Page 52 of Lost in Fire

His lips are firm, the slight graze of stubble against my chin leaving a trail of fire that makes my flesh tingle. My hands explore the landscape of his body, relearning muscles and scars and sensitive spots I’d thought I’d forgotten. He’s broader than he was before, more solid, but his skin still tastes the same under my tongue.

When his mouth trails down my throat, I arch beneath him, every nerve ending coming alive.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” he murmurs against my collarbone.

Tears I didn’t expect burn behind my eyes. “I thought I’d lost myself.”

“Never.” His lips brush over my heart, then close around my tightening nipple before he raises his head. “You were always here. Always mine.”

He takes his time, but there’s nothing gentle in his exploration. This isn’t the hesitant worship of new lovers—it’s reclamation. His mouth traces the lines of my ribs, the slight softening of my belly, the dip of my navel, making me writhe as sensations I’d forgotten begin to coil within my core.

“Oh… fuck!” I gasp as he moves lower down my body, his breath warm against my mound.

“You’ve changed,” he murmurs against my inner thigh, his cheek rasping sensitive skin. “But your taste—” His tongue strokes upward along the seam of my pussy in one long, deliberate motion that makes my back bow off the bed. “—that’s exactly how I remembered.”

I clench my fingers in his hair, urging him closer as sensation floods through me. The skilled press of his tongue against my clit makes coherent thought impossible. There’s only the building pressure, the desperate need for release, for connection that goes beyond physical.

When I’m trembling on the edge, he pulls away.

No! Why?!

“Hargen! Please!” My protest dies as he rises above me, positioning his cock at my slick entrance. Our eyes lock, and the naked vulnerability in his gaze is more intimate than any touch.

“I want you inside me,” I demand, my voice almost unrecognizable with need. “Now.”

“Yes,” he groans. He drives forward in one powerful thrust, filling me so completely I gasp at the exquisite pressure. For onesuspended moment, we’re perfectly still, joined after decades apart, our bodies remembering what our minds tried to forget.

Then he begins to move, and it all comes flooding back. Each deep stroke hits something inside me that obliterates every painful memory. His thumb finds the sensitive bundle of nerves above where we’re joined, circling with deliberate pressure as his rhythm intensifies.

“God, Hargen… I never forgot this,” I gasp as pleasure coils tighter, my nails scoring red lines down his back. “When I closed my eyes… every night—”

“I know.” His voice breaks as his control slips, his movements becoming harder, deeper, the bed rocking beneath us. “You haunted me. There was never anyone but you.”

“And there was no one but you.” The admission shatters something in me. I wrap my legs around his waist, changing the angle until he hits that perfect spot with each thrust. The pressure builds beyond bearing, muscles tensing as I hover on the precipice.

“Look at me,” he commands, one hand gripping my jaw. “See me when you come.”

Our eyes lock as the wave crests. I convulse around him, the walls of my pussy squeezing his shaft as pleasure tears through me with almost violent intensity. The sight of my release triggers his own—his features contorting, muscles straining as he drives deep one final time, pulsing inside me.

“Fuck! Vanya!” My name seems torn from him.

We collapse together, slick with sweat, hearts thundering against each other’s chests. His weight pins me to the mattress, solid and real in a way memory never was.

For long minutes, we simply hold each other in the aftermath. His fingers trace lazy patterns on my skin while I listen to his heartbeat slowly return to normal.

“Stay with me tonight,” I whisper. “Don’t go back to the other room.”

“Try to make me leave.”

I curl against his side, my head on his chest, letting myself believe for these stolen hours that this is real. That we’re a family. That tomorrow will bring escape instead of sacrifice.

Tonight, I’m not the Shadowhand or the grieving mother or the strategic mastermind.

Tonight, I’m just Vanya, held in the arms of my man, dreaming of the life we’ll never have.

His breathing evens out gradually, exhaustion finally claiming him. But I stay awake, watching the rise and fall of his chest, counting the minutes until dawn forces me to make the choice I’ve known I’d have to make since the moment I sent that message.

Tomorrow, I become the Shadowhand once more.

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