Page 97 of The Silence Between

Leo took this in, thoughtful. “And the divorce?”

“Friendly enough, considering. We still text sometimes. He's in Chicago now, working with a firm there.” I hesitated, then added, “He was right about me, though. I was never fully there, not the way he deserved. Part of me was always... somewhere else.”

Something shifted in Leo's expression, maybe recognition or understanding. “And now?” he asked quietly.

“Now I'm exactly where I want to be,” I said, the simple truth easier than any fancy words. “For the first time in a really long time.”

He nodded, relief and something like hope softening his features. “One step at a time?”

“One step at a time,” I agreed, reaching across the table to take his hand. His fingers were rough from years of physical work, warm against my palm. “We've got time.”

The simple touch meant more than any dramatic gesture could have. For Leo, this openness was a gift I wasn't sure I deserved but was determined to treat right.

His eyes met mine, something unspoken passing between us. The apartment suddenly felt smaller, charged with possibility.

“Stay,” he said softly, the single word carrying a question.

“Are you sure?” I asked, my heart racing. “The kids?—“

“Mari texted that she’s going to be home late and that Sophie's sleepover got extended, and Diego's crashing at his friend's.” His fingers tightened around mine. “I want this. I want you. If you do too.”

The vulnerability in his face nearly broke me. This was Leo Reyes, the guy who calculated every risk, who planned for everything, who never acted without thinking through consequences, choosing to take a chance. On us.

“I've wanted this since I saw you again,” I admitted, my voice rough. “But only if you're sure.”

He answered not with words but by standing up, still holding my hand, gently pulling me up and toward the bedroom. His movements had none of the hesitation that had marked our careful dance these past months. For tonight at least, he'd made his choice.

And so had I.

He led me down the quiet hallway, our fingers still linked. Every step toward the bedroom felt like letting go of everything that had kept us apart for ten years. I could hear traffic outside, the soft creak of floorboards under our feet, my own breathing getting unsteady

Leo opened the bedroom door, and a faint glow from the streetlamp outside cast long shadows across the room. The bed was made, but the slight messiness of it made me ache with how lived-in it felt. This was his space, his sanctuary, and he was letting me into it, finally, completely.

He turned to me and touched my face with both hands, his thumbs brushing the curve of my jaw. His eyes searched mine, and even though he’d already said it, I needed to hear it again.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice rough.

“Yes,” he said quietly, without hesitation. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

His lips met mine like he wanted to taste every part of me. I kissed him back, letting myself feel the weight of the moment, the heat between us, the sharp pulse of want that had been simmering for far too long.

He pushed my jacket off my shoulders, fingers skimming down my arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I tugged his shirt up, and he helped me pull it over his head. I let my hands roam across the familiar plane of his chest, over the muscle and scar tissue I hadn’t known before. He was solid, warm, real.

Leo kissed me again, more urgently this time, and walked us back toward the bed. My knees hit the mattress and I sat down, pulling him between my legs. I ran my hands along his back, feeling the flex of his muscles as he kissed down my neck, slow and deliberate.

“You have no idea how many times I dreamed about this,” I murmured. “About you.”

He pulled back just enough to look me in the eyes. “I never stopped thinking about you. Not once.”

My chest tightened. I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it off, and his hands were on me instantly, exploring like he had a map in his head and was finally free to follow it. I leaned back onto the bed, tugging him with me until he was stretched over me, both of us fully clothed from the waist down, but pressed so close I could feel the hard line of his cock against mine.

“Fuck,” he whispered, grinding against me. “You feel so good. I missed this. I missed you.”

“Then take it,” I said, lifting my hips against his. “Take what you want.”

Clothes came off in a scramble. He pushed down my jeans and briefs at once, and I did the same to him. His cock was hard, thick, flushed dark at the tip. My mouth watered just looking at him. He leaned in to kiss me again, but I pressed my hand to his chest and gave him a look.

“I want to taste you,” I said.

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