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If she’s asking, that means she’s still uncertain. Even after everything—after I’ve played out her wildest fantasies, after she’s let me inside her, after I’ve killed for her—she still doesn’t fully trust me. The ache settles deep in my chest. “Never.”
“Good,” she whispers against my mouth. “I want to do every position you’ve ever fantasized about having me in.”
My hand travels down to her ass to cup a cheek. “Every position?”
Lust burns fiery in her blue eyes. “Yes.”
I’m rock-hard now. “I don’t care if I need to convince you every day for the rest of our lives that I love you. I will do so with my dying breath.”
She melts in my grasp like butter, allowing me to tip her head back as I sweep her into a passionate kiss.
“You’re my everything, Briar. Without you, I am nothing.”
She flashes a small smirk. “I get it. You’re a writer.”
I push her down onto the bed, landing on her, our lips brushing together. This time already feels more intimate than all the others that came before it.
“I’m tired of fucking you with your clothes on.” Her hands unfasten the buttons on my shirt.
I smirk. “I can’t help it that you’re always in such a rush to get my cock inside you.”
“Well, tonight we’re taking our time.”
I drag my fingers through her mahogany hair, attempting to memorize every inch of her perfect face. The round, bright cerulean eyes with the dark lashes and pale purple bags underneath from all her sleepless nights. The small forehead, mostly hidden by a full hairline. The round cheeks that descend to a slightly pointed chin. The nose that perks up at the tip. The dark, arched brows that betray her every emotion. The mole on her jawline that distinguishes her from all of the other beautiful women with flawless skin. The pouty pink lips, always turned up in a taunting smirk or pursed in disapproval. Except in the rare moments they curl up to display her teeth in a genuine smile. Or when her eyes flutter shut and her mouth falls open in a joyous laugh. Both so rare that whenever she blesses you with them, you know you’ve earned them.
She never lets anyone in. Except when she finally does. And then you never want her to let you go.
Briar tugs my shirt off, cold hands traveling over my shoulders, stopping to squeeze my biceps with a smile. “Have I ever told you how sexy you are?”
“Your eyes tell me every time you see me.”
“My eyes need to shut the fuck up.”
I chuckle. “They’re very chatty. They cannot keep a secret.”
She giggles, and I can’t decide which sound I prefer—her laughter or her ecstasy.
Briar continues helping me undress until I’m fully naked in front of her. Her hands are warmer now, skimming over my pecs down to the hard ridges of my abs before she drags a nail across my pelvic bone. I shudder as my cock twitches.
“I will never not be in awe of this,” she whispers.
“I will never not be in awe of you.”
Her reaction to my words is unexpected. Her brows pull together, frown tugging down the corners of her mouth. “Why me?”
“Why you what?”
“Why did you choose me?”
I skim a finger down her cheek, soft and delicate. Nothing at all like the fiery, spitfire woman she is. But exactly like the heart she conceals. “Because you’re my muse. We were meant for each other.”
The scowl still doesn’t leave her lips. “I guess I just don’t understand that. Everything I write is out of spite. My muses are all the people I’ve ever hated.”
I can’t help but laugh. Of course they are. “Before I met you, I only knew you as the faceless user online declaring herself my biggest fan in her book reviews.” She blushes, even now. “I wrote all my books for you, even before I met you. I knew, deep in my soul, that somehow, my words would find you. Find that one person in the universe who would read them and understand. I’d read your reviews on my darkest days and remember why I did this. Why I kept toiling away on books that seemed to fade into obscurity as soon as they entered the literary world. Why I kept pouring all my blood, sweat, and tears into books that no one would read. Except you. And you were enough. You’ve always been enough, Briar.”
She swipes at a tear that escapes her misty eyes.
“I kept writing because of you. I wrote This Book Will Haunt You because I thought you’d love it. I included all of the elements of my previous books that you said you loved most. And that book became my bestseller. It made my previous books bestsellers. And then, when I thought I was a broken writer, when I lamented that I’d never be able to write another word again, there you were. The light in my darkness once more. I finally met my biggest fan in person and listening to you gush about my words, watching the excitement light up your eyes, something clicked in my mind. The dam broke. The words flowed again. All because of you. And I knew the second I spoke to you, the moment our eyes connected, that everything has been because of you. Everything that’s happened, every step I’ve taken, has been a journey to find you. The other half of my soul. The missing piece to my puzzle that I’ve been searching for my entire life. I know I’ve fallen faster and harder than you have. You may not love me yet. Or, if you do, you may not be willing to admit it. But I promise you, I will gladly devote every day of my life to proving my worth to you. And even if I don’t hear those three words from your lips until I’m on my deathbed, I will die a happy man.”
