Page 117 of Ace of Spades

"I can live with that." His hand slid from my knee to my thigh. "When this is over, I'm going to take you upstairs and remind you exactly who you belong to."

Heat fluttered low in my stomach. My pulse kicked up, and I let it. Let myself want without calculating whether I was allowed. "Is that a threat?"

"A promise." His grip tightened. "You've been patient tonight, letting Xander run things. You only straightened the napkins three times."

"You were watching."

"I'm always watching you." His voice dropped. "Now go get me a whiskey."

I was on my feet before I'd made a conscious decision, the old obedience settling into my bones as familiar as breath. It was more than three decades of conditioning that drove me; it was the pleasure of being told, the relief of clarity after a night of uncertain footing. I still wanted this. I would always want this.

"Macallan," he added. "Neat."

"I know how you take your whiskey."

"I know you do." His eyes held mine. "I also know you like to be told.”

When I returned with the whiskey, he took the glass with one hand and pulled me down beside him with the other, his grip on my wrist firm and possessive. I didn't resist.

We sat in the darkness, his shoulder against mine, his hand still circling my wrist. The party sounds had faded. Someone had turned off the music inside.

I let my head rest on his shoulder. I wasn't the COO anymore. I wasn't the invisible hand guiding an empire.

I was fifty-four, learning to occupy space without justifying it. Learning to name the thing between us without flinching from the word.

Love. I could call it that now. It still caught in my throat sometimes, but less often than before.

Inside, Xander was arguing with Xavier about cleanup. Xion had escaped to the garage with Boone.

This was family. Imperfect and fractured, built on wreckage I'd created. Not the family I'd destroyed, but something new, growing in scorched earth.

Something that had room for me.

"I love you," I said.

Algerone pressed a kiss on my temple. His hand tightened on my wrist.

"I know," he said.

I would do it all again. Every lie, every cruelty. That truth hadn't changed. I was still the man who'd burned the world to keep him.

The difference was that I'd stopped pretending I wouldn't.

I didn't deserve his hand in mine, or getting to wake up with him beside me. I would never deserve it.

But I was keeping it anyway.