Chapter 7
The sun had long since set, leaving only the rhythmic crash of the waves and the soft flicker of candlelight against the villa’s white curtains. Darcy lay sprawled across the bed, tangled in sheets that had long been pulled loose in the chaos of their passion.
Her body was still thrumming, skin tingling where Phil had kissed, touched, worshipped her.
But this time, when he returned from the balcony, looking down at her like she was the only thing that had ever mattered, there was something different in his eyes.
Something soft.
Something that made her chest ache.
Phil Coulson—her husband, her anchor, the man she once thought was too serious for someone like her—was looking at her like he had found home.
Darcy swallowed thickly, her throat tightening with something far more intense than lust.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she whispered, her voice barely carrying over the gentle sea breeze.
Coulson sat on the edge of the bed, his fingertips tracing slow, reverent circles over her bare shoulder.
“Because I can’t believe I get to have this,” he murmured.
Darcy’s breath hitched.
She had always been the fun one. The easygoing one. The girl who cracked jokes in the middle of crisis briefings, who never took things too seriously because life had a way of ripping things away when you least expected it.
But Coulson had never laughed at her walls. He had never tried to fix her or tell her to grow up.
Instead, he had just stayed.
And now he was here, looking at her like she was something precious, and Darcy Lewis—queen of sarcasm, master of emotional avoidance—felt her heart crack wide open.
“Come here,” she whispered.
Coulson shifted, settling beside her, and she reached up, pressing her palm flat over his heart.
“You scare the shit out of me,” she admitted, her voice shaking.
He frowned, immediately bracing himself to pull back. But she stopped him, curling her fingers into his chest.
“Not like that,” she said, blinking up at him, eyes burning. “It’s just—I’ve never had this. Someone who actually—who sees me. And I don’t know what to do with it.”
Coulson exhaled, his expression softening. “Darcy.”
“I love you,” she blurted. “Like, so much that it physically hurts sometimes, and I swear to God, if you ever get yourself killed again, I will resurrect you just to punch you in the face.”
He laughed, the sound thick with emotion.
Then he was kissing her.
Not like before—not hungry or desperate, not about need.
This was something else.
Something that seeped into her bones, into the parts of her she had kept hidden for so long.
Darcy melted into him, her arms winding around his neck as he laid her down, covering her body with his.
“I love you too,” he murmured against her lips. “So much, Darcy. You have no idea.”
And then he was everywhere, but softer this time.
His hands skimmed over her body like he was memorising her all over again, his touch slow and reverent.
Darcy felt exposed—not physically, but in a way that scared her even more.
Because this wasn’t just about sex.
This was everything.
She gasped as his lips traveled lower, pressing feather-light kisses to the inside of her wrist, the dip of her stomach, the sensitive spot at her hip.
“Phil—”
He shushed her with a kiss, shifting until they were aligned, his forehead pressing against hers as he guided himself inside her with an agonising slowness.
Darcy’s eyes fluttered shut, her breath catching in her throat.
This was different.
They had been together so many times, in so many ways—fast and desperate, teasing and playful, insatiable.
But this?
This was home.
Coulson exhaled shakily, his hands framing her face as he started to move, rolling his hips in slow, deep strokes that had tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.
Darcy had never cried during sex before.
But the way he was holding her, the way he was looking at her like she was the most precious thing in the world—
It broke her.
She whimpered, threading her fingers through his hair, tugging him closer.
Coulson kissed her everywhere—her forehead, her cheeks, the tear that slipped free when she couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“It’s okay,” he whispered, rocking into her, their bodies moving perfectly together. “I’ve got you.”
Darcy sobbed, clinging to him, wrapping her legs around his waist like she could pull him inside her heart.
She had never known love could feel like this.
Like safety.
Like forever.
She came silently this time, her whole body shaking as she buried her face in the crook of his neck.
Coulson wasn’t far behind, his breath shuddering against her skin as he followed her over the edge.
They stayed like that for a long time, tangled together, hearts racing in perfect rhythm.
Darcy finally managed to catch her breath, blinking up at him through wet lashes.
Coulson brushed a thumb over her cheek, his own eyes shining.
“Are you crying too?” she teased, her voice hoarse.
He smirked, but his fingers trembled slightly where they held her. “Maybe.”
She grinned, sniffling. “Sucker.”
Coulson chuckled, pulling her against his chest. “Go to sleep, Mrs. Coulson.”
Darcy nuzzled into him, feeling so ridiculously safe she could hardly stand it.
“Only if you promise to keep looking at me like that,” she mumbled.
Coulson kissed the top of her head. “Forever.”
And for the first time in her life, Darcy believed it.
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