Chapter 20 #2
His mouth finds mine, gentle at first, then deeper as I respond. This isn't the desperate hunger from before; this is something softer, more reverent.
“You’re everything to me,” he breathes against my mouth. “Everything good. Everything worth fighting for.”
His hands begin to move with a purpose I’ve never felt before; slow, deliberate, unbearably tender. He doesn’t strip me bare in haste. He worships his way there.
When he peels my shirt from me, he does it like he’s unwrapping something sacred. His gaze never leaves mine.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, voice cracking. “God, you don’t even see it, do you?”
I shake my head, already trembling from the weight of his words. His fingers skim up my sides, over my ribs, lingering just under the swell of my breasts.
“Let me show you,” he murmurs. “Let me teach you how precious you are.”
He kisses down my throat, slow and warm, leaving reverent trails with his mouth. Every spot he touches ignites under his care, but it’s more than arousal. It’s love. It’s a plea.
“You’re safe with me,” he whispers again, like a mantra. “Always.”
“I know.”
"Do you feel it? How much I love you?"
"Yes."
"Good. Because I need you to remember this when the world gets dark. I need you to remember that you matter.”
He traces his fingertips over my healing bruises with excruciating gentleness, as if he’s afraid of hurting me with even the memory of pain. I’m completely bare by the time he lays me back, and when he looks at me, I see it—all of it.
Love. Hunger. Awe.
“You’re perfect,” he says, not as a compliment, but as a conviction. “To me, you are.”
He lowers his body until he reaches my thighs. He spreads them open, and within seconds I'm moaning his name as his tongue slides slowly along my slit. I gasp, hips jerking, but his hands hold me firm, not in domination, but in reassurance.
“Stay with me,” he whispers into me. “Let me make you feel everything.”
He brings me to the edge with maddening precision, tongue and fingers coaxing me right to the brink, again and again, only to pull back at the last moment.
“You're so sensitive. So responsive.” His voice is low, wrecked. “You have no idea how beautiful you are like this.”
I sob his name, hands gripping his shoulders, legs trembling from the intensity.
“Freddie, please—please, I need—”
“I know, baby. I know.” He kisses the inside of my thigh. “You’re doing so well. Just let me take you higher.”
My whole body is humming, over stimulated, desperate, lost.
And he adores it.
“You’re my favorite thing in this world,” he breathes, moving up my body. “I could spend a lifetime learning how to love you right.”
When he finally enters me, it’s not urgent. It’s reverent.
Slow, careful, like he’s anchoring me back to myself.
“God,” he groans against my neck. “You feel like coming home.”
I cry out, because he does too.
He sets a rhythm that’s deep and unhurried, every thrust meant to speak something no words could ever hold. He leans down, our foreheads pressed, breath mingling.
“I love you,” he murmurs, voice breaking. “More than anything. You hear me? You’re mine.”
The words don’t brand—they comfort. They shelter.
“I’m yours,” I whisper back, arms around him like I’ll never let go.
His hand slides between us, finding that spot again, making my body coil tight. I arch against him, moaning, trembling.
“That’s it,” he says, wrecked. “Let go for me. Let me see what I do to you.”
The orgasm tears through me like lightning. My whole body shakes, my cry echoing in the stillness. He follows with a low, guttural groan, hips stuttering, clutching me like I’m the only thing keeping him grounded.
After, we don’t move. His body covers mine, skin to skin, his breath still shuddering against my cheek.
There are no words.
Only the sound of our hearts beating, strong and alive.
And the only thing I feel is his arms around me, protective and powerful.
Like a shield.
Like a promise.
"Better?" he asks.
"Much."
"Good. Because I need you to remember this feeling. When things get dark, when the fear gets too loud, remember this moment."
"What moment?"
"The moment you understood that you're loved. Completely, unconditionally, forever."
I curl closer to him, letting his warmth chase away the chill of grief and fear. Outside, war is coming. But here, in this bed, in these arms, I feel something I haven't felt since Dad died.
Safe. Loved. Home.
"Freddie?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For loving me enough to promise you'll come back to me. Even from the dark places this war might take you."
His arms tighten around me. "Always. No matter how far I go, no matter what I have to do, I'll always come back to you."
I believe him. I have to believe him.
Because the alternative is losing him to the violence and hatred that's consuming our world, and that thought is unthinkable.
Tomorrow, we'll plan our next move. Tomorrow, we'll hunt the man who destroyed Murphy's life and threatened mine, who killed Jer and has taken so much away from the people I'm getting close to.
But tonight, I'm loved and safe and whole.
Tonight, that's enough.