In the feeling of being wanted instead of owned.
His hand slides between us, finding the place that makes me gasp, and he works me with the same focus he brings to everything.
"Let go," he murmurs against my ear. "I've got you. Let go."
I do.
The orgasm crashes through me, and I cry out—not caring who hears, not caring about anything except this moment, this man, this reclamation of something I thought was lost forever.
He follows me over the edge seconds later, burying his face in my neck, my name on his lips like a prayer.
Afterward, we lie tangled together in the narrow bed, his arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm against my hair.
"Stay," I whisper.
"I'm not going anywhere."
For the first time in years, I believe it.
For the first time in years, I fall asleep without fear.
CHAPTER 6
Leviathan
I wake up with a woman in my arms.
For a moment, I don't move.
Hell, I don’t even think I fucking breathe.
I lie there in the gray morning light, staring at the ceiling of a room that isn't mine, trying to remember how I got here.
Then it comes back. All of it.
Ripley.
She's curled against my side, her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin.
One of her hands rests over my heart, fingers splayed like she's checking to make sure it's still beating.
Her face is slack with sleep—peaceful in a way I've never seen her.
The bruises are still there, ugly purple and yellow marks that make my jaw clench, but the tension is gone. The fear is gone.
She looks almost... happy.
I should get up.
Should slip out of this bed, out of this room, and pretend last night never happened.
I'm the President of this club.
I've got responsibilities, obligations, a hundred problems that need my attention.
I don't have time to lie here watching some woman sleep, but I don't move.
Instead, I study her face.
