He’s lodged so deep that he steals my breath. “Unnggg....”
“You up for it?” he says, pulling out and thrusting back deep inside. It’s only his firm grip of my shoulder that stops me from sliding back.
“Yes, Daddy. For a whole lifetime,” I whisper, just as his lips find mine. The kiss is sweet, just like I like it. And his claiming of me is rough, possessive, and all-consuming.
Just like I like it.
Epilogue
Jasmine
Eight WeeksLater
The penthouse doesn’t feel like shelter anymore. But home.
Our home.
It smells like us—like the sandalwood candle I light every evening and the pine of Nathan’s skin, like miso and ginger and yuzu from the menu I obsessed over all afternoon.
There are new plants sunning themselves along the windows, my pretty journals and note-cards tucked between his first editions, a woven throw at the end of the couch that he pretends not to like and always steals anyway.
The locked guest room down the hall is still… locked. He keeps the key in his pocket, and every time I ask, his mouth does that secretive curve that makes my stomach flip.
We’ve been home a week from our honeymoon in Japan, and I still catch myself staring at him like he’s a temple I get to pray at. In the mornings, he grumbles at the French press until I take over; at night, I fall asleep with his hand splayed over my belly,like he’s protecting a wish that has come true already. That I have to tell him yet.
Tonight is our first dinner as a married couple. My first, ever. I’m trying not to vibrate right out of my skin.
The elevator dings and voices spill in.
Sasha arrives with Zayn, and she’s glowing—truly glowing—in a way even the pendant lights can’t compete with. Mariska’s right behind them in a sunshine-yellow dress that smells like sugar and fried dough the second the door closes.
Adam lopes in with a bakery box and a put-upon scowl that’s almost definitely hiding something smug.
Sophie breezes in last with Max on her heels, and the temperature of the room drops ten degrees. She moved out right as we left for our honeymoon, not to college but to a studio apartment in the same building that houses Grayson Inc. Where Nathan, Zayn and Max work.
Not too far for Nathan’s peace of mind but far enough to matter to Sophie.
An arrangement that I call my ‘personal diplomatic achievement’, for I used the last ounce of my patience to work as a bridge between father and daughter.
Now, Sophie’s job as Max’s assistant... I’m not sure what to think of that. Sophie can’t stand the man.
“Third assistant,” she mutters to me under her breath, blue eyes slicing sideways at him. “I will poison him. Slowly.”
“Don’t,” I whisper back, fighting a laugh. “It’s manslaughter if it’s quick.”
Nathan passes me with a hand low at my back, the briefest graze that steadies everything inside me. “You’re doing great, baby girl,” he murmurs, and I pretend not to melt as he moves on to greet Zayn with a shoulder clasp that looks like affection disguised as a brawl.
Dinner smells like our honeymoon—miso-glazed salmon, cold soba noodles with sesame, and a bright fennel-orange salad. On the side, roasted shishito peppers and skewers of chicken keep it casual, family-style.
Conversation hums and pings.
Sasha smiles, one hand on the gentle swell of her belly, accepting coos and threats to kidnap the baby by Mariska and me. Zayn pretends he’s not watching her every breath. Mariska and Adam “accidentally” reach for the same knife twice.
“How’s the new job?” I ask Sophie, sliding her a little dish of pickled cucumbers.
She twirls her fork like she’s dispatching an enemy. “Dad’s punishing me for wanting to move out,” she stage-whispers. “Why else would he find me a job with Max?” She shudders and then laughs. “I start Monday. Pray for him.”
“Can confirm,” Max says dryly from the far end. “I accept thoughts and prayers.”
