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“You are my Serendipity,” he says again, softer this time, like a prayer pressed against my skin.

The moment the words leave his mouth, something inside me cracks wide open. I break. All the tension, the longing, the months of silence and pain—dissolve beneath the heat of that truth. Of his truth. Of him.

My hands tremble slightly as I cup his face, brushing my thumbs along the rough stubble that lines his jaw.

“Then show me,” I whisper. “Show me I’m yours.”

His eyes darken instantly, like a storm rolling in—lust and love tangled together in a gaze that feels like it could set me on fire.

“I don’t need to show you, baby. You already know,” he murmurs hoarsely.

And before I can catch my breath, his mouth claims mine again—desperate, unrelenting, raw.

“But I’m happy to remind you. Again and again and again.”

This kiss isn’t tender. It’s a battle—tongues and teeth, moans and murmurs, the release of months of craving finally exploding.

His hands roam my back, sliding under my dress, pulling it up with a practiced ease. I lift my arms, and he yanks it off, tossing it somewhere behind us.

His lips move to my breasts—licking and sucking my hard nipples.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Sierra,” he breathes against one, pulling back just enough to look at me. “But I need you to start wearing fucking bras. Especially when I’m not with you.”

He bites one nipple hard, making me squirm in his lap. A chuckle rumbles from his throat as he trails his gaze down my chest, licking his lips slowly, deliberately. Then dips his head again, taking the other one into his mouth.

A sharp, needy gasp escapes me, my hips instinctively grinding against him.

He groans—the sound vibrating through my skin, sending shocks between my thighs.

I clutch his hair, tugging it gently as he lavishes each breast with attention, switching between them—licking, sucking, biting softly—until I’m panting.

I can feel him hard beneath me, thick and ready, straining against the fabric of his pants.

“Take it off,” I whisper against his ear, kissing the shell, nibbling it. “I want all of you.”

“Not yet,” he growls, gripping my hips and flipping us effortlessly.

Now he’s on top, between my legs, looking down at me like I’m a feast he’s about to devour.

“Not until I’ve touched every inch of you.”

He trails kisses down my body—slow, lingering—across my stomach, my ribs, the curve of my hip. When he reaches my panties, he looks, searching my eyes. Asking. Waiting.

I nod, breathless. “Yes.”

With agonizing patience, he pulls them down slowly, the fabric sliding over my skin. Then he tosses them aside and spreads my legs gently, kneeling between them like he’s worshipping.

“Fuck, look at you,” he says, voice strained, running his hands through my folds. “Dripping for me.”

“Nick…” My voice trembles. I need him. Now.

But he doesn’t rush. He leans forward, mouth finding my pussy with a confidence that borders on arrogance. He licks a slow, torturous line through my folds, then flicks his tongue against my clit, making my hips jolt.

I cry out, grabbing the headboard behind me for support as he continues—slow, methodical—determined to unravel me.

Nick alternates pressure—sucking gently, then licking fast and light, then sucking again. One hand grips my thigh while the other slides up, two fingers slipping inside me without warning.

“Jesus.” I arch up, legs trembling. “Nick, I’m gonna…”