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We somehow make it to the bedroom even though I don’t remember getting there. He presses me onto the bed, his body hard and demanding against mine, and I can feel how much he wants me through the denim of his jeans. I arch into him, needing the friction, needing the pressure, needing him.

"Please," I manage between kisses.

His mouth moves down my throat, teeth grazing my collarbone.

"Need to feel you. Need to know you're real."

I tug at his shirt, and he breaks away just long enough to pull it over his head. I do the same with mine, and then his mouth is on my breast, sucking through the lace of my bra, and my head falls back against the wall with a thud.

"Rhett—"

"I've got you." He reaches behind me, unhooks my bra with practiced ease, and then his mouth is on my skin, hot and wet and perfect. "Always got you, even when I was gone. Even when I was stupid enough to leave."

I grab his hair, pulling his mouth back to mine. "Less talking. More⁠—"

He swallows my words with a kiss that leaves me dizzy. His hands move to my jeans, unbuttoning, unzipping, and then his fingers are sliding beneath the fabric of my underwear, finding me already wet, already ready.

"Fuck," he groans. "Carys⁠—"

"Now, Rhett. Please."

He doesn't need more encouragement. He pushes my jeans down my hips, follows them with my underwear, and then he's kneeling in front of me, pressing his mouth to the inside of my thigh. I gasp, my hands finding purchase in his hair as he works his way higher, his breath hot against my most sensitive skin.

When his tongue finds me, I bite back a cry, conscious of Sayer sleeping just down the hall. Rhett seems to sense my restraint because he looks up, eyes dark with desire, and he whispers to me.

"Let me hear you. I've waited 15 years to hear you."

He returns to his task with renewed focus, his tongue circling my clit with devastating precision. I press my hand against my mouth, trying to muffle the sounds he's dragging from me, but when he slides two fingers inside me while sucking gently, I can't hold back the moan.

He works me with his mouth and his fingers, his free hand gripping my hip to hold me steady. The pleasure builds fast and sharp, too much sensation after too long without. I'm panting, writhing against the wall, and when he crooks his fingers just right, I come apart with a strangled cry that he swallows by surging up to kiss me again.

I can taste myself on his lips, and it sends a fresh wave of arousal through me.

"Inside me," I demand, my voice unsteady. "Now."

He listens. He crawls up the length of my body—my jeans still tangled around one ankle, my shirt gone somewhere in the hallway—and positions himself at my entrance.

He’s changed—there are scars now, silvery lines across his chest and shoulder, and his body is harder, leaner than it was—but he's still Rhett. Still the man I loved with a recklessness that terrified me.

The feel of his skin against mine is overwhelming. He's everywhere—his mouth on my neck, his hands on my breasts, his cock hard and heavy against my hip.

"I need to be inside you," he says, his voice strained. "Please, Carys. I need⁠—"

"Yes." I spread my legs wider, inviting him. "Now, Rhett. I need you too."

The head of his cock presses against me, and we both freeze for a moment, looking into each other's eyes.

"I never stopped loving you either," I whisper.

He closes his eyes, something like pain crossing his features, and then he pushes inside me in one long, slow thrust.

We both gasp. He fills me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way, and for a moment he doesn't move, just stays there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed against mine.

"You're so tight," he breathes. "So perfect. God, Carys⁠—"

"Move," I urge, rocking my hips against him. "Please, Rhett. Move."

He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in with a force that sends pleasure sparking up my spine. He sets a rhythm—deep, powerful strokes that hit exactly where I need him—and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust.