. The sounds she makes are desperate, beautiful—my name mixed with pleas and profanity as I push her higher and higher. When she comes, it's with a cry that echoes off the walls, her thighs clamping around my head, her whole body shaking.
I work her through it, gentling my touch as she comes down, pressing soft kisses to her inner thighs.
"Ryder." Her voice is wrecked. "I need you. Please."
I strip off my jeans and settle over her, bracing myself on my forearms. She's still trembling from her orgasm, her eyes dark and dazed, and when I push inside her, we both gasp.
"Look at me," I whisper.
Her eyes find mine. Hold them. And I start to move.
This isn't like two nights ago—frantic, desperate, overwhelming.
This is slow. Deep. Every thrust deliberate, our eyes locked together, breathing each other's air.
I feel everything. The way she tightens around me.
The way her nails dig into my shoulders.
The way her breath hitches every time I bottom out inside her.
"I love you." The words spill out before I can stop them. "I love you, Mara. I've loved you for seven goddamn years, and I'll love you for the rest of my life."
Tears slide down her temples into her hair. "I love you too. I think I always have."
Something breaks open in my chest. Something that's been locked tight for so long I forgot it existed.
I kiss her, deep and desperate, and when she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper, I have to stop moving or I'll lose it completely.
"Let me—" She pushes at my chest gently. "I want to feel you. Let me..."
I roll us over, settling her on top of me, and the sight of her nearly stops my heart.
Mara, above me, her dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her breasts swaying as she adjusts to the new angle. She's all soft curves and warm skin and she's mine. After seven years of wanting, she's finally mine.
"God, you're beautiful," I breathe, my hands finding her hips. "Every inch of you. I could look at you forever."
She starts to move, rolling her hips in a slow rhythm that makes my eyes want to roll back in my head. I watch her find her pleasure—the way she tilts her head back, the way her lips part, the way her hands press flat against my chest for leverage.
"That's it." I grip her hips harder, helping her move, thrusting up to meet her. "Take what you need, sweetheart. Use me."
She moans, picking up the pace, riding me harder. I reach up to cup her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers, and she cries out.
"Ryder—I'm close—"
"I know." I can feel her tightening around me, feel the tremors starting in her thighs. "Come for me, Mara. Let me feel you."
She shatters with my name on her lips, her body clenching around me so tight I see stars. I flip us again, hooking her leg over my hip and driving into her through her orgasm, chasing my own release.
"I love you," I gasp against her throat. "I love you, I love you—"
The climax tears through me, emptying me into her, and I swear I feel something shift in the universe. Like everything that was broken is finally clicking back into place.
We lie there afterward, tangled together, breathing hard. Her head rests on my chest, over my heart, and I stroke my fingers through her hair, unable to stop touching her.
"Marco knew," she says softly, after a long silence. "He knew you loved me. He knew I felt something for you, even if I couldn't admit it. And he still..."
"He wanted us to be happy." I press a kiss to the top of her head. "Both of us. He was the best man I've ever known, and his last wish was for us to stop suffering."
"So we honor that." She lifts her head, meeting my eyes. "We stop suffering. We stop hiding. We stop feeling guilty for something he gave us his blessing for."
"Can you do that?" I ask. "Really let go of the guilt?"
She's quiet for a moment. "It won't happen overnight. But I want to try. For him. For us." A small smile curves her lips. "For the seven years we wasted being noble idiots."
I laugh—actually laugh, the sound rusty from disuse. "Seven years. Christ. We could have had this the whole time."
"We have it now." She presses a kiss to my chest, right over my heart. "That's what matters."
"What happens now?" I ask, pulling her closer.
She settles against me, warm and soft and here.
"Now we stop hiding," she says. "From everyone. From each other. From this."
"And the restaurant? You said you're not selling."
"I'm not." She traces patterns on my chest with her fingertip. "I think I'm going to rename it, though. Make it mine instead of a memorial to what I lost."
"Marco would like that."
"Yeah." Her voice goes soft. "I think he would."
We fall asleep tangled together, her body pressed against mine, her breath warm on my skin. And for the first time in seven years, the weight on my chest is gone.
Not because the guilt has vanished—some of it will always be there, a scar that never fully heals. But it's different now. Transformed into something that doesn't crush me.
We're not betraying Marco by loving each other.
We're honoring his last wish.
And finally—finally—I let myself have something good.