Page 85 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

She’s saying she needsme.

And that’s all it takes.

I step into her like I’m answering a question we’ve both been asking for years. My hand finds her waist, the other slipping into her hair, and then—our mouths meet.

It’s not hesitant. Not gentle.

It’shungry.

Our lips crash like we’re making up for every moment we held back. Her fingers fist into the fabric of my shirt, and I’m already pulling her closer, anchoring her against me like I’m terrified she’ll vanish if I blink too long.

It feels like she's trying to etch the shape of my mouth into her memory with every kiss. Like she needs it to breathe. And God, I’ve never wanted anything more than to be the air she inhales.

Her hands slide beneath my shirt, brushing over the skin of my stomach, slow and purposeful. Her fingertips are soft, but theyigniteme. Like every nerve ending is lighting up just because she touched me there.

I raise my arms and let her peel my shirt off. The cotton brushing my skin sends a shiver down my spine. Her eyes linger as she takes me in—her breath hitching just enough for me to notice.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make meachefor her.

I guide her backward, our mouths still locked together, until the backs of her legs hit the bed. She sits first, her eyes locked to mine, lips parted, cheeks flushed. Then slowly—soslowly—she lowers herself back onto the mattress like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

She’s all flushed skin and messy hair and trembling breath, and I haveneverseen anything more beautiful.

She looks up at me like I already have her—but still dares me to earn her.

My heart pounds so hard it might shake the room.

“Are you sure?” I ask, voice rough, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. I’m not sure how I keep my hands from shaking. It’s not our first time together, but this time feels different. Like she’s finally giving me her everything.

Though barely audible, her reply sears right through me. “I’m sure.”

Then her hands are back on me, gliding over my chest, tracing the lines of my body like she’s discovering something new. Her nails scrape lightly down my stomach, and I stifle a groan—because if I start letting this unravel me now, I might never come back.

I press her into the mattress, her legs wrapping around my waist like instinct. Our bodies mould together in a heat I swear I’ve never felt before—not like this. It’s not just physical. It’s something else. Something deeper. Like she’s not just under my skin—sheismy skin.

We kiss like we’re desperate to feeleverything—slow and lingering one second, fast and breathless the next. Her hands in my hair. My mouth on her neck. Her hips arching up to meet mine in slow, teasing movements that make my self-control slip one notch at a time.

Every brush of skin, every gasp and soft moan, every heartbeat pounding beneath my palm—it’s all her.

After what felt like an eternity, we finally let go.

Let go of fear. Of control. Of pretending.

Just us—breathless, tangled, and undone.

* * *

The light in the room shifts—soft, streaks spilling in through the blinds and painting the sheets in long lines of morning sun.

Ally is curled up beside me, tucked beneath my arm, her bare shoulder exposed. Her breathing is slow.

Peaceful.

I can feel it, soft and rhythmic, where her chest presses against mine. Her fingers trace slow circles over my sternum like she’s sketching words she’s not ready to say aloud.

I lie still, afraid to move. Afraid to wake whatever delicate truce has settled over the space between us.

She hasn’t looked this calm in weeks. No nightmares. No tension lining her spine. Just… quiet.

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