Date/time ?????

I press my nose against the soft skin just underneath his ear and inhale. The few seconds he holds me there aren't enough. It's never enough. Even though my heart beats hard and strong in my chest, this moment, these few precious seconds, always feel like the calm before a beautiful storm. The softness of a Monet, before the vibrancy and colour shocks of a Michael Lang.

My head swims with images of when we first met, and I feel like I'm drowning in them – his smile, his warm laughter, the way he looked at me, his voice. I almost want to drown in them. Let them pull me down to a place where it's all I know, and all I remember. I want what's to come. Of course, I do. But I would also die for this one tranquil moment if it meant reliving it over and over for eternity. It's safe here. Safe from the turmoil that rages in my head. Fuck, does it rage.

Tom tightens his embrace, one hand in my hair, the other pressed against the small of my back and I let out a small sound, almost like a whimper – not through fear of him, but like a small gasp of desperation, of want, a desire so deep and so powerful that it sometimes frightens me. My love for him has always felt all-consuming. Like the world could crash down around us and I wouldn't even notice as long as I had him. The skies could fall and I wouldn't even care. Bring on the hurricanes and tornados. Let the Earth crack under our feet and as long as I was locked into his embrace, everything would be okay.

It'll be okay, won't it?

I want it to be okay. I want to ask him, to hear him say the words, but I don't want him to waver now. I need this. I need him.

He touches my jaw and tenderly tilts my head, so he can press his lips against mine. The kiss is warm and soft, tantalisingly so, and I lean into him, relishing the tingle that sends pleasurable waves right up into my scalp. Our lips part, and it's his tongue that finds mine first. Why do I feel so nervous? Why do I feel like this is our first time together? I've never been nervous around him. If anything, I've always felt empowered, strong, confident. Tom does that to me. Sometimes I think that's his superpower. He makes people feel better about themselves. I've seen him at school with his students, all these kids from hard backgrounds, kids who come from nothing, kids who have nothing and he gives them something to strive for. He makes them want to do better in life – be something.

He makes me want to do better. Be better.

I'm not sure I can though. I have all these thoughts, all these feelings, and I don't know what to do about them anymore. I don't know how to get them all out of my head. I want everything to be like it was. Before.

Before. Before.

'Are you still here?' he whispers against my mouth.

I cling to him. 'Yes. Yes. Always.'

I kiss him again, harder this time, with more urgency and he responds with a soft groan, tangling his fingers in my hair and running his other hand up my thigh. I fumble for his shirt buttons, eager to undress him. My fingers feel thick and awkward as I try to figure out the buttons one by one. I used to be good at this, didn't I? What the Hell happened to me? Tom smiles and exhales a soft, breathy laugh against my skin, helping me with the last button that seems intent on defeating my efforts. He discards the shirt before grabbing at the hem of mine, as I raise my arms, allowing him to peel it off my body.

He smiles again as he looks down, a warm, appraising smile that makes my heart thud a little stronger. Trailing his fingertips delicately over the swell of my breast, his thumb traces the line of lace on the edge of my bra cup, all the way up until he reaches the strap. Gently, he eases it off my shoulder, leaning down to kiss my skin there. Reaching back, I unhook my bra and pull it off, throwing it to the floor with his shirt and mine.

Moonlight filters through the gaps around the curtains and he leans forward, resting his forehead against mine. He looks beautiful in this light. His eyes take on an almost silvery hue, a kind of ethereal otherworldly quality that takes my breath away.

This is his thing. I remember now. I like to take a moment of refuge in his embrace as I breathe him in. He likes to hang back, and drink me in as the air caresses my skin. At times, it often feels like some exquisite torture, this waiting, this hesitation, but I've always loved that he's one of those guys that likes to prolong it instead of going straight for the prize. There's an elegance to his seduction. An almost reverent love for the act itself, of getting it right, taking his time to show his adoration and desire in a way that includes us both. It's never just about him and what he wants. It's about us and I love him for that.

His hands are on my waist, just gently holding me there as I run my fingers up his arms, to his shoulders, feeling my way along the hard lines of his frame, lingering over his collarbone. When I run them up the back of his neck, a small shiver passes through him, and we both smile. Mine definitely feels more of a nervous one than his. We've done this so many times, been here so many times and yet I feel like a teenager with my first crush, fumbling and feeling my way along in the dark.

I realise then I'm grateful for this moment. For the calmness of it. I exhale slow and cup his face in the palms of my hands.

'I love you,' I say. 'I'll always love you.'

I don't know why then, but I suddenly feel almost tearful, a snag of emotion warms my cheeks and makes my eyes feel hot and watery. I close them quick and urge myself to stop being such an idiot. This was meant to be about desire and sex and instead I'm feeling completely overwhelmed by the whole thing.

'It'll be okay, won't it?' I say it out loud this time. I can't stop myself.

Tom's hands grip my waist a little tighter. 'Of course, it will,' he says.' Everything will be okay. We have each other. Team Morgan, right?'

I laugh at the familiar joke and instantly the voices in my head quieten, fading to dull background noise – still there, but no longer that relentless buzz I've lived with for weeks now.

'You know I love you?' I say again. I hate to sound so bloody desperate, but I think I am. I'm desperate for him to know I'm still here and that the Evie he knows isn't dead. I'm desperate for him to say it back. I'll never tire of hearing him say it.

'I know. I know every second of every day. I've always known,' he says.

I pull out of his embrace, so I can fall back onto the bed, looking up at him as he moves to kneel between my legs. His eyes are wide, his lips parted slightly by his tongue.

'Fuck, you look amazing.'

He chuckles when he sees I'm still wearing my shoes and tugs them off, gently placing them on the floor by the bed. Reaching for the button on my jeans, he does a far better job with it than I did with his shirt buttons and I raise my hips slightly as he eases the jeans and my underwear down my thighs. For a moment, it's just me, lying there on the bed, with nothing but the moonlight to glide over my body and his gaze lingering, caressing, as he shamelessly covets every inch of my nakedness.

My confidence is growing now, a small insidious seed inside my stomach heating my limbs, and emboldening that delicious throb between my legs that grows ever more powerful the longer he watches me. Without averting his gaze, Tom removes his boots and stands to take off his own jeans and underwear.

It's my turn to covet him now and I do, feeling a little wanton at the way my eyes travel over his body, at the way my breath quickens at the sight of his hardness. I almost moan as he climbs back onto the bed because I know he's going to touch me now. I know I'm going to feel his body pressed against mine and I hadn't realised just how much I'd wanted this until this moment. Have I ever felt this desperate for him? I'm trying to work out whether that's pathetic or obsessessive or amazing, when he moves back between my legs, this time running his hands down my naked thighs and now I do moan. His touch is gentle, feather-light, so fucking good that my toes curl into the bed sheets.

I'm not sure it's ever felt this good before. I mean, he's barely touched me and I'm already teetering on the edge. How is that even possible? When he reaches between my thighs, it's like my bones tremble all at once, wracked by a heady anticipation of the shock wave that inevitably comes from his hand stroking the delicate flesh. My fingers dig into the bed covers, grabbing handfuls of soft fabric as he continues to caress the most tender part of me, sometimes moving lower to glide over the wetness that has gathered there, sometimes concentrating on that one spot he knows I love.

Nothing's changed. He knows my body so well. He's mapped each and every point of pleasure. He knows how to navigate each and every curve, each part of me that calls out to him. I'm his siren song, always calling him back to me, no matter what.

I try to steady my breathing, to pace myself, but it's no good. Holding back is torture and I don't even want to. I want to let go so badly. I've wanted to let go for so long now and I know it's time.

Let go, Evie. Let go.

When it happens, it's a tumultuous tremor that crashes me against the rocks and it hits me so deep that I have to thrust a fist to my mouth to stop myself from crying out loud. The orgasm is powerful and earth-cracking, a tropical storm that brings heat to my bones and a wave of pleasure strong enough to ignite every nerve-ending.

I'm still gasping for breath when Tom moves over me, his hands either side of my head. His eyes are full of fire as he leans down, kissing me hard, his lips trailing from my mouth to my throat. I arch my back, clutching at him as he kisses me there. I feel his tongue on my skin, tasting me, taking small nips at my lobe, my jawline, then my mouth again.

'I love you, Eve,' he murmurs.

I laugh softly, giddy at hearing him say the words. I could go mad on it, I think. A good kind of madness though, one of those kinds when nothing else really matters. One that makes my head spin and my heart thump wildly. The kind of madness that has me bursting with spontaneous laughter, with not a care for who hears. Not caring who knows.

I slide my hand down his chest, loving those hard muscular lines, his damp skin. I reach for him and he inhales sharply, his body tensing as my fingers glide along his length. He breathes in and out slowly, in sync with the movement of my hand. I watch him carefully. The way his hair has curled against his damp forehead. His dark lashes. The hard line of his nose. The curve of his mouth. This man is a portrait worthy of a gallery wall. Smooth oil on canvas. Colour and light and beauty all captured with the stroke of an artist's brush.

'Eve,' he breathes. 'Eve, please...'

I smile and nod, instinctively knowing what he wants, because I want it just as much. I guide him where I need him to be, letting everything go. All the bad thoughts. All the voices in my head saying terrible things. All the dark feelings that have infected me.

He moans softly close to my ear as he bears down, slowly filling me. God, he's everything. He always was. Always will be. I relax into him, wrapping my legs around his thighs to pull him in deeper, relishing the feel of his body pressed against mine. I can feel his heartbeat hard against my chest and I wonder how I'd ever live without it. We wait, holding on to the moment, like we don't ever want to lose it again.

Tom eases himself up, grasping my hips in one hand, the other reaching for the headboard. His chest moves in and out, sweat glistening on his skin and I know he's as desperate for the release as I was. When he begins to rock against me, each thrust slow and deliberate, I can see how close he is to losing control, how much effort he's putting into holding steady. He's good at playing the long game. Always has been. I've always joked about him having a masochistic streak, of prolonging everything far too long, but his endurance for everything has always blown me away.

Tonight, though, I'm not sure that endurance is going to hold on much longer. His thrusts are getting quicker, stronger, harder. His breath becomes heavier, thicker. I don't even care. I want his release. I want him to let go. I want everything he has – his pain, his heart, his desire. I want it all because then... then I'll feel alive again and I haven't felt alive in so long now.

I grip his back, digging my fingers into his skin, loving how his muscles tense, the way his body moves. He lifts my leg, angling it to the side to open up my thighs so he can push deeper still and I roll my hips in time with each thrust, moving with him, spurred on by the sound of his quickening breath and the silvery-grey moonlight reflected in his eyes.

When he finally lets go, I think the force of it surprises him as much as it does me. His eyes widen, almost as if he's feeling this for the first time ever and the groan he emits is guttural and deep, so full of relief and pleasure that his whole body judders with the release. The throbbing between my thighs is warm and beautiful and strong, a never-ending cascade that ripples over every inch of my body. Pressing his face into my neck, I feel his breath hot and hard against my skin and I wrap my arms around him, loving the way his body melds with mine, a perfect fit.

We remain locked together, our beating hearts separated only by bone and flesh. I tilt my head so I can press my lips against that soft skin under his ear again and wrap my arms tightly around him. Passion spent, desire now satiated, I can't hold back what lies beneath it. My body is hot under his, but I shiver regardless as the fear sweeps in, cruel and merciless as always.

I don't understand it. I haven't been able to explain it to myself, let alone him, but it's there, nevertheless. Always there. I've tried to work it out in my head. I've tried to make sense of it time and time again, but it's still there. The fear lingers like a ghost, cold and unrelenting, a constant whisper in my head that just won't go away.

'You won't ever leave me, will you?' I say suddenly. 'Promise me, you won't ever leave me.'

Tom pulls back so he can look into my eyes.

He smiles and strokes my hair back from my temples.

'And why on Earth would I want to do that,' he says, 'when I have spent a lifetime searching for you?'