Chapter fifteen
Simon Riley
Every time I leave her bed, it gets harder to breathe. Harder to pretend I can function without her.
She's not just under my skin anymore—she is my skin. And I'm losing the fight to hide it.
The truth is, I want her all the time.
In the quiet before dawn, in the chaos of fire and dirt. In the stolen seconds between orders and violence. I crave her like air. And now, even when I'm not touching her, I feel her.
⸻
It's a rare off night. No missions. No drills. Just rain tapping against the canvas of my tent. I'd planned to sleep. Rest. Reset.
But then there's a knock.
Two short taps, then one. Her signal.
I open the flap, and she slips inside, soaked from the rain, eyes lit like she just ran straight through hell and didn't care.
"You're going to catch cold," I say, grabbing a towel.
"Then warm me up."
She peels off her jacket, then her shirt, her movements slow, eyes never leaving mine. And damn me—I can't look away. She's standing there in nothing but her soaked tank and those soft shorts that drive me crazy, her skin glowing in the lantern light.
I close the distance in a heartbeat, pressing her back to the wall of the tent, kissing her like I've waited years, not hours. My hands find her waist, sliding under the hem of her shirt, tracing every inch of skin I've come to know by heart.
"You make me reckless," I murmur into her mouth.
She smiles against my lips. "You make me feel."
⸻
The way I take her that night isn't like before.
It's slower. Deeper. Worshipful.
I undress her like she's something precious. Lay her down on my cot, spread her out beneath me, and kiss her until she's trembling. Every breath she takes, every moan, every whispered "Simon" is branded into me like fire.
Her legs wrap around my waist, her fingers digging into my back, and we move together—not just bodies, but souls.
There's no rush. No fear of being caught.
Just us.
And when she comes apart beneath me, crying my name, I realize this isn't about lust anymore.
It hasn't been for a long time.
This is love.
Real. Raw. Unstoppable.
⸻
Afterward, she curls into me, skin damp, hair tangled, her fingers drawing lazy patterns across my chest.
"I'm not scared anymore," she says softly.
I turn to her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Of what?"
"Of falling."
I pull her closer. "Good. Because I'm already gone."