Chapter 19: Bare and Bound

The desert night fell soft and heavy, the dunes outside cloaked in shadow, the stars a quiet witness through Rylan's window. Zara stood in his quarters, the small room a cocoon of cedar and him—his bed unmade, his desk cluttered, the air thick with the aftershocks of Ethan's arrival. The confrontation had stripped her raw, but Rylan's promise—you're safe with me—had stitched her back, and now she felt it pulsing between them, a need that wasn't just fire but something deeper, something whole.

He'd come back from the lobby an hour ago, eyes tired but warm, and pulled her into his arms without a word, his lips brushing her temple. They'd stayed like that, tangled on the couch, until the silence grew too heavy, too charged, and she'd followed him here, the door clicking shut behind them. Now he stood by the bed, shirt half-unbuttoned, watching her with a hunger that matched her own—green and gold burning, steady and sure.

"Zara," he said, voice low, rough, and it was her name in his mouth that broke her—always had, always would. She crossed to him, slow, deliberate, her hands finding his chest, sliding under the open shirt to feel the heat of his skin, the thud of his heart.

"No stopping this time," she murmured, tilting her head, and his grin was crooked, tender, as he caught her face in his hands.

"No stopping," he agreed, and kissed her—slow, deep, a promise unfurling in the press of his lips. It wasn't the oasis's desperation; this was deliberate, a claiming that sank into her bones. She melted into it, her fingers curling against him, and he groaned, soft and low, pulling her closer until there was no space, just them.

His shirt hit the floor first, her hands roaming—shoulders, arms, the scars she'd traced before—and he tugged at her tank top, lifting it over her head, his breath hitching as it fell. "God, you're beautiful," he whispered, his hands sliding to her back, unhooking her bra with a flick, and she let it drop, baring herself to him, no hesitation, no walls.

Her jeans followed, his fingers rough but careful as he unbuttoned them, peeling them down, and she kicked them aside, standing in just her underwear, the air cool against her skin. He stepped back, eyes dark, drinking her in, and she felt the weight of it—his want, his reverence—and reached for him, popping the button on his jeans, shoving them down with a boldness that made him laugh, shaky and raw.

"Impatient," he teased, stepping out of them, and she smirked, pulling him to the bed, the mattress dipping under their weight as she straddled his lap, his hardness pressing against her through the thin fabric left between them.

"Been patient long enough," she said, and kissed him—harder now, teeth grazing his lip, her hands in his hair, tugging him closer. He groaned, louder, his hands gripping her hips, rocking her against him, and the friction sparked, heat pooling low, urgent. She arched, needing more, and he flipped them, pinning her beneath him, his body a solid, welcome weight.

"Slow," he murmured, his lips trailing to her jaw, her neck, his stubble scraping as he kissed lower—collarbone, chest, lingering at her breasts, his tongue circling, teasing, until she gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Want to feel all of you."

"Then do it," she breathed, and he smiled against her skin, his hand sliding down, slipping beneath her underwear, finding her—wet, ready—and stroking with a precision that made her buck, a moan tearing from her throat. He pulled the fabric off, tossing it aside, and settled between her thighs, his mouth following his hand, kissing her there, slow and deliberate, unraveling her with every flick.

"Rylan," she gasped, her hips lifting, and he held her steady, his hands firm on her thighs, his tongue relentless until she shattered—sharp, blinding, her cry echoing in the small room. He stayed with her through it, drawing it out, then climbed back up, kissing her deep, letting her taste herself on him, and she clung to him, trembling, undone.

"Your turn," she whispered, pushing him onto his back, and he let her, eyes dark with want as she tugged his boxers down, freeing him—hard, thick, hers. She straddled him again, guiding him to her entrance, and sank down, slow, taking him in, inch by inch, until he filled her, stretching her, perfect. He groaned, head tipping back, hands gripping her hips, and she moved—steady, deep, setting a rhythm that matched the thud of her pulse.

"Zara," he rasped, sitting up, pulling her flush against him, his arms wrapping around her, their chests pressed tight. She rocked faster, her hands in his hair, his lips on her neck, and he thrust up to meet her, harder now, the pace building—raw, intimate, a dance they'd been circling for weeks. His breath hitched, a low sound in his throat, and she felt it again—the edge, the coil tightening—and kissed him, messy and fierce, as it snapped.

She broke first, clenching around him, her cry muffled against his mouth, and he followed, thrusting deep, spilling into her with a groan that shook them both. They stayed locked together, breathing hard, sweat slicking their skin, his arms a vise around her, her face buried in his neck. The world stilled, the desert night wrapping them in silence, and she felt him—everywhere, inside and out, a bond she couldn't unmake.

He eased them down, pulling her to his side, his hand tracing her spine, soft and reverent. "You okay?" he asked, voice wrecked, and she nodded, curling into him, her leg hooking over his.

"Better than okay," she said, kissing his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath. "You?"

"Never better," he murmured, his grin lazy, sated, and she laughed, small and warm, the sound mingling with his.

They lay there, tangled, the afterglow a quiet hum, and she traced a scar on his arm, grounding herself in him. "This is real," she said, half to herself, and he tilted her chin, meeting her eyes.

"Yeah," he said, firm, kissing her—soft, slow, a seal on it. "Real as it gets."

She smiled, sinking into him, and the doubts—Ethan, the past, the fear—faded under his warmth, his weight. The oasis had been fire; this was home, and she let it claim her, fully, finally.