My body trembles through the aftershocks while my pulse is erratic, my limbs boneless. His thumb slows but doesn’t stop, drawing out every last ripple of pleasure until I’m shuddering, oversensitive, and wrecked.
His grip on my throat disappears, moving to smooth over the skin he just held, gently rubbing, soothing, like he’s making sure I’m okay.
A whimper slips from my lips, not just from the pleasure but from the overwhelming, inescapable feeling of being his. I blink down at him, my body still reeling, my brain still catching up.
The way he’s watching me, waiting. Not with regret. Not with hesitation. Just… waiting.
When he speaks, his voice is quiet. “Color?”
I instantly know my answer, so I force my tired lips to move, to let him hear the truth of what he really wants to know.
That I’m still here. I’m safe. And I still want him.
“Green.”
His jaw relaxes just before I collapse against him, my forehead resting against his, our sweat-slicked skin sticking together.
His arms wrap around me immediately, securing me, locking me in. Like he needs me close. His breath is warm against my temple when he murmurs, “Mine.”
“Yours.” I exhale, not fighting it, not questioning it.
He tightens his hold on me. “And you’re worthy of every fucking thing I give you.”
Not just my body. Not just my pleasure.
All of it.
I let his words wash over me, let them settle into the places I’ve kept hidden, the cracks I’ve tried to ignore.
Yeah.
Maybe he’s right.
Maybe I’m worthy of him.
And maybe I want to be.
FIFTEEN
We’re standing in front of theBriette Steakhouse, its sign reminding me of the chaos I ran from only a couple of days ago.
My throat tightens as the memory floods back, and it’s as if my body remembers too. The wound on my upper arm throbs faintly, a phantom ache beneath the emerald dress Levi bought me.
I glance down, confirming its long sleeves hide the bandage well. The dress has elegant lines, and the deep green color complements my complexion. The dress is undeniably sophisticated, especially since it’s paired with nude pumps and a matching purse. I’ve never looked more put together, but I’m not sure how I feel about it. It’s like my Glitter armor, a borrowed skin to help me blend into this crowd.
Inside, the restaurant hums with life, the air thick with the scent of steak. Servers weave through the tables, carrying plates piled high with dishes that probably cost more than my monthly rent. My stomach churns but from nerves, not hunger.
Deep breaths, Nova.
A server greets us at the entrance before leading us toward the back. My breaths come short and shallow until Koen’shand brushes against my elbow. His thumb moves in a subtle, reassuring stroke that I’m sure no one else notices.
“We’re going to be fine,” he whispers next to my ear.
I nod, just barely.
The private room we’re led into is dimly lit, and the centerpiece is a glittering chandelier that rivals Levi’s outfit in opulence. Ezra and Koen opted for black suits with black shirts, no ties. Casual enough to seem unbothered, formal enough to match the occasion.
And then there’s Veronica, who stands in a burgundy dress near the back of the room, adjusting Nicholas’s lapel.
