He steered himself into her, filling her in one slippery motion.
She moaned, feeling her body stretch around him. The feeling was at once foreign and familiar, and she thought she was making love to a stranger she’d known forever. She dropped her hands to his shoulders, bracing herself as she rode him gently.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. He grabbed her hips and took control of her movements, forcing her body down on him. He held her still, studying her face as she gripped his shoulders, willing her body to accept his complete intrusion. “You can keep breaking my heart,” he said thoughtfully. “If you want. I wouldn’t mind so long as I can feel this. As long as I can be connected to you. Just like this.”
She smiled. “I won’t. I won’t break your heart anymore.” And then he released her hips and let her take control. She ground her body on him hard—an urgent need to come undone. She wanted to pour it all out—her pain, her heartache and pleasure. She would bare her apology, and she wanted the raw honesty of her orgasm to act as absolution.
She rode him frantically, desperate for forgiveness and a chance to start new. He encouraged her—each stroke building his own pleasure. He watched her face twist from desire to frustration to desire again. He reached up and cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples, and listened for those familiar cries. The ones that usher in an explosion of pleasure. They started, and he swelled in her.
She felt the first racking wave start from her throat and sweep down through her belly to crash between her legs. She screamed, opening her mouth and tasting the salt tears that pooled in the corners. The wave crashed again, pouring from her eyes, from that secret place between her legs. He answered her cry, coming hard and unexpectedly in her, filling her body with his own apology. Hoping she would accept it and forgive him completely.
She collapsed on him and shook with exhaustion and uncontrollable sobbing. He stroked her back and kissed her temple.
“I love you,” she cried into his neck. “I love you, and I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Cadence,” Mark replied. “It’s forgiven. And I love you. So much. I’m sorry for everything.”
She sat up slowly and looked into his eyes. “Is it?”
“It’s forgiven,” he repeated. He stared into her transparent eyes. They were glassy, red-rimmed, and helpless. “I love you,” he whispered. “Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“There’s nothing left to hide, Cadence,” he said. “You see everything. I’ve given you everything. Do you believe me?”
She nodded again.
“I . . . I never knew just how hurt I was. I never understood. I went so long not feeling at all. It’s not an excuse for keeping you at a distance. But it’s the only reason I have.”
She wiped her eyes.
“It’s a pain that won’t ever fully go away. But if you let me keep loving you, I think you can heal me. Little by little. Maybe surprise me one day when I discover that all the hurt is gone.”
She smiled. “I hurt, too,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied. “I knew how sad you were from the moment I met you. And I knew my purpose was to try to make you happy. But sometimes I feel like I’ve done nothing but make your life even more painful.”
“That’s not true at all,” she argued.
Mark sighed. “I guess we’re just a couple of sad people.”
Cadence chuckled. “As long as I get to be sad with you.”
He smiled.
“Tomorrow will feel strange,” Cadence said after a moment. “Here, now, in the darkness? I feel close to you. But tomorrow, I fear it’ll feel like living with a stranger.”
“It will,” Mark said. No point in lying about it. “We’ll have to discover each other again. Get used to each other. It’ll take time. We’ll feel weird about it, but eventually it’ll all be old hat.”
“I trust you when you say that,” Cadence whispered.
The words lit up his heart. She trusted him. And suddenly the work ahead wasn’t so scary.
***
They sat side by side on the couch. He watched her from the corner of his eye. Her legs were crisscrossed Indian style, her arms folded over her chest. She was nervous, he could tell, so he decided to take the first step.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She shook her head, even as her stomach growled over the noise of the movie.
“Oh my gosh,” she said, gripping her waist. She looked at Mark through wide eyes. “Apparently I am.”
“Well, I’ve got this shrimp couscous thing. Not sure if it’s something you’d like, but you’re more than welcome to it,” he said.
His grin was lost on her, though she vaguely remembered hearing those words before. She tried to pinpoint them but came up empty-handed.
“Okay,” she nodded. “But you know I like shrimp couscous.”
He left the living room to heat her a bowl. He came back with her meal, a fork, and a glass of Orange Crush.
“The orange crush is for me,” he said, handing her the bowl. “What would you like to drink?”