His hand slid under the hem of her dress, callused palm dragging up her thigh. The roughness was exactly what she'd imagined in those five years of stolen glances and late-night what-ifs—skin that had known wood and tools, now knowing her. She felt it in her breath, in the way her hips tilted toward his touch without permission. The sawdust of the floor pressed into her shoulders as he lifted her just enough to lay her back, the cool concrete biting through the thin fabric of her dress.
He hovered above her, one forearm braced beside her head, the other hand still resting on her thigh. The hunger she'd seen in his eyes at the event hall was there, raw and unguarded, but so was the fear—the same fear that had him holding back even now, even after everything. His jaw was tight, his breath coming in shallow bursts. She watched him, his face half-lit by the fluorescent buzz, and saw the struggle written in the lines around his mouth.
She reached up, her fingers brushing his chest, then lower, finding the button of his jeans. The denim was warm from his body. She pressed the button through the hole—a sharp, metal sound that cut through the hum of the city outside. His breath hitched, a sound that was almost a word but didn't form. She held the open button between her thumb and finger, feeling his stomach tighten underneath.
He lowered himself, his mouth finding hers. It wasn't soft at first. It was a collision of pressure and heat, the taste of sawdust and coffee and something darker—the surrender she'd been waiting for. His tongue slid against hers, and she felt the fight leave his shoulders. His hand moved from her thigh to her hip, gripping hard, pulling her closer as if she might disappear.
She kissed him back with equal hunger, her fingers curling into his hair, tugging. He made a low sound in his throat, and she felt it vibrate through her chest. The weight of his body pressed her deeper into the floor, but she didn't want space. She wanted this—his full weight, his full trust. The metal button of his jeans brushed against her bare hip, cold and sharp, grounding her in the moment.
He broke the kiss, breath hot against her mouth, and looked down at her. His hand slid higher, fingers reaching the damp fabric of her underwear. He paused, his thumb pressing lightly through the cotton, testing. She arched into the pressure, a sound escaping her lips—something between a gasp and a plea.
His eyes searched hers, asking a question he didn't need to voice. She answered by pulling his mouth back to hers, deeper this time, her hips rolling into his hand. The fear in his eyes didn't vanish, but it softened, replaced by something she could only name as permission—permission he was giving himself to take what he wanted.
She felt his fingers hook the edge of her underwear, pulling them down just an inch before his hand stilled. He pulled back, breathing hard, and pressed his forehead to hers. "I want to give you everything," he said, the words rough and cracked. "But I need to know you're sure."
She laughed, a short, breathless sound. "I've been sure for five years, Marcus. I'm just tired of waiting for you to catch up."
Something shifted in his eyes—the surrender she'd tasted on his tongue now visible in the way his shoulders dropped, the way his hand finally moved without hesitation. He kissed her again, and this time there was no holding back.
He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look at her. His breath came ragged, sawdust clinging to his dark hair, his jaw tight. The fluorescent light caught the edge of his face, shadowing the hollows beneath his cheekbones. His hand still rested on her hip, fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress, still wet from her underwear.
She watched him, her own lungs burning, her chest rising and falling against his. The fear was still there in his eyes, but it had changed—softened into something she couldn't name. He swallowed hard, his throat working, and she felt the weight of what was coming settle between them like a held breath.
“Lena.” His voice cracked on her name, low and raw. He looked at her like she was the only still point in a world that kept moving too fast. His thumb traced a slow line along her hip, grounding himself. “I’ve never said this to anyone.”
She waited, her heart slamming so hard she thought he might feel it through her ribs. Her fingers curled into his shirt, holding him there, anchoring herself to the moment before it broke open.
“I love you.” The words came rough, scraped out of him like they’d been buried for years. He didn’t look away. “I’ve loved you since the first time you laughed at one of my stupid jokes in your cousin’s kitchen. Every day after that, even when you were gone.”
His thumb stilled on her hip. The sawdust bit into her shoulder blades, sharp and real, keeping her from floating out of her body. She felt tears prick behind her eyes—not sadness, but the shock of hearing it spoken aloud after five years of silence.
She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Her hand slid up from his shirt to his jaw, her thumb tracing the stubble along his cheekbone. He turned into her touch, his eyes closing for a second, as if her hand was the only thing holding him together.
“I love you,” she said, the words breaking free like a dam she’d been holding back. Their weight hit her chest, and she felt her ribs ache. “I never stopped. I was just too scared to say it.”
He let out a breath she hadn’t realized he was holding, his forehead dropping to hers. His hand slid up her side, fingers threading into her hair, cupping the back of her head. The kiss when it came was different—slower, deeper, filled with everything they’d finally named.
When they broke apart, his eyes were wet. He didn't blink, didn't hide it. He just looked at her, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth. “Say it again.”
She smiled, a soft, broken thing. “I love you, Marcus Delgado.”
She said it again, the words still raw in her throat, and watched his eyes change. The wetness there spilled over, a single tear tracking down his cheek, catching the fluorescent light. He didn't wipe it away. He just looked at her, his breath uneven, his hand cupping the back of her head like she was something precious he'd almost lost.
She pulled him down, not by force but by the weight of her palm against his jaw. He came willingly, his mouth meeting hers in a kiss that started soft, almost tentative—a question after all that had been answered. Her lips parted against his, and she felt the salt of his tear on her upper lip, the taste of it shocking and intimate.
The kiss deepened slowly, deliberately. She took her time, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips before sliding inside, tasting the surrender she'd been promised. He made a sound low in his throat, his hand tightening in her hair, but he didn't take control. He let her lead, let her set the pace, his body trembling above hers.
She broke the kiss just enough to breathe, her forehead resting against his. Her hand slid from his jaw to his shoulder, then down his arm, feeling the tremor in his bicep. "I need you to hear me," she said, her voice low and steady. "I love you. And I'm not going anywhere."
His eyes closed, a shudder passing through him. When he opened them again, the fear had faded, replaced by something quieter, more certain. He kissed her again, but this time he was the one who deepened it, his tongue sliding against hers with a hunger that made her gasp. His hand moved from her hair to her side, fingers pressing into the curve of her waist, pulling her closer.
The world outside—the city hum, the fluorescent buzz, the sawdust beneath them—faded into a distant hum. There was only his mouth on hers, the weight of his body pressing her into the concrete, the heat of his palm through the damp fabric of her dress. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers threading into his hair, holding him there.
When they finally broke apart, breathing ragged, his forehead still pressed to hers. His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth, tracing the swell of her lower lip. "I've waited so long for this," he whispered, his voice cracked and raw. "For you. For us."
She smiled, a soft, broken thing that didn't reach her eyes because they were too full. "We're here now."
He kissed her again, slower this time, thorough, as if memorizing the shape of her mouth. His hand slid down her side, settling on her hip, his thumb tracing a lazy circle through the fabric. She arched into the touch, a quiet sound escaping her lips, and felt him smile against her mouth.
Outside, a siren wailed in the distance, growing closer for a moment before fading. He didn't flinch, didn't break the kiss. She wrapped her leg around his, anchoring him to her, and let herself sink into the moment—the sawdust, the heat, the weight of him, the truth they'd finally spoken. The world could wait. For now, there was only this.