“What?”
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. “All of me.”
His mouth crashes into mine as he drives into me, harder, deeper. His cock hits places no one else ever touched. My body is fire, my mind a blur. There’s nothing but him—his heat, his weight, his voice in my ear, whispering,“I love you, Alaina.”
“I love you too,” I sob, pleasure cresting.
It crashes over me again, a second orgasm ripping through me like a supernova. My pussy clenches tight around him, milking him, and he snarls—loud, guttural, beautiful—as he comes inside me, cock twitching, warmth spilling deep.
We collapse, tangled, gasping.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me close. My head rests against his chest, listening to the slow, heavy beat of his heart.
“I never thought I’d get this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You. A real future.”
“You have it now,” I say, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You have me.”
And when sleep finds us, it’s not in pieces. It’s whole.
CHAPTER 51
ALAINA
Iwait in the candlelit room, shadows dancing against the walls, my pulse tangled in a mix of anticipation and nerves. The scent of warmed linen and faint jasmine lingers, pulled through the window by a soft night breeze. I can hear the soft hum of the hovercar outside, its engine quiet now, and my own heartbeat, so loud I almost don’t hear Troka’s footsteps in the hall.
He steps in. The door clicks behind him. The lamplight kisses the planes of his face: strong jaw, amber eyes softened, every line he’s earned. He carries himself differently tonight—as if he’s come home. He stops a few steps away, leaning against the frame.
The hovercar hums around us, the city lights shrinking below, but I don’t care. My hand’s in his—warm, strong, massive—and that’s all that matters.
He glances over, golden eyes molten, and when I meet them, everything I’ve ever tried to bury about how I feel for him rushes to the surface like a dam cracked open. We’ve crossed a thousand battlefields. Buried people. Burned futures. But here? Now?
This is ours.
He leans in and kisses me. Slow. Soft. Fierce. Like a promise, like a homecoming.
By the time we reach the honeymoon cottage, I’m breathless. The place is warm, tucked into trees, lanterns glowing around the porch. The moment the hovercar doors slide open, he’s there—lifting me like I weigh nothing, bridal-style, his arms solid around me.
“Troka—” I laugh, startled, breathless.
“Mine now,” he growls, mouth brushing my ear.
Stars help me, that voice.
He kicks the door open and strides inside. The scent hits first—honeysilk and cedarwood. Then the soft lights, the low bed draped in woven blankets, the shadows flickering across the redwood walls. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.
He sets me down gently at the foot of the bed. My heart is thudding like it might break free.
“You nervous?” he asks, voice low.
“No.” I step in, sliding my hands up his chest. “Just ready.”
His gaze darkens. “Say it.”
“I want you.”
That’s all it takes.
