“Come,” he ordered. “Come for me now.”
I did, my whole body going rigid as I came harder than I ever had before. My cock pulsed in my hand, come painting my chest and stomach, and I felt my ass clench around him, milking his cock.
“Fuck, Jace—” He buried himself deep and came with a groan, and I felt him pulse inside me, felt the warmth flooding me, felt him shake with the force of his orgasm.
He collapsed on top of me, both of us breathing hard, sweaty and spent. His weight pressed me into the mattress, and I wrapped my arms around him, holding him close.
“Holy shit,” I managed after a moment.
“Yeah.” His voice was muffled against my neck. “Holy shit.”
We lay there for a long moment, neither of us willing to move, neither of us wanting to break the connection. His cock was still inside me, softening but still there, and his come started to leak out.
“I love you,” I said quietly.
He lifted his head to look at me, and his expression was soft. Vulnerable. “I love you too.”
“This is real, right? We're really here. In our house. Together.”
“We're really here.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “This is real. We made it.”
My throat went tight. “I was so scared we wouldn't.”
“I know. I was too.” He pulled out carefully, and I felt the immediate loss, felt his come start to leak out more freely. “But we did. We fought for this, and we won.”
He moved to get up, probably to get something to clean us up, but I grabbed his wrist.
“Stay. Just for a minute. I want to feel this.”
He settled back down beside me, pulling me into his arms, and I pressed my face into his chest. We were both sticky and sweaty and covered in come, but I didn't care. I just wanted to be close to him, to feel the reality of this moment.
“You have me.” His hand stroked down my spine. “You've always had me.”
We lay there in comfortable silence, the ocean air drifting through the open window, the sound of waves in the distance. This was ours. This house, this bed, this life. We'd fought for it, survived for it, and now we finally got to live it.
Eventually, Grant did get up to get a warm washcloth, and he cleaned me up with the same gentle care he always did. Cleaned my stomach, my chest, between my legs where his come was still leaking out. His touch was tender, reverent, and I felt something in my chest clench at the intimacy of it.
When he was done, he climbed back into bed and pulled me close. I went willingly, tucking myself against his side, one leg thrown over his hips.
“Better?” he asked.
“Perfect.” I pressed a kiss to his chest. “Everything's perfect.”
When it was over, we lay tangled together with the ocean air drifting through the open window.
“You good?” Grant asked.
“Yeah.” I pressed my face into his neck. “I'm good.”
We lay there in comfortable silence, and I let myself drift. Felt safe and loved and finally, finally allowed to just exist.
This was the part they didn't show on TV. The quiet after the win. The domestic intimacy. The life we'd built from the wreckage of scandal and fear.
“Jace?”
“Mm?”
“We need to talk about the dog.”
