She gives me a droll look, presses a button on her phone, and holds it up to her ear. “Keith? You catch the conference—yeah, I’m with her. Yeah, she’s having a mental breakdown.” Delilah cocks her head to the side, examining me. “She kind of looks like she’s about to vomit. Or blow up. And she’s making noises like a dying whale. Since you do emotions better than I do, can you—” she cuts off, eyebrows inching up. “Oh. Now? Already? That was… yeah, got it.”
I’m too busy crying my heart out, this time from overwhelming happiness and a sense of completion, to really make sense of her words.
I hear Delilah open the door to my hotel room. I look over, expecting to seeKeithhere, ready to witness me making a mess of myself, but instead… oh,fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. It’sAsher.
And Delilah’s standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. She’s not much taller than me—5’4 on a good day—but the way she holds herself, you’d think she’s a seven foot amazonian warrior.
She steps forward and quietly mutters something to Asher. I take the moment to swipe at my tears and choke down my sobs, becausegod,being this emotional is just embarrassing. But it’s like… years of being invalidated, overlooked, and ignored are pouring out of me.
Now’s not the time. Asher’s here. He’shere.Not just physically—I know in my bones that he’s here for me. He has my back, just like I have his.
Delilah casts a look at me and steps around Asher. I stand up, knowing that I look like a mess, but not caring because I don’t think Asher will judge me.
He’s still standing in the doorway, leaning against the door to hold it open. There’s a bag in one of his hands that looks like it’s from a liquor store. Did he make a pitstop between racing from the track to the hotel?
“Intern,” he greets, a wealth of affection shining in his eyes.
“Asshole.” My voice is choked, and I’m about to lose my battle against my tears.
“You know, it occurred to me that we never did have that bottle of muscat at my apartment that night.” He holds up the bag. “I come prepared. Thought we could celebrate our win together.”
Our. That’s about all I can take. I grab him by the shirt and drag him inside, standing on my tiptoes to fuse my lips to his. The bag drops from his hand, bottle landingagainst the rug with a softthud,and he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me closer.
Our clothes are shed in no particular order—we’re both caught in a frenzy of need on the heels ofourwin and his speech.
We fall onto the bed, teeth clashing, tongues twining, him on top and me cradled in the warmth and safety of his arms.Thisis what completion feels like. This is what I’ve been missing all these years.
Asher pulls away and frames my face in his hands. His erection, impossibly long and thick, prods at my center.
“Tell me something, sweetheart.” He kisses my nose.
“Anything,” I breathe.
He rests his forehead against mine as he starts to slide inside me, inch by impossibly thick inch. I gasp, arching into him, trembling beneath his hands. This time, the sex doesn’t feel like a frenzy of fucking; it feels like love. Pure. Simple.Unequivocal.
“Tell me that you love me.” He touches his lips to mine. “I need to hear you say it, sweetheart. I might die if I don’t.”
“I love you,” I moan. “So much it frightens me.”
“Good.” He sinks his teeth into my neck, and I pulse around his cock. “Because I love you so fucking much I feelsickwith it. And I am never—”thrust“—ever,”harder thrust,“—letting you go.” His hand wraps around my neck, and his eyes catch mine. “Are we clear?”
“Crystal.” I’m not sure how I have the ability to conjure words with him so deep inside me I’m seeing sounds andhearing colors. “I’m not letting you go either, driver. Now, could you please fuck my brains out?”
He chuckles. “It’d be mypleasure.”
His hand tightens on my throat—not enough to cut off my breathing, but enough to make me slightly lightheaded. His thrusts turn from long, deep strokes into sharp, harsh thrusts that knock the breath out of me. He leans down to kiss me again, consuming me so completely there’s no doubt that I belong entirely, and permanently, to him.
And he belongs to me. I feel it in his kiss, in the way he fucks me, in his labored breathing and the affection-filled eye contact I get between kisses.
We peak at the same time; me, crying and shuddering; him, grunting and pulling the skin of my neck between his teeth. The bite of pain prolongs my orgasm, making it overwhelming and endless.
When itdoesend, and he slips out of me, I still feel impossibly full of him. His love, his affection. Him putting me first in front of the entire word. The memory of his words during the press conference once again bring tears to my eyes, and I sniffle as I curl up against him, resting my head on his shoulder.
He stiffens. “What’s wrong?” He sits up, bringing me with him, and peers down at me with concern. When a tear trails down my cheek, his expression morphs to terror. “Oh fuck, please don’t cry. I can’t bear it.” He wipes my tear away, then wipes another as it falls. “Sweetheart—”
“I’m not sad.” The words are choked up. “You… put me first. In front of the world. I’mhappy,you moron.”
