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I didn’t need to say that I love her again.

I said it with every touch.

Now, the sun is bleeding softly through the curtains, casting warm streaks of gold across the bed. It’s almost eleven a.m., and my body is heavy with the kind of exhaustion only Sierra can give me—consuming, deep-bone.

I’m somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when I feel her.

Her mouth.

Fuck.

I jolt awake, my hands gripping the sheets, my head falling back against the pillow with a strangled groan as my hips react on their own. Her name leaves my mouth in a broken whisper—and not even ten minutes later, I’m done. Ruined. Obliterated.

She climbs up my body with that damn satisfied look on her face and leans in, her lips brushing my jaw.

“I owed you from last night,” she murmurs against my mouth, voice low and wicked. “And I never leave debts unpaid.”

“Oh, yeah?” I ask, catching her bottom lip between my teeth, tugging until she lets out a quiet, needy sound.

Her eyes are still heavy with satisfaction, but there’s that spark—curious, wild, mine.

“You owe me for five fucking months, Sierra,” I murmur against her skin. “Five months of not having you. How are you planning to pay me for that?”

I release her lip, then trail my tongue over it—teasing—leaving her breathless.

She shudders visibly.

I grip her waist with both hands and slide her fully over me, until she’s straddling my hips, her bare pussy pressing down against my cock—already hard again, already aching for her. It’s involuntary, the way her body responds. Her hips shift, rub, roll—seeking friction, chasing the beat.

“Fuck,” I groan, closing my eyes for a beat, letting the sensation ripple through my whole body. I could take her right now. I want to. My whole damn body is screaming to so.

But I don’t.

My hands tighten around her waist, holding her in place. Her hips fight against my grip instinctively, and I see the frustrated little frown forming between her brows.

“Sierra,” I say softly. “If you keep moving like that, I won’t be able to stop. And I want to talk first. Just us. No distractions.”

She exhales sharply, her lips twisting into a pout that’s too fucking tempting.

“Are you serious right now?” she mutters—annoyed—rolling her eyes.

“I’m deadly serious,” I reply, brushing my thumbs gently over the bare skin of her hips, trying to ground us both. “I swear I’ll fuck you every minute of every day, if that’s what you want, if that’s what you need, but I need to know we can talk. That we can trust each other. That we’re a team now.”

Her breath catches a little at my words, and I feel the way her body stills. Slows. Listens.

“I’m a famous hockey player,” I start, voice steady. “There’s always shit being written about me—rumors, half-truths, straight-up lies. I’ve gotten used to it. And the truth is, most of it means nothing. It’s just noise. But some people—some women—would do anything to be with someone like me. For money, for status, for attention. And I’ve ignored it all my life.”

Her eyes meet mine then—steady and clear—but I see the tremble behind them. The fear.

I tighten my grip, grounding her in place, grounding myself too.

“But now?” I say—my voice lower, firmer. “Now I care. I care because of you. Because of us. Because if you’re back in my life, Sierra, you’re back to stay. And that means owning it—owning me. All of me. In public. In private. Everywhere. That means being my wife, with everything that comes with it. And I won’t let anything hurt you. But I need to know you’re strong enough to stand beside me.”

She doesn’t say anything at first.

But I see it—how her face changes. That storm of emotions flooding her—the way her eyes fill with tears, how her lips part slightly, trembling. Frustration melts into shock, shock into wonder, and wonder into something so pure it makes my chest fucking ache.

Admiration. Awe. Love. Deep, soul-anchoring love.