"A gift." His breath warms my lips. "A miracle. The best thing that's walked through my door in twenty years."
"You don't mean that."
"I don't say things I don't mean." His hands leave the dresser and cup my face instead, tilting it up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "I don't waste words. So when I tell you that you've made this family whole for the first time since my parents died, I need you to believe me."
"Sergio..."
"When I tell you that Carlos laughs more than he has in years. That Pedro talks about his feelings instead of burying them in work. That Nacho came home from a shift last week and smiled at me. Smiled, Jessica. My stoic, silent brother who hasn't smiled since he was seventeen."
His thumbs brush across my cheekbones, wiping away tears.
"When I tell you that I wake up every morning grateful you're here. That I fall asleep every night terrified you'll disappear. That I've spent years wanting you and three weeks barely surviving how much I love you."
My knees buckle. He catches me, one arm wrapping around my waist, pulling me against his chest.
"You're making things better." His voice rumbles against my ear. "You're making us whole. Don't run this time."
I clutch fistfuls of his t-shirt and hold on.
"I'm scared." The admission scrapes my throat raw. "I'm so scared, Sergio. Of losing you. Of ruining you. Of being the reason your family falls apart."
"We won't fall apart." He presses his lips to my hair. "We've survived worse. And we didn't have you then."
"I'm a mess."
"You're our mess." His arm tightens around my waist. "That's how pack works. Your problems become our problems. Your enemies become our enemies. Your triumphs become our triumphs."
I pull back to look at him. His grey eyes are fierce. Certain. No hesitation. No doubt.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I know what I want." His hand slides up my spine, leaving fire in its wake. "I've known for years. Nothing that's happened in the last three weeks has changed that. Nothing that happens tomorrow will change it either."
"The story might get worse."
"Probably will."
"The Morrisons have money and lawyers and connections."
"We have each other."
"That's not enough."
"It's everything." He cradles the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair. "You're everything. How many times do I have to say it before you believe me?"
I stare up at him. This man who speaks in commands. Who wastes nothing, especially not words. Who's looking at me like I'm precious instead of broken.
"Once more," I whisper. "Say it once more."
"You're everything." He lowers his head until his forehead rests against mine. "You're everything, and I'm keeping you."
"That sounds vaguely possessive."
"Good." His lips brush mine, barely a touch, a question more than a kiss. "Get used to it."
I answer by closing the distance.
The kiss starts soft. Gentle. His mouth warm and firm against mine, tasting like mint. But softness isn't what either of us needs right now, and within seconds it shifts. His tongue pushes past my lips, claiming and demanding, and I open for him with a desperate sound. His hand fists in my hair, angling my head so he can kiss me deeper, harder, like he's trying to crawl inside me. My nails rake down his back, leaving trails that make him hiss against my mouth, and when his other hand grips my thigh, pulling my leg up around his hip, I forget how to breathe.
