Her moan is low and guttural, and I echo it, my head falling back as she begins to move. Slow at first, her hips rolling in a way that makes every nerve in my body come alive. I grip her waist, guiding her rhythm, but it’s her control, her pace, her pleasure.
She picks up speed, riding me with an urgency that’s both desperate and cautious, every thrust pulling us closer, tangling us tighter. Her hands press against my chest, her nails biting into my skin as she chases her release again, her movements growing more erratic, more raw.
I look up at her, completely undone by the sight—her head thrown back, her lips parted, her body moving in perfect rhythm with mine. This isn’t just physical; it’s everything. The way she trusts me, the way she gives herself to me, the way I’m completely hers in this moment.
“Baby,” I groan, my hands tightening on her hips, trying to hold on, but she’s relentless. Her movements are fierce, demanding, as if she’s determined to take all of me, every last piece, and I give it to her willingly. Her hips slam down on me, over and over, pulling us both closer to the edge, and I can feel it—the way her body clings to me, drawing me in, demanding more.
The thought floods me, consuming everything else: I’m filling her. Not just her body, but her soul. She’s letting me into every part of her, and it’s overwhelming, beautiful, a kind of intimacy I’ve never felt before. I’m not just inside her; I’m with her, in every possible way, and the trust she’s giving me in this moment is everything I didn’t know I ever wanted and more than I thought I deserved.
When she finally falls, her body tightening around me, her cry ripping through the air, it takes me with her. I let go completely, giving her all of me, every ounce of love, need, and devotion poured into this moment. Our voices mix, raw and desperate, as we shatter together, completely entwined.
I hold her tightly as the waves crash over us, her body trembling against mine, her head collapsing onto my shoulder, her breath hot and uneven against my neck. My arms wrap around her instinctively, as if letting go would undo everything we’ve just shared. She’s here, with me, mine, in every way that matters, and yet, it doesn’t feel like enough to just hold her. It feels like the moment demands more—she deserves more.
Her hand moves to my chest, resting over my pounding heart, her fingers curling slightly as if anchoring herself to me. And it hits me, all at once, the weight of everything we’ve been through—the pain, the loss, the moments we thought we’d never get here. But we did. Against every obstacle, every scar that should’ve broken us, we found this.
“I love you,” I whisper at first, the words breaking free like they’ve been clawing their way out of me for weeks, maybe years. My voice is raw, trembling with everything I’ve held back. “I love you so fucking much, Gale. I don’t even know how to breathe without you anymore.”
She freezes for a second, her breath catching, and I feel her tears before I see them, warm droplets falling onto my skin. She lifts her head, her eyes glistening, her lips trembling as she looks at me. “You do?” she asks, her voice soft, vulnerable, as if she’s afraid this is a dream.
I cup her face, my thumbs brushing away the tears that keep falling, even as my own vision blurs. “I’ve never meant anything more in my life. You’re it for me. You always have been. I love you, and I’ll never stop loving you. No matter what.”
A sob escapes her, and she leans into me, her forehead resting against mine as her hands clutch at my arms like she’s holding on for dear life. “Good, because I’ve fallen in love with you too,” she whispers, the words cracking with emotion.
Tears spill freely now. I press my lips to hers, pouring every ounce of love and gratitude and devotion into the kiss. It’s not about the urgency we had before—it’s slow, tender, a promise that this is only the beginning.
It’s pure joy, unfiltered and radiant, the kind that fills every corner of a broken heart and makes it whole again. We stay like that, wrapped in each other, no barriers, no walls, just us.
And for the first time, I’ve realized I found it. Home.
Home is her.
ChapterThirty-Two
Galeana
Returningto what we call real life has been an adjustment—one I’m still not sure I’ve fully wrapped my head around. There’s the constant presence of the bodyguards, an entire team that’s trained to be invisible but never really is. I feel them everywhere, it shows just how far from normal things have become.
Then there’s the endless dance of pretending I’m fine. “Yes, of course, my life is perfect. Marriage is bliss. I’m in my honeymoon era.” Every word feels like a lie wrapped in glitter. The truth? I’m in my scared-out-of-my-fucking-mind era, trying to hold it together with shaky resolve and sheer stubbornness.
But I can’t let them see that. I can’t let anyone see it. Because no matter how terrified I am, there’s one thing I know for certain—I’m not letting those people take over my town. Not now. Not ever.
Today, I finally muster the courage to call Aiden back. Within five minutes, I’m reminded why this might’ve been a mistake. It’s a whirlwind of lectures about how I’ve been withdrawing, how I’m a bad friend, and how she’s been worried sick. Typical Aiden—relentless and impossible to ignore.
At least she slips in some humor between the scolding. Apparently, she’s checked off a bucket list item. “Had a wild time with one of the hockey players. Sexy as hell, by the way. Bucket list: have sex with a ridiculously hot athlete? Done.”
But her playful tone doesn’t last. “You can’t seriously expect me to sit back and not worry,” she says now, her voice sharp, cutting through the phone like an icy wind. “A faulty gas line? Gale, that’s not just some random problem. What if there’s a bigger infrastructure issue? What if all those old houses are just waiting to go up in flames?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, leaning against the counter in the kitchen. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the faint chill seeping through the window cracks, but it does nothing to calm the storm brewing on the other end of the line.
“Aiden,” I say, my tone measured but firm, “it’s fine. It’s been taken care of. The inspectors went through everything, and it’s safe now to rebuild. They’re changing all the plumbing, gas lines, and . . . everything will be modern. There’s no need to worry.”
“No need to worry?” she practically screeches, her exasperation palpable even across state lines. “Gale, your house exploded. Do you hear yourself? This is why I’m saying you should come back to Denver. Just until things settle. You could stay with me. Hell, I’ll evict my roommate if it makes you feel better.”
“Your roommate is a cat,” I remind her. Despite everything, a laugh escapes me, the kind that bubbles up unbidden when someone knows you better than you know yourself. “You’re not evicting Skylar. She’s your emotional support chaos gremlin, and you’d miss her after two days.”
“Probably three,” Aiden counters quickly, but I can hear the smile in her voice. “Still, I mean it, G. You’re my family, and I don’t like you being so far away when things like this happen. What if something else goes wrong?”
I sigh, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “Aiden, I’m fine. The house where I’m staying is totally safe. It was just a gas line issue because my grandfather’s house was a thousand years old. It’s not like someone planted a bomb or anything.” My chest tightens at the lie, but there’s no other way to explain it. She can’t know. Not about the Hollow Syndicate, not about the threats, and certainly not about why I’m really staying.
