Lena stayed in his embrace longer than she intended, buried in the solid, quiet safety of Ethan's arms. Her fingers clutched at his shirt, face hidden in the curve of his neck. The thud of his heartbeat against her cheek became a lullaby to her pain. She hadn't cried like that in years—raw and full of everything she hadn't said.
When she finally pulled back slightly, her hands were still resting on his chest, and his were still firm around her waist.
"I didn't realize how heavy it all still was," she whispered, her voice hoarse.
"I did," he replied softly, eyes steady on hers.
Something passed between them in that moment, a deeper understanding. She saw it in his gaze—that wordless promise that she didn't have to carry it alone anymore.
Her breath caught when he tucked a stray curl behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her skin. The soft touch made something ache in her chest—a slow burn that traveled downward.
She wasn't thinking anymore. She just wanted to feel something else. Something warm. Something real.
Her lips brushed against his—tentative at first. A question.
He answered with a kiss that deepened quickly, melting the distance between grief and longing. His hand moved to cradle her face, the kiss turning urgent, bruising, addictive.
She climbed onto his lap without hesitation. The leather seat creaked beneath them, but neither cared. Her legs straddled his thighs, and her fingers dove into his thick hair, tugging him closer. His hands gripped her hips, guiding her into him with slow, torturous pressure.
"Lena," he breathed against her lips, "are you sure?"
"Yes," she whispered, her forehead pressed against his. "Don't think. Just... feel with me."
She pulled off her coat and tossed it aside. His hands slid under her shirt, fingers splaying wide across her bare back, dragging her closer until there was nothing left between them but clothes and heat.
His mouth traced a path from her jaw to her collarbone, then lower. Her blouse slid off her shoulders, and his lips followed the exposed skin like a prayer. Her breath hitched as he cupped her breast through her bra, thumb brushing over the lace.
"God, you're..." he murmured, kissing along the swell, "...beautiful."
Her hands roamed his torso, tugging his shirt open button by button, desperate to feel him—warm and strong beneath her palms. She kissed his chest, tasting the salt of his skin, and felt him shiver beneath her.
They were both trembling. Not from nerves—but from a hunger that had been suppressed for too long.
His fingers found the button on her jeans, and she let him undo them, lifting her hips so he could slide them down. He groaned when he saw the thin lace beneath, his thumb brushing the edge slowly, teasing her until she was grinding into his hand.
"Ethan..." she gasped, head thrown back.
"Tell me what you need," he murmured, kissing down her stomach.
"You," she said. "Just you."
He freed himself and guided her down onto him in one fluid, aching movement. She gasped at the sudden fullness, her hands clutching his shoulders for balance. He groaned low in his throat, head dropping against her chest as she began to move.
The space was tight, almost too small, but it made it more intense. Her body rocked against his, finding a rhythm that quickly turned frantic. His hands clutched her hips, guiding her down harder, deeper.
Each movement, each thrust, was raw emotion—unspoken pain, buried feelings, sudden need.
"Lena," he rasped, eyes locked on hers. "You're... you're everything."
She leaned down and kissed him again, pouring every ounce of herself into it. Her hands tangled in his hair, her hips quickening with urgency. She felt herself unraveling, spiraling closer with each moan, each roll of his hips, each whisper of her name.
She came first, shuddering around him with a soft cry that she tried to muffle against his neck. He followed right after, his hands trembling as he pulled her flush against him, spilling into her with a deep groan.
They stayed there, tangled in sweat and heat and the scent of each other, their breathing slowly settling.
When Lena finally shifted, brushing a kiss against his cheek, he looked at her—really looked at her.
No armor. No masks.
Just her.
And for once, she didn't feel broken.
She felt seen.
Wanted.
Safe.