POV Mara
Days bled into each other in the rehabilitation ward, each one a fresh betrayal of silence. Adrian's absence was a physical thing, pressing against my chest where the bullet wound still throbbed—two pains overlapping, indistinguishable.
I'd memorized the pattern of ceiling tiles, counted them forward and backward while my body rebuilt itself and my mind tore itself apart. No texts. No calls. Not even the courtesy of a goodbye that meant something.
"That painter finally committed to frames," Sera said, settling into the visitor's chair with our daily coffee ritual. "Only took three mental breakdowns and a mild threat of contract breach."
"Mm," I managed, accepting the cup, needing the burn of it against my palms more than the caffeine.
"Tomorrow's discharge day," she continued, studying me with those eyes that saw too much. "I'll be here early."
The next morning arrived like a verdict. Sera appeared with a leather jacket and efficiency, managing the paperwork while I stood there feeling untethered, like I might float away without the hospital walls to contain me.
"Just take me to a hotel," I said as we reached her car, the words scraping out before she could ask where I wanted to go. "Something anonymous. Expensive. I don't care."
She didn't question it, just drove while I stared out the window at a city that felt foreign now, like I'd been gone years instead of days.
"Adrian's integrating well," she said finally, so casually it took me a moment to process. "Into his new position with my uncle."
My chest constricted, ribs tightening around that hollow space where something used to live. "Does he ever..." I stopped, hating myself for asking, unable to not ask. "Does he ask about me?"
"Constantly." Her smile was knowing, gentle. "He checks in every day, Mara. The man is head over heels. I'm proud of you for thawing someone like that."
The laugh that escaped me sounded wrong, brittle as old glass. "Just the hotel, Sera. Please."
* * *
Night stretched endless in that sterile room. The sheets were too crisp, the silence too complete, my skin too tight around this wanting that wouldn't die no matter how many times I told myself he'd made his choice.
At three AM, my body moved without permission. The decision had already been made somewhere below consciousness, in that place where need lived independent of pride.
The taxi ride blurred past. His building code was muscle memory—my fingers knew it like they knew the weight of a gun. The elevator rose, complicit and silent.
His penthouse was dark, forgiving. I moved through it by feel and memory.
His bedroom door stood ajar. Adrian slept on his back, vulnerable in unconsciousness, one arm flung above his head like surrender. The sight of him—unguarded, reachable—cracked something open in my chest.
I lay down on the far edge first, testing, then closer, pulled by his gravity until his breathing became my rhythm. Sleep found me there, curved toward him like a prayer.
* * *
"Mara?"
Fingers on my cheek, impossibly gentle. His eyes were open, catching dawn light, and there was no surprise in them. Like he'd been expecting me. Like he'd been waiting.
"Are you asleep?" he asked, though we both knew better.
"No," I whispered, my voice rough with want and wonder that he hadn't thrown me out, hadn't even seemed surprised to find me here.
"Come shower with me," I said, the invitation escaping before fear could strangle it.
The words hung between us, dangerous as loaded weapons. He nodded, rising, leading me to his bathroom where morning painted everything gold and forgiven.
His hands were impossibly gentle as he worked soap over my skin, careful around the raised scar tissue where the bullet had torn through me—entrance wound below my left breast, exit between my shoulder blades.
"Does it hurt?" he murmured, fingers ghosting over the marks.
"Everything hurts without you," I admitted, the truth spilling out with the water.
"I thought about this," he murmured against my neck, water streaming between us. "Every night. Thought I was losing my mind with wanting you."
"Then why—" I started, but his mouth found mine, swallowing the question, answering it with the desperate press of his body against mine.
We dried each other with ritual slowness, his cock already hard, thick with need. When he lifted me, I wrapped myself around him, letting him carry me like something precious and breakable, though we both knew I was neither.
He laid me down with terrible gentleness, covering my body with his. "I need to see you," he said, pulling back enough to meet my eyes. "Need to know this is real."
"It's real," I breathed, guiding him to my entrance, already wet, already aching. "Please, Adrian. I need—"
He pushed inside me in one slow, devastating thrust, filling me completely. The stretch of him, the weight, the perfect fullness—my back arched off the bed as my body welcomed him.
"God, Mara," he groaned, starting to move, deep and deliberate. "You feel—fuck, you feel perfect."
His mouth found my breast, tongue circling my nipple while his cock drove deeper, hitting that spot inside that made stars explode behind my eyelids. My nails raked his back, leaving marks, claiming him the way he was claiming me.
"I want this to last forever," I gasped as his thumb found my clit, circling in rhythm with his thrusts. "Don't disappear from my life again. Promise me—"
"Take everything," he said, his control shattering, hips driving harder, deeper. "From this moment on, take all of it. Take me."
His fingers worked my clit as his cock filled me again and again, the dual sensation building into something unbearable, unstoppable.
When I came, it was with his name torn from my throat, my body clenching around him, pulling him deeper as waves of pleasure wrecked me.
He followed immediately, his release pulsing hot inside me as he buried his face in my neck, my name a broken prayer against my skin.
We lay tangled afterward, his fingers tracing my spine while I listened to his heartbeat slow.
"Breakfast?" he offered, pressing a kiss to my temple, his voice still rough from our shared undoing.
"Yes," I said, meaning breakfast, meaning everything, meaning don't let me go this time.