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“Harder,” I gasped out, needing more.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m not fragile.”

“I know. You’re fucking steel.”

He snapped his hips, and I cried out.

“Like that?”

“Exactly like that.”

Faster now. Desperate. The table shook under us. Neither of us cared.

All I could think was, this is what I almost gave up. This connection. This feeling of being with someone who wanted me for who I am.

“Touch yourself,” he said, sliding his hand around to my hip to help guide me upward to meet his thrusts. “I want to feel you come around me.”

My hand slid between us, finding my clit. “Oh fuck⁠—”

“That’s it. Let me see you.”

I could feel it building, pressure coiling tighter and tighter inside me.

“Brashe…”

“I’m here. I’m with you. Come for me.”

I shattered, clenching around him, his name on my lips, pleasure ripping through me so hard I forgot how to breathe. He followed seconds later. Buried himself deep and came hard, both of us shaking and holding each other through it.

Neither of us wanted to move.

He curled forward, lowering his forehead to mine. “I meant what I said about loving you.”

My throat closed up. The words had been sitting in my chest since the parking lot. Since he’d stood in the treatment room doorway looking wrecked. Since the pool, maybe. Since the picnic, if I was being honest.

“I love you too,” I whispered.

He pulled back to look at me, his eyes searching mine like he was afraid he’d misheard.

“I love you,” I said again, louder this time. Braver. “I think I’ve loved you since you asked if I’d eaten breakfast. Or maybe since you laminated that instruction sheet. I don’t know when it started. I just know it’s there and it won’t go away.”

“Good. Because I meant it too.”

He leaned back to look at me. We were both crying again.

“We’re a mess,” I said.

“Best mess we’ve ever made.”

We stayed like that, tangled together, both of us trying to catch our breath. His weight pressed me into the table, the paper crinkling every time one of us shifted. I could feel his heartbeat against my chest, still racing.

“I don’t want to move,” he said into my neck.

“We probably should.”

“Probably.”