They didn't speak as they walked through the quiet streets, the glow of streetlights flickering between them. Lila's fingers brushed against River's, tentative at first — then interlaced, like it was always meant to be that way.
They ended up at his place.
A small guest house behind a larger, empty home. He lived alone — something about his uncle being gone most of the time. She didn't ask questions. Not yet.
He unlocked the door, letting her in first. The space smelled like cedarwood and ink. Music played low from a speaker — soft, haunting guitar chords that filled the silence between their racing hearts.
"Do you want to stay?" he asked, voice gentle.
Lila looked at him.
"I wouldn't be here if I didn't."
That was all he needed.
He reached for her, slow and reverent, like she was something sacred. Their kiss started soft this time, mouths moving with aching tenderness. His hands found her hips, and she let her fingers trail under his shirt — his skin warm and tense beneath her touch.
She had never done this before.
Not like this. Not with someone who looked at her like she mattered.
River kissed her neck, then lower, lips mapping out every inch of her like a poem. When her breath caught, he paused.
"Still okay?" he whispered.
"Yes," she breathed. "More than okay."
His hands slid beneath her shirt, and she let him. Every brush of skin-on-skin was electric — her body awakening under his touch. He unbuttoned her jeans slowly, like he wanted to savor every second. And when he finally touched her — really touched her — she gasped, back arching, hips pressing into his palm like instinct.
Her moans were soft, breathy, caught between embarrassment and abandon.
River didn't rush. He kissed her while his fingers worked her rhythm, coaxing pleasure from her like music from strings. She buried her face in his neck, clinging to him as waves of sensation rolled through her.
And when she shattered in his arms, it wasn't just her body that gave in.
It was her walls. Her fears. Her past.
She came undone in the best possible way.
They lay together after, tangled in his sheets, her head on his chest.
"You're not like anyone I've ever met," he said quietly, running his fingers through her hair.
"Neither are you," she replied. "And I don't want to be anywhere else but here."
River turned his head and kissed her forehead, then her lips.
"Then stay."
She did.
And for the first time in her life, Lila James stopped wondering if she was too much, or not enough.
Because here, in this moment, with River — she was exactly everything.