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My movements stutter as he says the words, and for a moment, everything else disappears. The room. The noise. The constant calculations running through my head. All of it fades as I come, filling the condom.

I lean down and take his mouth in a bruising kiss. Not because I need more from him. Because I don’t have the words for what I’m feeling. For the possessiveness. For the certainty. For the realization that somewhere along the way, this stopped being a fixation and became something more. Something permanent.

My hand cups the side of his face as I deepen the kiss. Memorizing him. Claiming the moment. The future has never interested me. I’ve always focused on the next target, the next objective. Yet for the first time in my life, I find myself thinking years ahead. And every version of that future contains him.

I pull back just enough to rest my forehead against his, just breathing him in. Grounding myself in the reality of him. I will never let him go. The thought isn’t romantic. It’s a fact that’s as certain as gravity. As inevitable as the sunrise.

If the day ever comes when someone tries to take him from me, they will learn exactly how far I am willing to go to keep what is mine.

Chapter 39

Jaxon

I wake to morning sunlight spilling across the bedroom. Conor’s bedroom. His arm is draped over my waist, his warm body pressed against my back. I’m the little spoon. The realization sends a strange warmth through me. I love it.

For once, I don’t wake up alone. I don’t wake up reaching for someone who isn’t there. I don’t wake up to an empty room. I wake up wrapped in safety. Wrapped in him.

My eyes drift closed again as memories of last night surface. What stays with me are the moments afterward. The things no romance novel ever truly prepared me for. The care. The attention. The fact that when everything was over, Conor’s focus never shifted away from me. He didn’t pull away. Didn’t turn over. Didn’t act like the vulnerable parts of me had suddenly become inconvenient. Instead, he took care of me. The memory makes my chest ache. Because nobody has ever done that before. Not once.

Then there was the small jar he pulled from his nightstand. I hadn’t recognized it at first. Not until I noticed the seal. It was unbroken, unused. Bought specifically for me. He’d planned for my comfort. Anticipated my needs before I’d even voiced them.

He applied the soothing oil to my thoroughly used hole; the gesture was so simple, so practical. Yet it felt impossibly intimate.

My throat tightens at the memory, not because of what he did, but because of what it meant. Conor had thought about me. Not as a problem to solve, not as someone he was responsible for, but as someone worth caring for. And somehow, that means more than I know how to put into words.

Movement behind me pulls me from my memories. Conor’s arm tightens around my waist, and I smile, a real smile. Not the polite ones I learned to fake. Not the sarcastic ones I use to deflect. A genuine smile. It feels strange on my face. I want to stay here forever, safe and warm, cocooned in his arms. For once, the future doesn’t seem quite so terrifying.

I feel his lips brush my shoulder, then my neck. A moment later, he takes in a deep breath.

“Are you sniffing me?” I ask with a giggle, scrunching my shoulder.

“Smell is one of the things that attracts people to others,” he says matter-of-factly.

I roll my eyes.

“Of course, you would make it sound like a scientific study.”

“It is a scientific study. And your smell is intoxicating.”

The blunt honesty catches me off guard. Conor doesn’t flirt the way most people do. He doesn’t use pretty words or grand declarations. He simply states things as facts, as though there’s no point pretending otherwise. Heat creeps into my cheeks.

“That’s a very strange thing to say before coffee.”

His arm tightens again. Possessively. Comfortingly. “It’s also true.”

I shake my head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Incorrect.” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I am statistically accurate.”

The laugh that escapes me is loud enough to echo through the room. For a moment, neither of us says anything. We simply lie there. The morning sunlight creeping across the sheets. His heartbeat steady against my back.

I never realized how much I wanted this. Never realized how much I want to wake up beside someone who wants me to stay. That thought is further cemented when Conor rolls me over and braces himself over me. His brilliant green eyes roam over my face.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, his voice still rough with sleep.

“I feel great.” The smile comes easily, effortlessly. I don’t even try to hide it.

In reality, great doesn’t come close to describing it. How do you explain finally finding something you didn’t realize you were missing? How do you explain feeling safe? Wanted. Chosen. The feeling is too big for words.