225 Homecoming
Mara
The second I saw his face-filthy, bruised, beautiful-I couldn’t breathe. Relief slammed into me so hard my knees nearly gave out. My punch had landed before recognition did, and now all I could do was cry.
He caught me, arms wrapping around me like they were meant to hold every shattered piece of me.
“Why did you stay away so long?” I sobbed into his chest. My voice cracked open with all the nights I’d spent alone, staring into silence and imagining the worst.
I had been ready to leave everything behind. My bags were packed. I would’ve walked straight into Mistwood, dangers be damned, just to find him. Just to see him.
“Mara,” he whispered against my hair, the way someone says a prayer they thought they’d never get to say again. His lips. pressed to the side of my head. Then his hand found my belly-gentle, reverent-and lingered on the small bump.
“I’m so sorry,” Lucian said, voice ragged. “Forgive me.”
I had already forgiven him. The moment I saw him. The moment I knew he was alive.
To make sure I wasn’t dreaming, I inhaled deeply-his scent, sweat and earth and Lucian-and kissed him. Soft at first. Then desperate. Hungry. Three weeks apart had felt like lifetimes. My skin remembered him. My heart ached for proof
that he was real, here, mine.
He whispered my name again, and I gripped his shirt, pulling him closer. He peeled off the oversized one I’d been sleeping in, and his mouth found my neck. My breath caught. I trembled-caught between disbelief and need. Between fear and
longing.
When he stripped the rest of his clothes and laid me on the bed, my pulse pounded in my ears. His lips traveled over me
like he was relearning the geography of my body-my breasts, my belly, the tender place where new life grew.
He kissed the bump and lingered there, and I swallowed hard. He was home. I wasn’t alone. I wouldn’t have to carry this
child into the world without him. I wouldn’t be a whispered tragedy or a woman left behind.
My moan escaped before I could hold it back. My nerves were stretched thin, every inch of me begging for more. Lucian
parted my legs, and when his mouth found my clit, I shattered-moaning, shaking, crying out with something between
pleasure and release and a tidal wave of relief.
I clawed at the sheets, hips lifting off the bed, body breaking apart under the weight of it all-his touch, his return, the
weeks of fear dissolving into his hands.
He knew me. Knew what I needed. Knew where I ached.
And finally, finally, he was here to take that ache away.
“I’m sorry I stayed away so long, darling,” he murmured, voice low and rough, like gravel soaked in longing. He moved between my thighs, but everything blurred-desire clouded my thoughts, made the room spin. My body reacted before my mind caught up. I throbbed with need, my hips tilting toward him instinctively.
Then he was inside me-slow, steady, deep. Each stroke lit something raw inside me. It was like rediscovering fire. Every thrust sent a ripple through my nerves, sweet and sharp, too good to bear, too good to stop.
He didn’t rush. He poured himself into me like he was claiming lost time, but I knew he wasn’t done. Lucian pulled back, turned me over, and slid his fingers inside, slow and knowing. He massaged deep, teasing every tender place I didn’t even
realize I’d missed.
< 225 Homecoming
“Lucian… deeper,” I whispered, aching.
+8 Points >
He obeyed, pushing in harder, adding another finger, then another, stretching me with maddening precision. I rocked against him, greedy for more. He growled low in his throat, and I could tell-he was barely holding on.
When he entered me again, he didn’t hold back. This wasn’t careful. It was desperate. Starved. He drove into me with a hunger that bordered on feral, his grunts spilling against my back as he pumped relentlessly.
“Your p***y… f**k, Mara. It’s even softer than before,” he gasped, and I knew-he felt the difference. My body was changing. The pregnancy had made me more tender, more sensitive, and he was losing himself in it, just like I was.
When release crashed over us, it hit like a tidal wave. I cried out, louder than I meant to. It was too much. It was perfect.
Later, he led me into the shower, hands gentle again, washing away the sweat and the ache like it was some holy ritual. But even there, he couldn’t resist-he took me again, urgent and slow this time, as if to remind us both it wasn’t just the hunger. It was love. It was need. It was home.
Back in bed, I lay against his chest, breathing him in, grounding myself in his presence. His heartbeat was the only thing
that let me sleep.
But when I woke up alone, panic ripped through me like a knife.
“Lucian? Lucian!” I shouted, voice cracking with fear.
Had it been a dream? A cruel mirage?
Then he appeared, rushing from the bathroom, wrapping me in his arms before I could fall apart. I clung to him, breathing
his scent.
Whatever the world did to us now, it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t let him out of my sight again.
Not for a second.
