Page 32 of Crash’s Secret

Her breathing changes.

“I love you, Cassidy. I’ve never said that to a woman in my life. You’re the first. You’re the only.”

“Crash,” she whispers.

“I’m not finished. I have a whole speech, and I’m getting through it.” I stay down on her level, her hands in mine. “I want you as my Old Lady. But only if you want it. And I want us out of this clubhouse. A house. Yours and mine. Someplace your brother has to knock to get into.” I huff a laugh. “I’ve got money put away. A lot of money. And nothing I ever wanted to spend it on. Turns out I was saving it for you and didn’t know.”

The first tear gets away from her, and I reach up and take it off her cheek with my thumb.

“You done?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I nod. “That’s the speech.”

“It was a good speech.”

“I know. I’m good at speeches.”

She slides off the edge of the bed into my arms, carefully. We’re both injured.

“Yes,” she says, kissing my cheek. “To all of it. I want to be yours. I want the house. I want you. Yes.”

I hold her on the floor, both arms around her like she is the most important thing in the world, because as far as I’m concerned, she is.

She kisses me. Slow, careful of my split lip.

I get her into bed and get in behind her, boots off, gun on the nightstand, her back tucked against my chest. Her breathing goes long and even before mine does.

I’ve spent my whole life leaving before this part. Turns out this is the best part.

EPILOGUE

CASSIDY

One month later

Someone drops what sounds like a full keg in the hallway, and Crash stops moving inside me.

“If that’s a prospect, I’m killing him,” he says.

“Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He pulls my knee up toward my chest and drives back in, deeper at this angle, and my head goes back into the pillow. “Where was I?”

“Right there.”

“Right there,” he agrees, and stays right there, snapping his hips against mine.

The headboard hits the wall. He doesn’t ease up. A month of mornings in this room and he’s quit treating me like I’ll break.

He knows my body now, knows I want his weight and his teeth and roughness, and he gives me all of it.

“Eyes on me,” he says.

I open my eyes. He’s braced over me on one arm, watching my face, hips rolling slow and deep and merciless.

I grab the back of his neck and pull him down and bite his lower lip, and he groans into my mouth and his control slips—the rhythm goes harder, rougher.

He pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, and drags my hips up before I’ve finished gasping.