Page 124 of Grim

Sophia stepped closer, her hand sliding up his arm, slow, sure, deliberate. “And you’re part of that. Not because you’re fixing me. But because you’re here.”

She rose onto her toes and kissed him, soft at first, warm and steady. He cupped her face gently, careful, like she was something precious he didn’t want to break. The kiss deepened only enough to say I’m here. I want you. I’m not afraid of this.

Her fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt. His thumb brushed her cheek, slow and warm. The air between them shifted, not rushed, not overwhelming, just full of something bright and alive.

When they finally pulled back, her forehead rested against his.

"I missed you tonight," she whispered.

His voice was low, rough. "Missed you too."

Sophia smiled, brushing her thumb along his jaw. She rose onto her toes again and kissed him, different this time. Deeper. Hungrier. Her fingers curled into his shirt, pulling him closer like she was afraid he'd disappear.

The air shifted.

Grim's hands slid to her waist, steadying her, and she responded by pressing against him, her body seeking his heat.

The kiss turned urgent, not desperate, but intentional. Like they were both remembering something they'd forgotten: that they were alive. That they could have this. That they were allowed to want.

When she broke the kiss, her breath was uneven. Her eyes were dark, focused only on him.

"Kitchen counter," she breathed against his lips.

He didn't hesitate.

Grim guided her back a few steps until her spine met the cool edge of the counter. He settled his hands on her hips, grounding himself in the reality of her, warm, present, choosing this. Choosing him.

Sophia's fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, each one undone with deliberate care, her knuckles brushing his chest. The fabric fell open. She traced the line of his sternum with her fingertips, slow and reverent, like she was mapping something sacred.

"I've really missed you," she whispered.

"God, I've missed you too," he confirmed, his voice rough.

His hands found the hem of her scrub top and eased it up and over her head, letting it fall. She shivered, not from cold, but from the way his gaze held hers as he took her in. His palm found the curve of her waist, warm and steady.

She hooked her fingers into the waistband of his jeans, pulling him closer until there was barely any space between them. The counter pressed into the small of her back as he leaned down, his mouth finding the curve where her shoulder met her neck. He breathed her in, soap and exhaustion and the vanilla scent that was uniquely Sophia.

Her head tilted back, giving him access. Her hands roamed his shoulders, his back, like she needed to feel all of him, like she was reassuring herself that he was solid, here, and staying.

"Sophia," he murmured against her skin, "look at me."

She did.

Their eyes locked, his dark, intense, unguarded for the first time. Hers bright with unshed tears that weren't from sadness, but relief. From healing. From finally being able to feel alive again without fear.

She unzipped his jeans with trembling fingers. He helped her, kicking them aside. Her scrub bottoms followed, pooled at her feet.

With no hesitation now, no checking in with glances. Just two people who had survived enough, who had earned this moment, who were choosing to reclaim something beautiful from all the broken pieces.

Grim lifted her, his hands solid under her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around him, her arms locking around his neck. The counter became their anchor as he found her entrance and slid into her slowly, deeply, with a groan that rumbled through them both.

"Yes," she breathed, clinging to him. "Yes, like this. Please."

He moved with her, not frantic but purposeful. Each stroke a conversation without words. Each touch saying: I see you. I'm not leaving. We're going to be okay.

Her breaths became gasps. Her nails pressed lightly into his shoulders. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in, feeling every tremor that ran through her body. This wasn't just about the physical; it was about reclaiming their bodies, their right to feel pleasure instead of pain, their right to exist in softness after so much hardness.

"I've got you," he murmured against her temple. "Always."