He strokes my hair, my back, my ass, slowly coaxing me back to earth. He doesn't say anything else, just breathes me in.
After a long time, he untangles himself and pulls something out of the nightstand.
He slips it onto my finger. It's only when I see the glint of a diamond that I realize what it is.
He kisses the ring, then kisses my hand.
"You're marrying me," he says, his voice a possessive growl.
I stare at the ring, at him, and then at the ring again.
"I didn't say yes," I point out, but my voice is soft, teasing.
He grins, the real smile that only ever comes out when he's naked and satisfied and has destroyed every one of my defenses. "You didn't say no."
I snort, turn in his arms, and press my face to his chest. "Fine, but you get to tell my brother."
He laughs, kissing the top of my head. "He already knows."
"You told him before you asked me?" I lift my head, incredulous.
"I knew you'd say yes."
I smack him across the chest, but he just grabs my hand and kisses it again.
"I'll never be obedient," I warn him. "Not for you, not for anyone."
His smile is everything. "I don't want your obedience. What we had was never about that, princess. It was about teaching you that it's okay to let go of control and just exist. You stopped doing that a long time ago," he murmurs. "You've been stumbling through life for years, not really living it. But with me, you're alive again."
He's right, and we both know it.
I wrap my arms around him, close my eyes, and let myself just exist, here, with him.
"You're the only thing that's ever made me feel real," I admit after a moment, the truest thing I've ever said.
"You're the only thing that matters to me." He kisses me, slow and sweet, before pulling me halfway on top of him.
We fall asleep like that, entwined, with no ghosts between us and nothing left to fear.
In the morning, Asher wakes me with his mouth on my neck, his fingers trailing lazy circles up my thigh, but it's not sex he wants. He just wants me awake in his arms, not lost in a dream.
We lie there for a while, neither of us saying anything. The room smells like us—sweat and skin and the trace of orange blossoms from my shampoo. His heart is steady beneath my ear,his chest rising and falling slow, like he could stay here all day and never need anything else.
I know better. By the time I untangle to go to the bathroom, he's already checking email on his phone, drafting replies in that take-no-prisoners way that made him famous and infamous at the same time. It's not just me or us or himself that he's been trying to fix. It's his company, too.
He left a lot of destruction in his wake. It'll take him time to repair all the damage, but he's doing it, with the same painstaking focus and ruthless determination that catapulted his agency to the top in the first place.
It's different this time. He knows humility now. He apologizes. He listens to opinions. He doesn't just snap his fingers and expect the whole world to obey; he asks nicely. At least the first time. After that, the old monster rears his head, demanding obedience.
It's a slow climb up a steep hill, but he's climbing. Before long, his company will be back on top, his sins and transgressions forgotten by everyone, even if he never forgets them.
I watch him from the doorway, clutching the frame for balance, still dizzy from the way he fucked me last night. The diamond on my finger is so bright it looks like costume jewelry. But I know better than that. It's real.
He glances up when he senses me watching, his face softening the way it always does, like he's never quite prepared to see me standing there. Like he still can't believe I gave him another chance.
"Come here," he says, his voice still gritty.
I don't hesitate before crossing to him. When I'm at his side, he reaches out, pulling me into his lap, and presses his lips to the curve of my shoulder.
