Page 54 of When We Are Complete

“You taste so damn good.”

“Jake, please,” she whimpers, and my mouth stays on her clit, sucking and licking as one of her hands laces through myhair, applying pressure to the back of my head, the other fisting the comforter.

My fingers slide inside the wet heat of her, pumping and curling, while my mouth stays on her clit, alternating licks with sucks and light nips. Her body responds, building toward a crescendo that soon has her crying out my name like a prayer.

When she comes apart, my whole world snaps into sharp focus. This. Her.Us. It’s everything. And for the first time in a long while, I let myself believe it might be possible to have it all.

Just the taste of her, the feel of her coming undone under my touch, has me rock hard, and I reach for the nightstand, fumble with a condom, and tear the foil packet with my teeth, a feral grin splitting my face.

Her gaze is locked onto mine, dark eyes wide and heavy with need. I roll the condom on, while she’s spread out beneath me like some kind of beautiful offering, and damn if I’m not the luckiest bastard alive.

“I’ve been waiting for this all week, ever since we got trapped by the storms and I fucked you in front of the fire,” I say, guiding myself to her entrance, pushing in slow—so damn slow—watching myself disappear inch by inch into the soft velvet of her. The restraint nearly kills me, but I’m hell-bent on savoring every second, every gasp, every hitch in her breath.

“Me too,” she replies between soft moans. “You’re like a drug. I can’t get you out of my head.”

“You don’t need to get me out. I’m not going anywhere.”

And then I’m fully sheathed, enveloped by her. I still for a moment, letting us both savor the connection, the depth of it. It’s not just sex; it’s memories, heartbeats syncing, the past whispering around us.

“Fuck me, Jake. Please. I need you.”

Her words are my undoing. I start rolling my hips, a tempo that has us both moaning. With each thrust, I stake my claim,and with my thumb on her sensitive nub, I push her closer to the edge again.

Her hands are greedy, gripping me, wanting more, her legs open wide, welcoming me deep inside. We move against one another, lost in each other, time ceasing to exist, until she comes again, and I follow straight after, my body going rigid as I pulse inside her, her body clenching around me.

We both clean up a little and get back into bed, a tangle of limbs and damp skin, her head resting on my chest, breathing together in the quiet aftermath. The ceiling fan whirls above us, casting lazy shadows across the room, but my focus is on Kelly, on the delicate weight of her against me.

This is big. There’s something tender and terrifying in the way she curls into me. She’s letting herself be vulnerable with me, despite everything we’ve been through, which only makes me want to shield her fromeverything.

“Could this be real?” I whisper into her hair, not expecting an answer. But the question hangs there, stirring up everything we’ve had to forget since that night Jenny told me she was pregnant. She shifts, nuzzling closer, and there’s a silent nod between us.

“Stay with me tonight,” I say. The words are an offering, a promise, a plea.

“I’ll stay,” she says, and something settles deep in my chest—a piece clicking into place, the universe answering my question.

Yeah, this could be the start of something real.

I trace the line of her collarbone with my finger, the sheen of sweat on her skin. We lie there for a long time, just holding each other, until I wrap my arms around her and squeeze. “Do you want something to drink? Maybe a snack?”

“Some water would be great.”

I head into the kitchen and fill two glasses with chilled water from the fridge, pausing for a moment, leaning againstthe bench, replaying the day, remembering Mom and Lucy with their well-meaning advice.

Sure, I could try to be more in touch with my emotional side, but right now, with Kelly’s scent still on me,nothingneeds fixing. I do get their point though, and while we don’t need to talk aboutmyemotions, I should at least offer to talk about hers.

I head back to the bedroom and pass her a glass of water, before settling on the bed again beside her

“Hey,” I say. “We didn’t really get to talk properly the other day when you told me about your mom. How have you been holding up? It must be hard being back here. There are so many memories.” There it is—my attempt at emotional depth, as clumsy as a bull in a china shop.

She doesn’t flinch, though; just looks up and gives me that same stoic look she’s always worn when things get tough. “It hurt a lot,” she admits. “But I’m doing fine. It’s life, right? Sometimes shit happens and you’ve just gotta keep going.”

Fineis such a bullshit word, even I know that, but I let it slide this time. Everyone grieves differently, and it’s not my place to call her out or make her feel bad. Not when she’s lying here, every damn fantasy I’ve ever had come to life, her silky dark hair fanned out on my pillow.

“Alright, but I’m here for you for anything you need.” Because what else is there to say? I can’t fix what’s broken in her, can’t glue the pieces of her shattered heart back together. But I can be here, holding her, supporting her until she heals.

“Thanks for asking, though,” she adds, a hint of something softer sneaking into her tone. “You and Jenny seem to be doing so well at this parenting thing.”

“Yeah, it was hard when we first split.” I don’t want to tell her my deep seated fear that Adele’s struggles are a reflection of some failure on my part. My worry that the aftershocks of mine and Jen’s divorce finally making themselves felt.

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