He pulls back slowly, then pushes in again, watching my face for any sign of pain.
The sting fades, replaced by something else entirely. Pleasure builds gradually, a rising tide.
“More,” I breathe out. “Faster.”
“Greedy girl,” he says with a light slap to my arse that sends heat blooming between my legs. But he gives me what I want and picks up the pace. Each thrust hits something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids.
His forehead presses to mine. We move together, finding a rhythm. His hand slides between us and circles my clit.
“Oh god—Cavin?—”
“That’s it. Let go for me, love. I want to feel you come on my cock.”
My body clamps down on him as pleasure crashes over me in waves. I cry out his name, my nails digging into his shoulders. I shatter, lost to the echo of the first orgasm, eclipsed by the second.
“Fuck—Erin—” He loses his rhythm. His thrusts become erratic, desperate. “I’m—fuck?—”
He buries himself deep and comes with a groan that sounds like it’s torn from his chest. I feel him pulse inside me. Feel the warmth of him spilling into me.
It’s messy and overwhelming and utterly perfect.
For a long time, we just breathe together, tangled up in each other and the sheets. His weight is heavy on top of me, comforting rather than crushing.
Slowly, he pulls out. I wince at the sensitivity.
“Alright?” His eyes search mine, worried.
“More than alright.”
He rolls to the side, pulling me with him, and tucks me against his chest. His hand strokes up and down my spine in a soothing rhythm.
“Mine,” he murmurs eventually, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “My wife.”
“Yours,” I whisper back, running my fingers through his hair. “Always yours.”
And in this house—our house—with the candles flickering and the fire crackling and the world locked safely outside, I’ve never felt more at home. Never felt safer. Never felt more seen.
The voices in my head are quiet. The anxiety that usually thrums through my veins like a second heartbeat is gone.
There’s only him. Only us. Only this.
He pulls the sheet over us, and his arms tighten around me.
“Sleep, love,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’ve got you.”
I believe him.
For the first time in my life, I actually believe someone when they say that.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cavin
I don’t knowhow I got back here. I’m behind bars, the dank smell of my fucking prison flooding my senses.
“Where is she?” I growl into the dark. What did they do with my wife, and why am I here? I can’t talk to anyone in this condition because I’m pacing, my hands fisted by my sides. There are men in the cells behind me and around me, crowding me in.
“Where is who?” one taunts.
