“I’d prefer not to talk about that part,” she murmurs. “It was so painful. So unfair. It made me question life for a long time.”
“I know the feeling,” I tell her grimly. “Except, Noah didn’t choose to leave you.”
“I’m sorry, Jack.”
I kiss her again. “I’m sorry too, baby.”
We stay like that for a long time, as she sinks deeper and deeper into my embrace. It feels so easy when we’re like this. Just the two of us, fused together in the soft glow of her Anglerfish-styled lamp.
Soon, my eyelids begin to grow heavy. Just before sleep takes me, I hear her breathing softly beside me. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a long, long time, despite all the darkness we’ve shared. Or maybe because of it.
CHAPTER 23
DAKOTA
When I wake, I’m in his arms. He handles me like I weigh nothing. His firm grip sinks into my legs as he nudges my bedroom door open. He gently lays me down, then pauses when he sees I’m awake.
“What time is it?” I ask groggily.
“Almost six,” he replies, voice rough. “We fell asleep.”
“Are you going?” I ask, an anxious note in my voice.
In this hazy, half-awake state, things don’t seem as complicated as they usually do. Right now, it’s as simple as not wanting his reassuring warmth to leave me.
“I was going to,” he says carefully. “I’m normally in the office by seven.”
“Can you stay for a little while?”
“Of course.”
“Don’t you need sleep, goblin?” I murmur when he climbs onto the covers next to me.
“I haven’t slept properly in a long time,” he replies huskily, wrapping an arm around me and pulling me close.
A shiver runs through me. Maybe it’s the sleepiness taking away some of the tension, the uncertainty. Or the fact we split open our hearts and shared our deepest, darkest pains. Whatever it is, I feel so much closer to him, so much readier to let go…
At least here. At least now.
“Dakota,” he groans when I roll onto my side and start kissing his neck.
“Shh,” I moan, swept up in the moment, feeling a sudden and shocking rush of power and control. “You don’t have to do anything, baby.”
“Oh, fuck,” he groans.
I slide my hand down his front, grinding my palm up and down the front of his pants. That same controlled feeling burns through me as I unclip his belt and pull his pants down.
When he tries to sit up—his hand twitching like he wants to touch me—I place my hand on his chest and gently push him back down. I feel the power in him, the rebellion. Like he’s going to surge up, bend me over, take me hard and savage.
But he restrains himself for me, as though there are invisible ropes holding him down.
He’s already hard for me, his thick manhood springing up, veins pushing against his throbbing thickness. Precome pearls at his tip and slips down his shaft.
“Lie there,” I whimper, stroking precome up and down his length. My core aches as wetness fills my underwear. “For once, you’re not the CEO, Jack. You’re mine.”
“That’s all I want,” he snarls. “For you to be mine—and me to be yours.”
I stroke him up and down a few more times, but I can’t wait. I don’t want this moment to pass. I wriggle out of my shorts and underwear, then climb atop him, bracing my hands on his chest. His muscles swell through his shirt, and he stares up at me in awe and hunger.
