Marcus’s hands tightened on her hips. He lifted her slightly, guided himself back to her entrance, and let her sink down onto him in one slow, continuous motion. The stretch was deep and familiar and so necessary that a fresh tear slipped down Elena’s cheek. She took him all the way and stayed there, forehead against his, breathing through the full thick fact of the reunion while his palms stayed spread over the lower marks.

“I love you,” he said against her mouth.

“I love you.”

They stayed like that for a long time—joined, quiet, the tears still slipping free in irregular tracks—before either of them moved. When Elena finally...