Page 60 of Never Quite Gone

My fingers intertwined with his, the gesture as natural as breathing. Even now, even with all his fears, his touch felt like coming home. “We don't have to know everything,” I said softly. “Some patterns are worth the risk.”

The city stretched below us, its lights reflecting stars that had watched us find and lose each other countless times. But this felt different – not fate or destiny, but choice. Real choice, with full knowledge of what it might cost.

Eli's eyes met mine, carrying centuries of love and loss, but also something new. Something uniquely his, uniquely now. His hand trembled slightly in mine, but he didn't pull away.

“May I kiss you?” I asked quietly, giving him the power to choose, to decide, to write this story his own way.

Time seemed to pause as he searched my face. I saw the moment his decision crystallized – not forgetting Michael, not ignoring our past lives, but choosing to make room for something new alongside all of it.

His nod was slow, deliberate. When I leaned in, he met me halfway – a choice made together, a new pattern beginning.

The kiss was soft at first – tentative, like two people who had known each other across lifetimes yet were still learning each other's rhythms. It held the weight of unspoken histories, of moments remembered and forgotten, of connections that transcended time. His lips were warm, familiar in a way that defied logic, yet entirely present – anchored in this moment, this breath, this singular connection. The cool metal of his wedding ringpressed against my cheek, a reminder of complexity, of layers – not a barrier, but a part of the intricate tapestry of who he was.

I expected hesitation. A moment of restraint. But Eli kissed me harder, deepening it before I had the chance to fully register what was happening. His body pressed against mine, the warmth of him seeping through our clothes, his fingers threading into my hair like he was relearning every strand, every forgotten detail of me.

I gasped against his lips when his teeth grazed my bottom lip, a quiet, desperate sound breaking from my throat. That sound undid something in him. He let out a soft curse, hands firm as they pulled me closer, molding me against him, chest to chest, heart to heart. It wasn’t just passion—it was memory and longing and the unbearable weight of time collapsing between us.

The city stretched around us, an expanse of lights and movement, but here, on this rooftop, we existed in a quiet, suspended moment. The world below continued, oblivious, and the stars above burned with an indifference that should have made me feel small but instead made this feel monumental.

“Alex,” he whispered against my mouth, my name half a breath, half a prayer.

His hands moved, ghosting down my sides, hesitant yet determined. I knew the moment his fingers curled around my waist that we were moving past the point of no return. A quiet, slow-burning panic flickered inside me—not fear, not regret, but the gravity of what this meant. We had spent lifetimes missing each other, wanting but never reaching. Now, we were on the precipice of changing that.

I pulled back just enough to look into his eyes. They were impossibly dark, reflecting the night sky, filled with things I didn’t dare name. “Are you sure?” I asked, voice raw.

He exhaled shakily, his forehead pressing against mine. “I’m tired of feeling this way,” he admitted. “Tired of wanting and never letting myself have. I need this, Alex. I need you.”

Something broke open inside me. Maybe it was the weight ofthe past, maybe it was the future stretching before us, full of unknowns and second chances. But in that moment, I knew what he meant. I knew what he was asking for—what he was offering.

Our mouths crashed together again, a little desperate now, a little reckless. My hands fumbled at his shirt, pushing it up, fingers tracing the bare skin beneath. He shivered at my touch, a sharp intake of breath making my stomach clench. He was here, he was real, he wasmine—at least for tonight.

We sank onto the rooftop, the rough texture of concrete under my back barely registering. Eli was everywhere—his mouth at my throat, his hands mapping the planes of my body with a kind of reverence that made my breath hitch. Every touch, every brush of his lips against my skin, was a declaration. We had spent lifetimes apart, and now he was memorizing me all over again.

I reached between us, palming him through his jeans, feeling the hard length of him straining against the fabric. He let out a sharp, unguarded groan that went straight to my gut. My own cock ached, pressing against the confinement of my pants, and suddenly everything felt too tight, too much.

“Fuck,” he breathed against my neck. “Alex?—”

I sat up just enough to reach for my pocket, pulling out the small bottle of lube I kept there. I wasn’t anticipating this—not exactly—but some part of me had always been waiting for him, hoping for this moment, however impossible it had seemed before tonight.

Eli watched me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his lips swollen and wet. His fingers trembled as he reached for his belt, unfastening it with an urgency that made heat pool low in my stomach. I pushed my jeans down, freeing my cock, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the heat of his hands when they closed around me.

I bit back a moan, my fingers tightening on his hip. “Eli?—”

“Let me,” he whispered, eyes dark with intent.

I let him. I let him touch me, stroke me, his fingers wrapping around the base of my cock with a confidence that felt bothfamiliar and brand new. He kissed me again, swallowing the sounds I made as his hand moved, slow and deliberate. My hips bucked, seeking more, but he was unhurried, savoring every reaction.

“You make the best noises,” he murmured, lips grazing my jaw.

I laughed breathlessly. “And you’re taking your damn time.”

He smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached for the lube, slicking his fingers before pressing them between my legs, teasing at my entrance. I let out a shuddering breath as he circled my hole, the sensation making my thighs tense before I forced myself to relax into it.

“Still with me?” he asked, voice low, intimate.

I nodded. “Never left.”

He pressed in, just one finger at first, moving carefully, watching my face for any sign of discomfort. There was none. Just the slow stretch, the ache of anticipation, the undeniable rightness of this. Another finger joined the first, scissoring, opening me up. My cock throbbed against my stomach, my body alive with sensation, every nerve ending tuned tohim.

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