Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121310 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 607(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
The rhythmic pulsing triggers my own release. I thrust one final time, burying myself to the hilt, my cock jerking as I empty myself inside her.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I chant, each pulse of cum feeling like it’s being ripped from my very soul. “I love ya so fuckin’ much.”
We collapse together, bodies still connected, both breathing hard. I press tender kisses to her spine as I release her from the cuffs, massaging her wrists gently.
“It’s good to cry,” I murmur as she dissolves into sobs. “Just let it out.”
I gather her into my arms, carrying her to the private aftercare room. I lay her down gently on a newly made-up bed before climbing in beside her, pulling her tight against me.
This is the aftermath I crave—holding her, soothing her, being everything she needs me to be. The way she collapses into me, trusting me completely to piece her back together after I’ve taken her apart.
“You were perfect,” I whisper into her hair. “So fucking perfect for me.”
She cries harder at my words, her entire body wracked with sobs. I just hold her, running my fingers through her hair, whispering that it’s going to be alright.
“I’m sorry,” she finally whispers.
“Don’t be,” I tell her, kissing her forehead. “You never have to be sorry for needing something.”
“I miss her sometimes,” she admits. “Even though she was...” She trails off.
“She was part of you,” I finish. “It’s natural to feel her absence, even as you become more whole.”
“Will you... will you still love all of me? Even the parts that used to be her?”
My arms tighten around her. “I’ve always loved all of you, Anna. The soft and the sharp. The light and the dark. Every single piece.”
And it’s true. I don’t just want the easy parts of her. I want the complicated mess, the contradictions, the fractures and the fissures. I want her whole and broken, because she’s the only person who understands that sometimes love looks like this—desperate and violent and necessary.
As she drifts toward sleep, I keep holding her, marveling at how we found our way back to each other. We’re both so broken, so fucked up in our own ways. But maybe that’s what makes us work. We don’t need to be saved—we need to be seen. Accepted. Loved for all the dark, twisted parts of ourselves that we can’t show anyone else.
Dr. Ezra thinks I create family by taking care of the needy. Maybe he’s right. But if that’s true, then Anna is perfect for me—because she needs me as much as I need her. Not to be fixed, but to be held. To be understood. To be loved without judgment or condition.
In this quiet moment, with her nestled against me, everything feels almost right. We’re two broken people trying to save each other through the only language we both understand.
The only question…
Is that enough?
TWENTY-SEVEN
DOMHNALL
I wake the following day to the sensation of movement beside me on our bed at home, the mattress dipping as Anna shifts excitedly. When I pry my eyes open, she’s already sitting up, a wild look in her eyes and her arms full of glossy printouts that catch the morning light streaming through our bedroom windows.
“Domhn!” Her voice is breathless, eager. “I talked to Quinn, and she says they’ve got it all covered at work. I took care of everything!”
I push myself up on my elbows, forcing my brain to catch up with her enthusiasm. My voice is still rough with sleep when I respond. “Quinn’s hardly my COO, love.” Despite my words, I can’t help the fondness that creeps into my tone. Anna’s energy is infectious, even at—I glance at the clock—seven in the morning.
“I don’t care.” She practically vibrates as she shoves the printouts into my hands. “Look! Let’s go away! A pre-honeymoon. Amangiri! It’s gorgeous. It’s remote. I booked us tickets!”
The papers crinkle in my grip as I blink my eyes awake and try to focus on the images—stunning desert landscapes, sprawling suites carved into russet-colored rock, and infinity pools that seem to melt into the horizon. Before I can fully absorb it all, she’s thrusting plane tickets at me.
I frown, scanning the unfamiliar names printed on them. “Whose names are these?”
She waves it away, dismissive, already moving on to her next thought. “After the photo scandal, I don’t want anyone knowing it’s us. I found this amazing place, and all sorts of celebrities go there. No one uses their real names.” Her hands flutter over the tickets and brochures. “Plus, there’s WiFi if you’re desperately needed at work. Escape to the desert with me! Just the two of us.”
I study her face—her flushed cheeks, the slight catch in her breath, the way her eyes dart between mine and the tickets in my hand. Something’s driving this sudden urge to flee, but beneath my curiosity, there’s a deeper pull. The thought of having her all to myself, away from the noise and demands of Dallas, is too tempting to resist.