He reaches across the table and takes my hand, turning his arm so I can see everything clearly.
“The chain is what they tried to do to you,” he says. “To us. Control. Ownership. Breaking you down piece by piece.”
My fingers tremble as they trace the ink lightly, careful not to hurt him.
“And the break?” I ask.
“That’s you,” he says immediately. No hesitation. “You didn’t snap clean. You fought. You tore your way out.”
My eyes burn.
“The flower,” he continues, voice roughening, “that’s you too. Growing anyway. Stronger than the shit wrapped around you. Stronger than me some days.”
I swallow hard. “And… my name?”
His jaw tightens. “So I never forget what matters. So if I start slipping into the dark parts of my head, I look down and remember who I’m fighting for.”
My gaze drops to the words near his wrist.
“Still breathing,” I whisper.
He nods. “That’s what kept me going. Every day. I told myself you were still breathing, even when I had no proof. And I needed that reminder too.” His thumb brushes over my knuckles. “I was too.”
Tears slip free before I can stop them.
“You marked yourself for me,” I say, my voice breaking.
He squeezes my hand. “I marked myself because of you.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to his forearm, right over the broken chain, my lips lingering there like a promise.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He stands suddenly, pulls me up with him, and wraps me in his arms, holding me like he’s never letting go.
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve always known.”
I lean forward and press a kiss to his forearm, right over the broken chain, my lips lingering there like a promise.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He stands suddenly, pulls me up with him, and wraps me in his arms, holding me like he’s never letting go.
“I know,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve always known. And I fucking love you too. You’re my air, my oxygen. Without you, I don’t breathe. I don’t exist.”
Then he lifts me, sets me on the dining room table, and slides everything off it in one brutal sweep. He kisses me hard, punishing and claiming, like he needs me to feel it in my bones. Like he’s reminding me exactly who I belong to.
I belong to him. I always will.
He yanks my shirt over my head and sucks one nipple into his mouth, rough and unapologetic. I arch into him.
“Oh, God,” I murmur, threading my fingers through his hair, holding him there as he drags his mouth between my breasts and closes his lips around the other, slow and devastating.
He eases me back, kissing down my stomach, and hooks his fingers into my leggings. One sharp tug and they’re gone, panties with them, tossed aside like they never mattered.
Then he’s there, kneeling in front of me.
He kisses up my thighs, spreads me open, and inhales deeply like he’s starving. And when his tongue slides up my center, I start to come undone. His tongue circles my throbbing clit, slow and cruel, drawing it out until I’m shaking. Then he presses two fingers into my core, stretching me, owning the space inside me.
