Page 45 of Leon

The kiss was tentative, a question and an apology all at once, and when she opened her eyes, she saw reflected in his gaze not the man she'd wed, but the one she'd nearly lost to silence and regret. Their foreheads rested together, breath mingling in the golden hush. For a moment, the world contracted to this small, sunlit room and the fragile bond being rewoven between them.

A clock ticked somewhere, its rhythm gentle and steady. Behind the glass, the swans drifted on, oblivious to the ache and hope within the cottage walls. She pressed closer, feeling a shiver chase up her spine—not from cold, but from the possibility that, here, healing was not a distant dream.

He brushed a thumb beneath her eye, catching a tear before it could fall. "We're here," he whispered, the words a promise as fragile as spun glass. She nodded, unable to speak, and let the hush enfold them. The tension in her shoulders eased as she let herself be held, surrounded by the scent of old wood, lavender, and the faint trace of his cologne.

Outside, the light faded to a gentle twilight, painting the sky in watercolor streaks. She drew back just enough to look up at him, searching for the reassurance she needed. He smiled, tentative but real, and she saw in his eyes a reflection of her own hope, fragile but bright. Together, they stood at the threshold of forgiveness, uncertain but willing, as evening settled softly around them.

No words were spoken between them. He did not want to upset the delicate balance. Wrapping his arms around her narrow waist, he drew her to him, kissing her with a hunger that was reciprocated. She sighed, her mouth opening like a flower that had been starving for the sunlight. Heat spiraled through her body, desire sparked and rose, spreading everywhere. She felt her blood pounding, or it might have been her heart. Her nipples ached, rising in response to his touch. She tasted the dark sweetness that was his and combined it with her own. Her hands lifted, drifting over his face, tangling with his thick blonde hair.

He took her deeper still, body already on fire, heart beating like a jackhammer inside his chest. He was as hard as steel, hot and hungry for her. His wife, the only woman he had ever loved. Nothing else mattered except what they were to each other. It was right now. Lifting her into his arms, he continued to kiss her, his hunger increasing.

Ending the kiss, he drew in several deep breaths as he stared down at her. She bewitched him, made him forget everything else but her.

"I should feed you." His voice was hoarse, his knees unsteady. The blood had drained out of his head to settle in his lower body.

"I need you." She lifted her mouth to his and sent him reeling. His heart shattered at the yearning she poured into the kiss, and he could only respond.

He knew the cottage well, and ending the kiss, he quickly took them to the master bedroom. Soft lights filtered into the room, giving her a fleeting glimpse of faded antique furnishings and a mellow green and white quilt on the beautiful wrought iron bed. Sliding her down his body, he stood there in the middle of the room, his hands cupping her face.

For one suspended heartbeat, neither moved—caught in the gravity of longing and memory. She traced his jaw, fingers trembling as she memorized the beloved lines of his face, the stubborn set of his mouth softened by tenderness. He pressed his forehead to hers, their breaths mingling in the hush, and then, gently, he eased her back onto the bed. The quilt whispered beneath them, carrying the faint scent of sun-dried linens, the ghosts of laughter and whispered dreams.

He kissed her again, slow and aching, as if to etch every sensation into memory. Her hands slid beneath his shirt, palms mapping the landscape of his back, the heat of his skin searing through the thin cotton. For a brief, bright moment, she let herself believe they could be new, that the hurts of yesterday might dissolve beneath the weight of this reconnection.

They moved together, rediscovering the language of each other's bodies—their rhythm tentative at first, then urgent, desperate. Every touch was redemption, a plea and a pledge; every sigh, an unspoken understanding. Outside, dusk deepened, the first stars blinking into existence as the world continued, unknowing, uncaring—leaving only the two of them, wrapped in the warmth of possibility.

He left her but only to undress and came back, settling next to her, gentle hands removing every stitch of clothing. His touch lingered, fingers trailing slowly, evoking heat and had hertrembling. The need stirred and was answered. He explored her body, every curve and texture familiar to him. The only sounds in the otherwise quiet room were the ticking of the ancient clock and the sighs and thundering of hearts overwhelmed with passion. Her hands drifted to his broad shoulders, grazing his golden skin. This was the man she had fallen in love with. She could believe that everything would work out. As if in answer to her unspoken question, he lifted his head, eyes meeting hers, the love and passion giving her hope.

She whispered his name, repeatedly, her hands drawing his face down to hers. He called her name, kisses deepening, bodies molding, breaths mingling. Then it was time. He was filled to bursting and could wait no longer. Neither of them seemed to notice or care that he had not stopped to use protection. When he slid into her, they both went still for what seemed like forever. Emotions stormed through him, and he could scarcely breathe. Then he moved, and it was as if a volcano had erupted. Her body arched and quivered. He went deep, touching her very soul. When she exploded around him, he felt the jolt straight to his heart. Lowering his head, he captured her feverish cries and felt himself surrendering. His chest went tight, his body rushing toward the finish, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

After, wrapped in each other's arms, their bodies curved together like two halves of a whole, silence settled, deep and peaceful. She listened to the cadence of his heartbeat, slower now, steady and sure. It soothed the restless ache inside her, a balm against old wounds. He brushed a kiss against her hair,anchoring her to the present, to this fragile hope that had blossomed in the shelter of twilight and forgiveness.

She closed her eyes, letting the soft hush of the cottage enfold her, and thought perhaps, just perhaps, they could begin again.

Outside, the hush of night deepened, the distant call of an owl threading through the stillness. Moonlight slipped through the parted drapes and painted shifting silver patterns across their entwined bodies, illuminating the quiet aftermath with a kind of reverence. He traced idle circles along her bare shoulder, their fingers woven together, wordless promises lingering in the tranquil air.

For a time, neither spoke—each lost in the gentle solace of the moment, hearts beating in silent accord. Eventually, he broke the hush with a whisper, confessions and apologies tangled in the softness of his voice. She listened, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming relief of being seen, of being cherished.

He held her closer, as if afraid the world outside might intrude and shatter their fragile peace. The weight of past regrets and unspoken fears seemed lighter in this shelter, dissolving under the warmth of their reunion. She turned in his arms, resting her forehead against his, searching his eyes for the future they'dboth imagined but never dared to claim. In that gaze, she found not just passion, but the steadfast patience of love renewed.

There was magic in the air; it swirled around the room, seeped into their minds and bodies. Right here, he felt as if nothing bad could ever touch them. They were one—the vows they had taken in secret felt as strong as an unshakeable force.

"I'm crushing you." He started to move, but she held him there, arms tight around his neck. She was drowsy with satisfaction, sated and contented. They were alone—together—and she was free to be with him without feeling as if their lives were about to fall apart.

"Tired?" he whispered against her ear, his breath fanning her skin.

"A little. Just stay. Please."

"Baby—"

She stopped the rest by taking his lips and sending heat trembling through his long, lean body.

"Just for a little bit then." He shifted slightly so that he could cradle her.

They drifted, half-awake and wholly content, into a silence that felt sacred. Shadows shifted on the walls, and the cottage seemed to cradle them in its quiet embrace. Tomorrow would come—uncertain, perhaps daunting—but for now, all that remained was this: the security of arms that would hold through the darkness, and the slow, steady hope that sometimes, forgiveness could be as healing as love itself.

For now, the problems had been shelved and almost forgotten. He was with her. For now, that was all that mattered to him. Closing his eyes, he followed her into sleep, the most peaceful he had had for a long time.

Chapter 13

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