**Chapter Nine: The Ghosts We Bury**

The morning sun crept through the sheer curtains, painting gold across Maya's bare shoulder. Liam stirred beside her, his arm instinctively reaching for her waist, anchoring her to him. She turned toward him with a lazy smile, their legs tangled in soft sheets.

"Do we ever have to leave this bed?" she murmured, her voice husky from sleep and satisfaction.

Liam grinned, brushing a lock of hair from her cheek. "Only if we run out of coffee or condoms."

She laughed, rolling on top of him, her knees straddling his waist. "We've got plenty of both."

They kissed, slow and sensual, their bodies remembering the rhythm from the night before. But this time, it was different—less frantic, more reverent. As if they were worshipping something sacred between them. Because maybe they were.

Her fingers trailed down his chest, feeling the warm rise and fall of his breath. He cupped her face, pulling her down for another kiss, and this one deepened fast—lips crashing, hands pulling, bodies fusing. She rocked her hips against him, feeling him harden beneath her.

He flipped her over, moving between her legs, kissing down her neck, her breasts, her stomach. He paused, looked up at her. "I want to taste all of you."

Maya shuddered. "Please."

He descended, his mouth hot and hungry. His tongue worked with precision, teasing her clit and dipping inside her until she was a writhing mess beneath him. Her fingers gripped his hair, thighs shaking.

"Don't stop," she panted. "Oh, God, Liam—"

She climaxed with a gasp, her entire body arching. He kissed his way back up, licking her taste from his lips, and positioned himself at her entrance.

"You feel like home," he whispered, pushing into her slowly.

She wrapped her legs around him, moaning deeply. "Then don't leave."

He moved with long, deliberate thrusts, his body fitting hers perfectly. Each stroke was a confession, each kiss a promise. Her nails raked down his back as he pounded into her harder.

"I love you," he grunted against her ear. "So much it scares me."

"Show me," she whispered.

He did. He flipped her again, taking her from behind, one hand gripping her hair gently, the other pressing into her lower back. She pushed back into him, greedy for every inch. His thrusts grew erratic, desperate. They both teetered on the edge.

"I'm close," he groaned.

"Me too. Come with me," she cried.

They exploded together, Maya's scream muffled by the pillow as Liam spilled into her with a guttural cry. They collapsed in a heap of tangled limbs, sweat-slicked and breathless.

"Every time with you," he said, kissing her shoulder, "feels like the first—and the last."

---

Later that morning, they got dressed in silence, the air still thick with the vulnerability of their raw encounter. Today, they were going to therapy.

Dr. Carter's office felt like neutral ground. A place to unpack the heavy pieces of their shared history.

"Tell me why you're here," she prompted.

Maya started, voice low. "Because we broke... but we didn't want to shatter."

Liam followed. "Because we forgot how to talk. But we still knew how to feel. Even if it took being strangers to remember."

As they explained their journey—discovery, deception, reconnection—Dr. Carter listened. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.

"You're both incredibly brave," she finally said. "Now it's time to stop hiding, even from yourselves."

---

That night, Maya sat in the living room, looking at an old photo from their second anniversary. They looked happy—but she remembered the hollowness.

"We smiled for the camera," she said as Liam sat beside her. "But I was already disappearing."

He took the photo gently, then tore it in half. "Let's make new memories. Ones we don't have to fake."

She kissed him—fierce, hungry. Her body still ached for him, but this time, it wasn't just desire. It was devotion.

In their bedroom, he undressed her slowly. "You're everything I want," he said. "Every scar, every secret."

She lay back on the bed, legs parted, eyes locked on his. "Then take me. Like I'm your salvation."

He didn't hesitate. He dropped to his knees, spreading her wide and tasting her again, drinking her in like she was the answer to every question he'd ever had. She gasped, fingers trembling against his scalp.

"Liam... please... I need you inside me."

He climbed over her, entering her in one powerful thrust. She cried out, clutching him tightly. They moved in sync, hips meeting again and again, their bodies soaked with sweat, the sheets a mess.

"Harder," she moaned. "Don't hold back."

He didn't. He slammed into her, raw and wild, their mouths clashing between breaths. She came again, legs shaking, nails clawing his back. He followed, roaring her name as he emptied himself inside her.

They lay there afterward, panting and stunned.

"We keep finding each other," she whispered. "Even when we get lost."

He pulled her close. "Then let's stay found."

---

The weeks that followed were filled with more therapy, more talks, more lovemaking. Sometimes tender, sometimes rough, always honest.

One night, Liam handed her a journal.

Inside, he'd written:

*Day 20 — We're not matching anymore. We're choosing.*

She kissed him, tears in her eyes. "Then let's choose forever."

He smiled. "I already have."

**To be continued...**