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His gaze burns into mine.

“Come for me. Now.”

His next thrust steals whatever breath I have left.

“Pull me under with you.”

And God help me, I do.

When we stop trembling and finally pull back, Mitchell’s forehead rests against mine.

“Does this mean I'm out of the sin bin?”

I blink.

“The what?”

He groans.

“Never mind.”

I smile.

“Oh, no. Absolutely not. What sin bin?”

“Dane has opinions.”

I start laughing.

“You told Dane?”

“I made a tactical error.”

“Oh my God.”

“And apparently committed the worst fucking foul a man can commit in a relationship.”

I'm laughing hard enough now that my nose starts running.

“Shit.”

I grab a tissue. Mitchell waits patiently while I blow my nose. Then he grabs more tissues and gently pats between my legs until I’m blushing so hard I must look like a tomato.

Romance is alive and well.

When I look back at him, he's smiling. Not the billionaire smile. Not the smug one.

Mitchell.

Just Mitchell.

He lifts me up and sits on the couch, and I settle against him again.

His arm comes around me without hesitation this time. And maybe everything isn't magically fixed.

Maybe trust doesn't repair itself because we said three little words on my couch over cold medicine and chicken soup.

We'll have to talk. We'll have to figure out what happens next.