He reached down, cupped my sex, thumb stroking gently, teasing me back to life.
"Already?" I laughed, breathless.
"I can’t get enough of you," he said, voice rough with honesty. "I never will."
He kissed me again, softer now, hands roaming, relearning every inch of me.
This was different from the first time. There was no rush, no desperation—just connection, skin on skin, the trust that comes when you’ve finally stopped running.
He slid inside me again, slow and deep, rocking into me with lazy, languid thrusts. My body was sensitive, raw, but the pleasure built slowly, blooming everywhere he touched.
He rolled us, pulling me on top, letting me set the pace. I rode him, hips rolling, head thrown back as he worshipped my body with his hands and mouth, letting me take everything I needed.
When I came again, it was with his name on my lips, his hands guiding my hips, his eyes locked on mine. He followed, surging up to kiss me as he found his own release, groaning into my mouth.
We collapsed together, limbs tangled, skin slick with sweat and satisfaction.
After, he pulled the covers over us, keeping me close, refusing to let me drift too far.
"You’re not leaving," he said, as if daring me to argue.
I shook my head. "Not tonight. Maybe not ever."
He laughed, the sound low and satisfied. "Good. Because I’d just have to drag you back."
We lay like that, quiet and safe, the city lights spilling in through the window, the world outside fading away.
For the first time, I believed him.
I was home.
Chapter 21
Lucas
Control had always been my religion—my doctrine, my practice, my salvation.
As I’m standing in the grand ballroom of the Fairmont Hotel, watching Savannah move through the annual Turner Holdings charity gala in a gown the color of sin, I find myself committing an act of breathtaking heresy: I am about to sacrifice control on the altar of something far more powerful.
I was going to claim her.
Publicly. Irrevocably. Consequences be damned.
"You're staring, Dad." Miles appeared at my elbow, champagne in hand, following my gaze to where Savannah stood across the room, laughing at something the mayor's wife had said.
"Not very subtle."
"Subtlety is overrated," I replied, not looking away from the woman who had systematically dismantled every principle I'd lived by for years.
"At least in some circumstances."
Miles snorted, though the sound held more amusement than bitterness. Our relationship remained complex, still healingfrom years of misunderstanding, but something had shifted during our confrontation at my father's house.
A foundation for honesty had been laid, however tentative.
"She looks happy," he observed, his tone neutral.
"Different than when she was with me."
