Page 68 of Unleashed
I whimper into his mouth, hips twitching even though I’m too spent to move. “I’ll never get enough of you.”
His forehead presses to mine, eyes dark and wild but soft, too. His breath rasps over my lips. “Then don’t. Never fucking stop needing me, Everly. Because I’ll never stop giving you more.”
Chapter 23
ISAIA
Her skin is hot beneath my cheek, damp with sweat, still humming from what we just did. I let my head rest against the swell of her stomach, listening. Waiting.
My palm spreads wide over the curve, protective, possessive, as if I hold tight enough, I can fuse us together and never let go.
I kiss her belly once. Then again. Slow. Worshipful.
God, I love this bump. I love what it means. Our child. Her carrying the proof of us inside her body. I never thought I could love anything the way I love her, but this…this breaks me open and has my heart beating outside my chest.
Her fingers weave lazily through my hair, soft, absent, but every stroke cuts me deeper. Because it feels like forgiveness I don’t deserve. I don’t deserve a woman like her, but fuck me if I won’t take her anyway.
The silence between us isn’t empty—it’s a weight, heavy as stone. It’s the sound of everything I’ve done, every choice I made that left her alone, echoing back at me.
“I’m sorry.”
The words taste like ash in my mouth. I don’t even lift my head to look at her. I just press another kiss to her stomach, letting my mouth say what my voice can’t.I’m sorry. I love you. I’ll never stop being sorry.
She doesn’t answer. And maybe she shouldn’t. My apologies don’t erase the nights she cried herself to sleep. They don’t erase the lies.
So I tell her with my hands instead. I curve one around her side, cradling her hip like she’s fragile, stroking her skin slowly with my thumb, back and forth, steady, like I can soothe her just by being careful enough. My other hand stays anchored on her stomach, rubbing faint circles there, as if I’m already trying to calm our baby, too.
When her tear slips free, I see it glisten in the dim light, and my chest caves in. I don’t think. I just lean up, dragging my tongue over her cheek. Tasting her salt. Her pain. Taking it into me like I deserve to carry it.
She exhales, trembling, and the sound cracks me more than any bullet ever could.
“Why?” The word is barely a whisper yet carves between my ribs.
I don’t know if she means the lie. Or the silence. The absence. But it doesn’t matter, because the answer is the same.
I meet her eyes in the dark and let her see the wreckage I’ve been carrying. “Because I can’t lose you.”
Her breath shudders, and mine matches it, chest pressed against hers, heart pounding so loud it feels like the only sound in the room.
“I listened to all your voicemails. Every single one.”
She sucks in a breath like she’s holding back a sob.
“I heard every word. Every laugh. Every tremor when you tried not to cry.”
The whimper she lets out guts me, every tear she sheds slicing deeper.
“I’m so fucking sorry, troublemaker.” I kiss her stomach again, my lips dragging over the swell, lingering like I can brand myself there. “You don’t know how many times I sat in the dark with your voice in my ear, fists clenched, dying to call back.”
Her fingers tighten slightly in my hair, not pulling, not pushing. Just there. Present. And it unravels me.
I shift up, kiss the space just under her breast, then her collarbone, tasting the sheen of sweat still clinging to her skin. My hand stays splayed wide on her stomach, holding both of them, like I can anchor myself with that touch.
“I’ve missed you every second,” I confess, my voice cracking, breaking me down to bone. “I missed your laugh, the sound of you breathing next to me in the middle of the night. The way your voice would shake when you beg me to touch you.” My forehead presses to hers. “I missedyou. Every piece of you.”
I close my eyes, breathe her in, and whisper, “I don’t deserve you, or your forgiveness. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to.”
Her breath stutters against my mouth, but she doesn’t speak. Just looks at me, wide-eyed and shining, like she’s standing on the edge of something she isn’t sure she wants to see.
