Page 42 of Better as It

“You sure?”

He nods, still massaging. “It was a light week for treatment. No drip this round. Just pills.”

I open one eye. “And?”

“And I didn’t puke. Yet.”

I smirk. “Progress.”

He grins back. “Told you I’m tough.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

I don’t deny it. Because I do love it. I love everything about him. It’s just mixed up inside me. The past us and the current us aren’t the same even though we are still us.

I let my hand drift across his thigh, light and slow. His fingers pause on my foot. The shift in energy is immediate, still soft, but charged.

Our eyes meet.

Neither of us speaks.

Instead, I slide closer, legs draping across his lap, hands curling in his shirt.

He leans in first.

His mouth finds mine, and it’s not hurried or wild. It’s steady like Justin. Gentle. His lips linger. His hands curve around my hips, warm and sure.

I breathe him in, cedar soap, the faintest taste of mint toothpaste, and kiss him deeper, hunger creeping in like fire catching kindling.

He shifts, lifting me with care like I might break. I feel huge. He touches me like I’m delicate and still wanted.

We make it to his bed one kiss at a time.

He lays me down, hands brushing over my belly like it’s a sacred thing. I kiss his jaw, his neck, the scar near his collarbone that he never talks about.

He’s slower now—different than the last time. It’s not just sex. It’s connection.

His hand slides under my shirt, and I let him feel the curve of my stomach. I watch his expression shift. Not fear. Not uncertainty.

Just awe.

He undresses me like he’s memorizing every new mark and curve. His hands on my hips, mouth on my shoulder, eyes never leaving mine.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice thick.

“You’re crazy.”

“Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

When he’s inside me, it’s not about forgetting. It’s about remembering. Who we are, what we’ve survived, how fragile and raw we’ve both become.

I clutch him to me like I need him to anchor me.

And when I come apart, it’s not loud. It’s not wild.

It’s quiet and deep and so full of love that I could cry. After, we lie tangled together, my head on his chest, his fingers stroking slow circles into my back.

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