This was her choosing me.
And that meant everything.
So I paused.
To memorize the moment.
To give her the chance to run.
Because after this, there was no going back.
And I’d never fucking let her go.
“We stop here if you want,” I said, voice low, steady—despite the wildfire in my chest.
I meant it.
Even if my body was a live wire, pulled tight by want. Even if every instinct in me screamed to take, to claim, to sink into her and never come up for air—I needed her to know: she was the one in control.
The air stretched between us, thick with tension and maybe something more—something holy.
And then she stepped closer.
No hesitation. Just her—soft and sure, pressing against me like she already belonged there. Like she'd made her choice.
My pulse slammed through me. Not just from desire, though that burned hot and relentless under my skin—but from the gravity of this. Of her.
Because she wasn’t just giving me her body.
She was giving me trust.
Her fingers curled in my waistband, her breath warm against my collarbone, and I felt it—something in me shifting. Snapping into place. Irrevocable.
There would be no going back.
I wrapped my arms around her, one hand splayed across the small of her back, the other tangled in her hair. Holding her close, anchoring her to me like I could keep her from ever drifting again.
She was everything.
Warmth. Strength. Softness wrapped around steel.
And as I buried my face in her neck and breathed her in, I didn’t think about lust or conquest or any of the twisted shit I’d done before I met her.
All I could think was: Don’t fuck this up.
This wasn’t just about taking what was mine.
It was about protecting it.
About deserving it.
Chapter 13
Kennedy
The world dissolved into shadows and heat as we moved toward the bed, our steps unsteady but guided by something deeper than desire. Nick’s hands gripped my waist like I might vanish if he let go. There was a reverence in every touch, like he wasn’t just laying me down, but anchoring me to something real. Something sacred.
The sheets were cool beneath me, a delicate contrast to the warmth rolling off his skin. He didn’t hurry. There was no rush in him—only intent. His fingers brushed across my stomach with a kind of quiet awe, then curved gently around my hips, as though learning the shape of me was the most important thing he’d ever do.
