"You're so beautiful," I murmur against her throat. "So fucking perfect."
She arches into me, her fingers threading through my hair. "Nathan..."
I nod. I know what she needs. I take her wrists and pull them roughly above her head. A moan escapes her as I tie both of them.
I kiss down her body, taking my time, worshipping every curve, every freckle, every inch of skin. When I settle between her thighs, she gasps, her hands pulling at the restraints.
"Let me take care of you," I whisper. "Let me make it good."
I taste her slowly, thoroughly, learning every response, every sound she makes. Her pleasure becomes my singular focus, my entire world narrowed to the trembling of her thighs and the way she says my name like a benediction.
When she comes apart on my tongue, it's with a cry that sounds like release—not just of pleasure, but of something deeper. Years of longing, of holding everything together, of being strong when she was dying inside.
I kiss my way back up her body and sink into her slowly, our eyes locked. She's tight and wet and perfect, and I have to pause, overwhelmed by the intimacy of it.
"Move," she breathes. "Please, Nathan, I need—"
I know what she needs. I can see it in her eyes, feel it in the desperate way she clings to me.
I start to move, deep and steady, and she wraps her legs around me completely. Our bodies find a rhythm that feels ancient, inevitable, like we've been moving toward this moment since that first night at the club.
But this is different. This isn't just sex. This is catharsis.
Her breath comes in gasps, and then I hear it—a small sob. And another. Tears stream down her face, but she doesn't stop moving, doesn't pull away. She cries while I make love to her, releasing years of pain with every thrust, every touch, every whispered word.
"I've got you," I murmur, kissing her tears. "You're safe. I've got you."
She sobs harder, her body shaking, and I hold her through it, my movements never stopping. This is what she needs—to break completely, to finally let go of everything she's been holding inside.
We're moving together, two broken people trying to heal each other the only way we know how. The pleasure builds despite the tears—or maybe because of them—until we're both trembling on the edge.
"Come for me," I whisper. "Let it all go, Eve. I've got you."
She shatters with a cry that sounds like my name, and I follow her over, pouring myself into her as years of guilt and grief finally find their release.
We collapse together, still joined, our bodies slick with sweat and tears. I hold her as she continues to cry, soft sobs that gradually quiet into exhausted breathing.
"Thank you," she whispers eventually. "I needed that."
I kiss her forehead tenderly as I gently release her wrists. "So did I."
We lie there in the darkness, wrapped around each other, and for the first time in a very long time, I feel something that might be peace.
She's mine now. Not because I forced her, not because I manipulated her, but because she chose to come to me with her pain, trusting me to hold her through the breaking.
And I will. I'll hold her through every storm, every grief, every moment of darkness.
Because I finally understand—this isn't about keeping a promise to a dead boy.
This is about bringing a broken woman back to wholeness.
Even if I have to break her a little more first.
Chapter 17 - Eve
I wake to soft morning light filtering through floor-to-ceiling windows and the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped across my waist.
Nathan.
