"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For waiting. For being patient. For loving me even when I was a mess."
I brush a strand of hair from her face. "You were never a mess. You were healing. And I would've waited forever if that's what you needed."
Her eyes fill with tears. "I don't deserve you."
"That's bullshit. You deserve everything."
I kiss her then, slow and deep, and she sighs into my mouth. Her hands slide under my shirt, her fingers tracing the lines of my back, and I shiver at her touch.
We take our time undressing each other, savoring every moment. There's no rush, no urgency. Just the two of us, learning each other, loving each other. When I finally slide inside her, she gasps, her nails digging into my shoulders.
"Okay?" I ask, stilling.
"More than okay," she breathes. "Perfect."
I move slowly at first, watching her face, memorizing the way she looks when she's lost in pleasure. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips part, and she arches into me, meeting me thrust for thrust.
"I love you," I say, my voice rough.
"I love you too."
The rhythm builds, and I can feel her tightening around me, her breath coming in short gasps.
"Ryan," she moans. "I'm?—"
"I know. I've got you."
She comes with my name on her lips, her body trembling beneath me, and I follow a moment later, burying my face in her neck as the pleasure crashes over me.
We lie there afterward, tangled together, our hearts pounding in sync.
"That was..." she trails off.
"Yeah."
She turns to face me, her eyes soft. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Me too, Buttercup. Me too."
CHAPTER
FIFTY-EIGHT
JULIE
I'm scrollingthrough Instagram while waiting for Ryan to get home from work when I see it. A post from some celebrity gossip account with 2.3 million followers. The caption reads:MESSY ALERT: Disgraced Stevens heir caught red-handed. Swipe for the tea.Of courseI swipe.
The first photo is Asher and Devon at what looks like a restaurant or bar. His hand is on another woman's arm—not Devon. Devon's face is twisted in rage, her mouth open mid-scream. The second photo is a close-up of Devon's chest, her new implants on full display in a low-cut dress, her finger pointing accusingly at Asher. The third photo is Asher, and he looks rough. His hair is disheveled, his eyes are glassy, and there's a wildness to his expression that I don't recognize. The comments are brutal.
She's right to be mad, he's clearly on something.
Those implants are TRAGIC.
