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The climax hits like a breaking wave, scattering my senses and dissolving the boundaries of self. In those breathless seconds, I glimpse the joy we can share if he lets me in. With a roar, he comes apart with an orgasm that shatters through the thick walls of his cave releasing him to the light.
In the quiet aftermath, he holds me close. No promises need to be made as we drift off to sleep.
Awakening early with a pressing need to pee, I glance over at Jaden's peacefully resting form, his gentle snores a contrast to the quiet of dawn. His tranquility brings a smile to my face, making me want to explore more of his world now that our relationship has evolved. Silently, I slip away to the bathroom, starting the shower on the way to the throne. The sound of the shower water cascading down coincides with unexpected terror floods through our bond.
The connection between us slams shut, a door closing with a rush of fear. I quickly turn off the shower and rush back to him, finding Jaden curled in the fetal position, the image of vulnerability. Approaching cautiously, mindful of the last time I startled him yet driven by an urge to comfort, I hesitate, not from fear—my power assures my safety—but from a desire to not exacerbate his pain.
“Jaden.” The urgency in my voice must penetrate because his moaning turns to a few whimpers then stops but his body remains rigid with tension. “Jaden, what’s wrong? I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
At those words, “I need,” my power rises, compelling Jaden to answer me, to let me in.
“I can’t. . .” I think those are the tortured words that come next. His response is fragmented, a whisper of pain, as a faint trickle of connection flickers between us, fragile but unbroken. I have no idea how to help him. All I can do is absorb some of his agony. So, I gently lay a hand on his shoulder and pull pain from him until his body curls around mine. Then he turns onto his back, forearm thrown over his eyes. We sit like that for what seems an eternity of pain and indecision before his hand slowly crawls across the top of the sheet, seeking mine, a silent plea for connection. I take the hand in mine and pull it into my lap. And wait. I grasp it, anchoring us both in the moment.
Fear and indecision swirl intertwine through our bond, fuse into a solid shard urging him to take the risk. Finally, he lets out a deep, shuddering moan.
“I love you.” Tears leak from beneath the arm shielding his pain. With those three words, I realize the moment is confirmation of something I’ve known. “I know,” I whisper back. “I love you.” Recognizing the extreme power Jaden just dropped into my hands, I vow never to misuse it.
He holds my hand with a death grip as we cling to each other, navigating the storm of his PTSD, Jaden’s forearm remains thrown over his eyes, a shield against the world, even as tears escape from beneath it, a silent testimony to the depth of his vulnerability. I fold over him, my hand gently scratching his arm, a soothing rhythm against the backdrop of his internal battle.
"I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll be right back," I whisper, the urgency clear in my voice yet tempered by the gravity of the moment. His grip tightens around mine, a desperate clasp that bridges our soul bond, flooding it with a torrent of emotion. In that instant, a profound realization hits me: I'm privy to the most vulnerable, unguarded part of him, a part that no one else has ever glimpsed. The enormity of the power I wield over him is sobering. It's a precarious edge we're on, with two divergent paths unfolding before us—one shrouded yet promising a future bathed in light and love, the other a darker road paved with manipulation, where people are mere steppingstones to success. And there, in my hands, lies a man more precious than any conceivable treasure.
Gently, I lift his arm from his eyes, meeting his gaze, those tortured eyes brimming with a silent plea not to be broken. In that look, I make my choice: light and love.
"I’ve got you, Jaden," I assure him, a smile tugging at my lips despite the tension. "But I really need to use the bathroom, so it seems you're coming with me."
With a strength born of desperation, he tightens his hold, allowing me to lead him, his trust in me a tangible force. Gratitude and hope surge between us, so potent it nearly overwhelms me.
Once back in bed, the intimacy of our connection deepens. I trace the contours of his scars with a touch as light as a breath, each one a testament to his resilience. He shudders under my caress, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and triumph each mark represents. To me, they're not just scars; they're the story of his survival, a narrative of enduring strength that I honor with every kiss, every touch.
His hands explore my own scars tentatively, a reminder of our shared vulnerabilities and the trust that has flourished between us. In this moment, every fear, every shadow we've both fought so hard to overcome, is laid bare, yet it's in this exposure that we find our greatest strength.
I take his hand and guide it lower, forcing myself to remain present in this moment. The past cannot touch us here. He enters me slowly, eyes locked on my face needing the physical and spiritual connection. I draw him closer in answer, wrapping myself around him. His fear recedes, washed away by waves of longing and trust.
"Look at me." His voice is rough with restraint. I meet his gaze and lose myself in fathomless depths, where I find only love and acceptance. He moves within me, and I move with him, beyond thought or pretense. No walls remain between our souls. In this place of perfect understanding, I am known—and knowing. Our pleasure builds, a swelling tide that carries us higher. I cling to him, breathless and trembling, overcome by the beauty of two hearts laid bare.
When our orgasm comes, it is a surrender. I fall into light, shattering into a thousand pieces, only to be made whole in his embrace. We lie together, limbs entwined, and listen to the silence. No words are needed here. The promises made in this bed are carved into our souls, as lasting as the ties that bind two lives forever changed.
I open my eyes to find Jaden gazing at me with a softness that steals my breath. His hand cups my cheek, thumb tracing the line of my jaw. I lean into his touch, struck anew by how this man can reduce me to trembling with a single caress.
"You are the most beautiful thing I've ever known," he says. The reverence in his tone brings tears to my eyes.
"As are you," I whisper. “You are my heart, my home. And I’m yours.”
He kisses me then, a sweet and lingering press of lips. I can taste the depths of his devotion, feel the devotion etched into the scars on his soul. Scars I will explore and claim as my own. When we part, I rest my head over his heart, listening to the steady beat that has become my refuge. His arms tighten around me, a silent promise to shield me from the darkness. A shield that will give me the strength and courage to explore the light.
In this place of sanctuary, the place in our souls, the world beyond these walls ceases to exist. It doesn’t matter that he’s older and emotionally crippled. There are no more battles to fight or demons to face. No more shadows to haunt our past. Here we are only Jaden and Rayne, two souls who have walked through fire together. Two hearts entwined. A love that transcends all earthly bounds, eternal as the dawn.
As I drift to sleep in his embrace, a single thought echoes through my mind. Our path may not be easy, but we will walk it side by side. Always.
EPILOGUE
JADEN
One year later, I find myself lying in a suite at the Hazelton Hotel in Toronto, with Rayne sleeping beside me, not touching but snugly fit in the spoon position. My hand rests firmly over one of her ass cheeks, her smaller hand placed over mine, seeking contact. This is yet another way we're perfectly matched, as neither of us can stand close contact during sleep. A burst of happiness fireworks through me as I drowse next to her, marveling at how fucking lucky I am, without the usual dread of waiting for the other shoe to drop.
When I’d told Rayne that I had transferred half of my company's ownership to her she’d nearly had a shit hemorrhage. Following a series of what we euphemistically call "intense discussions"—since neither of us believes in arguing, viewing it as a sign of dysfunction—she surrendered to my decision, albeit with a fierce declaration of financial independence.
"Fine. But I’m not spending one goddamned cent of yours.” Yet, in a twist that’s quintessentially Rayne, she's made her peace with using the resources now at her disposal to generate her own wealth. This compromise, like so many aspects of our relationship, is a delicate dance of give and take that somehow, miraculously, works for us.
