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Did he bring lube to Alaska to use on someone who wasn’t me? My entire body bristles in jealousy at the thought of who he was planning on using that on.

“I found it in someone’s luggage,” he says as if reading my thoughts. “I never told you because you’re always so fucking wet and never need it.”

This appeases me for a moment as I attempt to relax, trying to make sense of the feelings coursing through me. But my body is tense. I’m not sure this is something I am capable of.

“Breathe, London. I don’t want to tie you up again. I want you to do this willingly.”

I breathe deeply as I focus on the fur of the wolf blanket, how soft it is and how much I love the guy who made it for me.

His fingers dig deeper, spreading out my ass further. He grabs a fresh cloth from ripped-up clothing and cleans me, then spreads some more. “Good fucking girl. Open up for me, baby. You’re so strong, London. We have all night to get this right.”

I’ve dealt with pain, and I told him on countless occasions that I could handle him. This is my chance to prove it. “You promise that it won’t hurt?” I whisper to him.

He chuckles. “No. It probably will.”

My breath hitches as he starts slowly, pressing the tip of his cock inside me after covering it in lube. Ever so slightly, he pushes himself deeper inside, and I seem to wrap around him, my body inviting the length of him instead of fighting against it like I thought it would.

Because I belong to him. I was made for him.

But it still fucking hurts.

I let myself go to the pain. With each touch, he evokes all the hurt, anguish, sorrow, and grief I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if I can finally acknowledge it—manage it—in a way I couldn’t before. He claims me, taking me gently until he’s so deep that his entire body over mine is rocking back and forth. He fucks me like this for a while, slow and sensual, doing his best not to hurt me, kissing my neck, and breathing whispers of reassurance. A slow swell of pleasure rocks through me, shooting to my very core. The orgasm is just as intense as the others. I can barely make audible noises at this point as I muffle my breaths into the blanket.

He finishes relatively quickly, and I get a huge rush of satisfaction when his body comes undone, his breath so heavy and labored. He swears as he climaxes and keeps his hands gentle on me, not once doing anything that would truly hurt me.

I’ve unraveled him.

Every part of my body is throbbing now, even parts I never expected would be stimulated quite like that. He pulls off me, grabs some water and starts washing me again, wiping away all the sweat and sticky heat that came out of me. When I turn around and face him, he seems much cleaner than I do. It probably looks like I just went through a meat grinder and got spit out on the other side.

He cups his hands over my face and leans his forehead against mine before helping me put a shirt on. He cuddles up next to me, pulling me as close to him as possible. I can’t talk; I have no words left, barely any coherent thoughts.

I close my eyes and finally let sleep take me, and I can’t help the swelling of emotions that overtake me.

Grief, love, pain.

All of it.

“London,” Micah whispers as the final bits of embers die in the fire and the shadows take over.

“Yeah,” I whisper back, my body so relaxed and calm.

“Are you ever going to leave like that again?”

I swallow hard and squeeze my eyes shut. “No, Micah. I won’t do that again. I promise that I won’t ever leave you.”

His fingers dig into me ever so slightly. “Will you marry me, baby? When we get out of here, I want you to be mine forever.”

My body and mind jolt awake, and I turn to face him. His dark stare is as serious as I’ve ever seen it. His eyebrows are furrowed together, full of a deep, intense emotion. He isn’t on his knee, and he certainly doesn’t have a ring. He’s just staring at me, eyes smoldering, lips pouting, his beautiful, handsome face waiting for me to say something.

I revel in the way he’s looking at me. Images of the past four months consume my thoughts. The first day of school, him bullying me on the plane, the crash, the dead bodies, falling in love with Maison, falling in love with Micah, the severed limbs, the isolation, the love, the fear, the hatred, and the betrayal…

Micah… it’s just Micah now. That’s all I feel, and it’s all I need. He plays with a lock of my hair that has fallen over my eyes and moves it behind my ear. “Because if you want to marry me if we survive this, and I trust you will still be there, that would keep me sane.”

His sanity. He knows it’s slipping.

I press my lips to his because, deep down, I’ve already lost a part of my sanity. Perhaps our broken pieces can make up a whole. “Yes, Micah. I will marry you.”

I kiss him again, and I keep kissing him all night because he got what he wanted, and now it’s my turn, and all I ever want are his lips on mine.