Page 75 of Her Unending Horizon

“Maybe,” he said, and for once it didn’t sound like a dismissal. It sounded like a possibility he was actually considering.

We hung there for a second, suspended between the life we used to have and the wreckage of the one we’d been living.

Then he lowered his head, slow enough that I could have stepped back if I’d wanted to.

I didn’t.

His mouth met mine, warm and familiar. I drank in the heady, cherished scent of him. The kiss started soft, a question, then deepened when I answered, my hands sliding up into his hair as his arms wrapped fully around me.

God, it had been so long.

And it felt so right.

Chapter Sixteen

Her mouth was soft and familiar and absolutely wrecking me.

I’d remembered kissing her.

Of course I had. But memory was a cheap imitation of the real thing. I’d forgotten the small, broken whimper she made when she really meant it. I’d forgotten the way her fingers slid into my hair and kneaded at my scalp like she was trying to anchor herself. I’d forgotten how she pressed against me—chest to chest, hip to hip—as if she wanted to fuse us into one body and never come apart.

How the hell did I ever live without this?

She pulled back, panting a little, pupils blown wide. Her eyes had that dreamy, half-dazed shine I used to see when we’d slip back into bed on Sunday mornings and pretend the world didn’t exist.

“Zarek,” she whispered. “I need you.”

Everything in my body went still.

Was she asking for what I thought she was?

Was she finally—after months—asking me back into that last, sacred place we hadn’t shared since the world had ended?

Her throat worked. “Please, Zarek. Don’t make me beg.”

Oh hell. She was asking.

For a second, I just stared at her like an idiot. Then my brain caught up and joy—real joy—hit me so fast it felt like a punch.

I cupped her cheek. “I would never make you beg,” I murmured. “You’re precious to me.”

I bent down and scooped her up so I could carry her the way I always had—arms under her thighs, mouth against her throat.

She shoved at my shoulder immediately. “Your ribs,” she said, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t carry me.”

Dammit. She was right.

I let her slide down, biting back a curse as my side protested.

She threaded her fingers through mine, warm and certain, and tugged me toward our bedroom. When she pushed open the door and saw the perfectly made bed, she giggled—an actual giggle—like we were teenagers sneaking around.

“Are we allowed to mess this up?” she asked, glancing back at me with mischief in her eyes.

“For this?” I said. “I’ll allow it.”

I hauled her against me again and kissed her, harder this time, letting months of hunger finally claw their way out. I didn’t even know how it happened, but the next second we were on the bed—her on her back, me hovering over her, my hand under her shirt, my thumb stroking over the cup of her bra. I teased the curve there, letting my thumb drag over the fabric where I knew her nipple waited.

“Don’t tease,” she whispered, voice trembling. “I need you too much. It’s been too long.”