The promise shatters me. Another child? With him? The idea, irrational and profound, breaks open the walls I've built.
I come hard, pussy clenching around his cock, milking him as waves of ecstasy pull me under.
He follows with a guttural groan, spilling deep inside, hot and claiming.
We stay like that, joined, breaths mingling as the aftershocks fade. His hold on my wrists loosens, but he pulls me down to his chest, arms wrapping around me.
“Mia regina,”he breathes into my hair. “Sleep now. We've got forever.”
I drift off against him, the weight of his words settling like a balm. For the first time in years, hope feels real.
18
NICO
Iwake before she does.
For a moment I don’t move. I just lie there, watching her sleep beside me. Izzy is on her side, one arm tucked under the pillow, her hair spread across it in a dark mess. The sheet has slipped down to her waist. My eyes follow the curve of her shoulder, the slow rise and fall of her breathing.
Seven years.
Seven years of thinking about that night. Of wondering where she went, if she was safe, if she ever thought about me again.
And now she’s here.
In my bed.
In my house.
All mine.
My hand moves before I think about it, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake. The sight of her like this—soft, peaceful, unguarded—does something dangerous to my chest.
I bend down and press a slow kiss to her shoulder.
She makes a small sound and shifts closer to me without opening her eyes.
“Morning already?” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep.
“Almost.”
She opens one eye just enough to look at me. The corner of her mouth curves.
“You’re staring again.”
“I’ve earned the right.”
That makes her smile properly. She reaches for me and pulls me down until my mouth finds hers. The kiss is slow, lazy, nothing like the urgency of the night before. There’s no rush now. No stolen moment in a dark room. Just warmth and quiet morning light creeping across the sheets.
When we finally separate, she presses her forehead against mine.
“Noah will wake up soon,” she says.
“I know.”
For a second, neither of us moves.
Then she sighs and slips out of bed, pulling the sheet with her. I watch her cross the room, sunlight catching the line of her back. Something about the simple domesticity of the moment feels surreal.
