Chapter Seventeen

Tobias

Age Twenty-One

"W hat's with you today, man?" Tyler asks, taking a chair as I toss another log onto the fire. Sean and Dominic finish setting up camp just as the sun begins to dip past the tree line.

I'm still jet-lagged from my flight in, on Paris time, the realities I'm living between worlds blurring as I scan the clearing. The burden of maintaining my roles in each is beginning to wear on me, but I refuse to let it deter me. Especially after today. Ten years ago, in this very place, I set out on a path to avenge my parents' murders, and being here grounds me, reminds me of how far I have to go to seek that justice. But my presence here, in this place I consider sacred, also lets me know how far I've come and how close I'm getting.

"I'll get to it," I tell him as I glance over at Dominic who takes his chair and meets my pensive gaze. I swat at the mosquito sucking on my forearm as Sean uncaps a beer. Fresh from his first school pep rally, Triple Falls' budding star quarterback is still clad in his jersey.

"I told you we aren't drinking tonight." I snatch the bottle from his hand just as he lifts it to his mouth .

Sean glares up at me. "You make it through a two-a-day football practice and tell me you don't deserve a beer. And newsflash, I have a set of parents. They live a few streets over from yours, and they've taught me right from wrong."

"As much good as that's done you," Tyler jabs.

"This is important," I snap. Sean's eyes flit to the confiscated beer in my hand before I toss it into the flames. This past summer was supposed to be my time to reconnect with my brothers, but I was absent, often flying back to France, and mostly because of Antoine's demands. But I still need him for the moment, so I'm stuck being his errand boy until I can find a way to be less dependent. He's been the resource I thought he would be, supplying me with damn near everything I've needed while remaining greedy with his wealth, so he's the only leg I have to stand on. It's the right move on his part to keep me contained, keep me reliant on him, but it's stifling my progress to the point I need to make moves to ensure I can sweep his legs if need be.

"Can we get on with this?" Tyler says, pulling my attention from the fire.

"You have somewhere you need to be?"

"Yeah, I do, actually." He darts his eyes away.

"He's been disappearing a lot," Sean supplies. "And won't tell us who she is."

"Because there is no she ," Tyler snaps.

Sean grins. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"Methinks you're going to lose some baby teeth if you don't shut your fucking mouth."

I ignore their exchange, eyes trained on Tyler.

"Anything I need to know?" He jerks his chin in reply. He's clearly hiding something, and it's personal from his bite. There most definitely is a she , and that's one of the reasons I've called the meeting.

Sean kicks back in his camping chair, and in a sudden move, Dom leaps from his own and shoves Sean's chest, tipping him over. Dom and Tyler both chuckle as Sean curses and stands brushing the dirt from his pants before fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his jeans.

"You broke my fucking smokes, dickhead."

"Shouldn't be smoking anyway," Dom says, pulling a joint from his backpack.

I lift a brow. "Are you fucking serious right now?"

"Serious enough, brother," he mumbles, lips wrapped around the joint as Sean strikes his Zippo.

"Just hold off on that a minute," I order.

Dom reads me and nods, tucking the joint behind his ear.

"What's the update on the garage?" I ask, between the three of them. "How close are we?"

"It's done. As soon as I get my settlement money," Dom says. "No other offers on the table because no one else around here has the money to buy it."

Tyler chimes in, his brows drawn tight. "What's the point of the garage with everything else we have going on? Is it just a front?"

"No," I say, gaze straying back to the fire. "It will be a legitimate business. We'll be fixing cars and taking money for it. The legal age for mechanics in this state is sixteen. But we'll need a few more in order to make a decent profit and handle overhead costs."

"I know someone," Tyler adds. "Name's Russell. He's been teaching us how to work on the classics Sean's uncle left us. He's old enough. And he's fucking good."

"Trust him?"

"Yeah," Tyler nods. "He's good people and never been printed either." We have a strict no-print rule when vetting new birds for obvious reasons. We don't want anyone associated with us with fingerprints in any database—even as a juvenile—which makes it harder to find the type of recruits we need. We need smart thieves and good men, but in our neck of the woods and with the meth spike, they're hard to come by.

"Bring him in. I want to meet him."

Tyler nods. "I'll see if he knows anyone else. "

My eyes drift back to the flames, and it's then I'm struck by the thought of my parents, locked in a room as similar flames surround them while they scream for help. It's no mystery why that image of them is weighing on my mind.

Picking up some kindling, I toss it into the fire. "I saw Roman up close for the first time today."

"Where?" Sean asks.

"The library," Dominic supplies, "when he came to pick me up."

I glance over at my brother, mildly surprised. He was in the far corner of the library, engrossed in his book when Roman strolled in, looking weightless, as if he wasn't responsible for ruining lives. But I guess he wouldn't be weighed down with guilt. Men like him consider my parents, "the help", no more than liabilities whose murder probably inconvenienced him more than anything else. He'll never know that my mother was the only woman capable of getting me out of my moods, of soothing my temper with a few words, of making me smile not just with expression but with my whole being. He'll never understand the notion of my stepfather's American dream. Or that my parents chose the town he's monopolized to create a better life for us—and for the woman he rescued from her mad husband and her bastard son. Even if he was made aware, I doubt he would care. Because it was evident by the way he treated his own daughter today, he's got no weaknesses of his own.

Dom stares back at me, irritated. "Did you think I wouldn't notice the man who murdered my parents?" He scoffs. "You think I'm still too busy playing video games and jacking off?" The look in his eyes is one of an old soul, not a kid inching toward sixteen.

"We aren't positive it was premeditated. And before we make a move, I want solid proof."

"The two fucking headstones at the cemetery aren't enough?" Dom snaps, underlying rage in his tone. He's angry—in the quiet way—which means he's been simmering about this on his own. Glancing out past the clearing it's then I notice some of the field has been unearthed. "What's going on here?"

"Speak of the devil, and he appears." Dom nods toward the newly vacant land. "Roman's decided to move into our neighborhood. He's building a fucking mansion where those trucks are sitting."

Seething from the idea that he's so close to my place—to our place—I curl my hands into fists. "Un-fucking-believable."

"Believe it. I've seen the blueprints."

I glance at my brother. "Do I want to know how you came across this information?"

"Building permits. He was approved for them last week. He owns everything now up to that flag post."

Fury sets in that I've had my head so far up my ass—in truth, up Antoine's ass. I've been so distracted carrying out his orders, I've dropped the fucking ball on my own agenda. My time in Paris now only takes away from my progress at home. I can feel some resentment coming from Dom as I soak in that realization. My priorities are in Triple Falls, and this is where I need to be—not playing errand boy for a French gangster. But even with the need to erase Roman from the board, the image of his little girl trailing behind him toward the parking lot today remains front and center. The look of defiance in her eyes with their exchange damn near makes me smile. That combined with the clear rebellion in her words and posture before she trailed behind him and I followed. I'd been in the know about his daughter for years, but she'd never been part of the picture until today.

In all my plans to bring him down, I never considered bystanders. I've seen the carnage that comes in wars like these, mostly territorial, and I refuse to let that innocent kid suffer for her father's mistakes. In a game made of criminals bordering psychopaths, many have no regard for innocents, especially when at war, but being a bystander myself, that man will never be me.

I wasn't sure if Dominic noticed Roman or thoroughly researched him to the lengths I have, but it's clear he knows a lot more than he's let on.

Even at their age, with no shortage of dick jokes and immature behavior, they seem to comprehend the importance of hammering out the details. After a lingering silence, I finally speak up .

"We're going basic with our strategy."

"Meaning?" Tyler asks.

"We've got to play this just right. The only way to defeat a man like Roman is to play sleeping giant."

"Think Helen of Troy," Dom voices, reading my line of thought before glancing at Sean and Tyler. "But it seems like a lot of trouble to go through when we can just eliminate the problem."

Alarm shoots up my spine as I weigh his words. "I know you're not fucking suggesting we kill the man in cold—"

"Eye for an eye." Dom shrugs. "Our parents burned to death. Don't you think that calls for aggressive action? You, yourself, told Delphine you were sick of all the talk. The meetings are a joke, filled with nothing but pussies who like to bitch while she refills their coffee. Might as well be a book club for all the fucking good it's doing." Dom looks straight at me when he speaks. "You know, if we boil down enough tobacco and dab the right amount of concentrate on his fucking car door handle, within minutes of it seeping into his skin, it's game over. Heart attack on the autopsy report. Presented with the right opportunity, it's a hundred percent untraceable."

All the blood drains from my face.

"He's not a smoker, so there's the first hole in that stupid idea, and that's not who we are," I grit out, terrified that these are the thoughts running through his mind. "And not who we will be, Dom. That's not what Mama and Papa wanted. There is a better, more diplomatic way to handle this, less merciful than death." I shake my head adamantly, "No, what we're going to do is change things for the better." I think of Antoine and how he represents everything I hate. He—like Roman—thinks himself indestructible. But I've learned a lot over the past year. More than that, I've learned what not to do. "Once we take Roman down, there's a hundred like him to take his place. They exploit people like our parents and discard them once they become a liability." I glance between the three of them. "What are we going to do about them ?"

Sean shrugs. "Not our problem."

"We're going to make it our problem. That's the whole point of all of this. It's not just about our family, or this town, not anymore." I shove my hands in my pockets. "We're going to do this in a way that will honor them."

Sean produces and pops the cap off another beer. "This seems ambitious. I mean, come on, man. Look at where we're at—bumfuck nowhere."

"That's exactly the point," Dominic snaps. "You want to end up just another line cook at Daddy's restaurant? What's going to happen when they call in that bank loan?" He glances at Tyler. "Are you going to be a career soldier?"

"This is exactly why we're here," I interject, "to get our priorities straight."

"My priorities are perfect." Sean lifts his hands and begins to tick off his fingers. "Pussy, pussy, pussy, pussy, and..." he holds a finger on his thumb, "yup, I'm going to have to go with pussy ."

Tyler and Dom laugh, and I reel on the three of them. "This is another reason why I called this meeting. You want a girlfriend? Have one , but pillow talk and this fucking club are never to go hand in hand. What the other birds do is not my business, but as far as we are concerned, women don't have a place at this fire, not yet. And not until they are vetted by me personally. End of ."

"I thought you said women are a sanctuary." This comes from Sean, who tests me with the lift of another beer, a smirk in place.

"They are. Away from business . Personal attachments are the greatest liability. And the first one who fucks up on that front will pay dire consequences—" I give each one of them a pointed look—"no fucking exceptions." I again snatch Sean's beer, just as he lifts it. "I'm not dealing with another fucking alcoholic."

Sean's smile disappears. "Since when is a sense of humor a crime? I consider it a necessity. And who the hell do you think has been cleaning up the puke off your aunt's fucking face for the last five years?"

Tyler snaps to, glaring at the side of Sean's head. "You aren't the only one looking after her."

"No, we all are—" he nods toward me—"but he sure as hell isn't. "

With that admission, I dart my gaze between the three of them and wrack my brain for the right words, but they would all sound like excuses. In this moment, I don't have any good enough. I can't make up for what I've missed and will continue to miss. In a blink, they've gone from kids to teenagers bordering men. But if I can come through for all of them, there may be a chance of redemption. A chance they might see my sacrifice as worth it. It's all I'm working for. In the meantime, all they feel is my absence and a growing bitterness that comes with my arrival and the demands I make.

They need laughs, they need these stolen moments, they need to experience their youth in the way I couldn't.

"You're right," I admit, handing Sean his beer. "Just, take it easy, okay?"

Sean nods, cautiously taking the beer from my hand, mild surprise on his face.

Tyler stands and grabs some of the logs from the ground, his posture hostile as he tosses them into the fire. Something is... off with him, and I'll make it a point to take him aside and try to figure out what it is.

"So, if I'm getting this right," Tyler drawls, "we need a wooden horse to recruit an army to hide inside of it and the opportunity to slip into the city."

We all stare into the flames as he continues. "I'm going to be a third-generation Marine, it's a given, and if there's one thing I know how to do—it's build an army."

Sean speaks up next. "Me and Dom will cover the garage, and once it's up and running, I'll figure out a way to get us through the gate." He ruffles Dom's hair. "And we all know this asshole's going to Harvard or Yale or some shit."

"Guess that makes you the horse," Dominic adds tightly, his eyes on me. But his true irritation tonight is due to our earlier fight and my refusal to let him return to France with me. He's been begging for months, insisting he can follow in my footsteps at prep and finally join me there. I'd take him with me in a heartbeat if it weren't for Antoine. I want my brother nowhere within reach .

"No, little brother," I say, as flashes of my own blueprints flit through my mind, and I reveal the true reason as to why he's needed here. " You're the horse. And—" I give them all a pointed look—"as of this moment, I no longer exist ."

The three of them look back at me with unguarded surprise. But beneath the layers of resentment and mild confusion, all I see is blind trust. "From this point on, not one new recruit will know who the major players are. You can give them an impression, but our goal is to confuse them."

"We're going to confuse the men working with us?" Sean asks, unable to see the logic.

"It's the only way," I insist and glance back at the construction as the sky goes dark. "Leave Roman to me. With him, we're going to have to bide our time, and you're going to have to trust me."

"What about Helen?" Dom asks, joining me where I stand. We stare off for lingering seconds.

"We're leaving Helen out of it ."

*

But we didn't leave her out of it, and it played out as I expected it would once she was brought in. Complete and utter fucking disaster. Despite my role of protecting her, Helen hasn't stopped punishing me for it.

Eleven days.

Eleven fucking days of flannel pajamas.

And just to pour salt into my weeping dick, she leaves the door open when she showers, when she changes, and when she slathers her insanely toned body in a scent so alluring to me, I get hard when she breezes by.

Well played, queen.

Most days, I wake up alone, and for the majority of them, I'm left hanging in the wind without direction—without any indication of how this will play out between us. Since I've been here, I've been stuck in a place of reflection, reflection I once managed to suppress with the constant aftermath over the years.

Now, in this silent place, without plans to make and orders to pass out, I'm helpless to the constant surfacing of all I've compartmentalized. Especially the most recent years, the agonizing years I forced myself to exist without her.

She wasn't wrong, but boredom isn't a word I'd use to describe my current state. It's more a combination of restlessness edging toward paranoia with every day I willingly forgo being in the know to sort out my relationship with her. She tried to tell me she's okay with me going back in, but I know that I can't do it halfway.

I'm an all or nothing man, and I don't know how to be any other way.

I keep hoping for her emotions to kick in and take over to help bridge the gap, but her sensibilities seem to be winning over her feelings. A skill I taught her—that emotions have no place for an objective player—a lesson she's clearly taken to heart and has turned against me. There's a hard edge to her that wasn't there before; in her scrutiny, in her voice, just throughout her that makes her even more alluring—but that much harder to reach.

When I do manage to catch her before she flees for the café and pin her with my lips, she's receptive, sometimes playful, but the look of fear I despise is still there. The look that lets me know she's waiting for the other shoe to drop. Apparently, assuring her that we'll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives isn't enough.

And I admire and respect her so much for it considering the carnage she witnessed after living a mostly sheltered life.

Over the years, as I resurrected myself and what was left of my army, she's reinvented herself as an army of one—armed to the teeth. But I don't want her smoking gun anywhere near me. What I need is a long drink of her strength, of her love, and a little submission.

Fat fucking chance.

Without trying too hard, she's been dangling her sweet pussy carrot in front of me since I arrived. It's been eight hellacious months since I've had her, and before that—years, and I've never in my life been so hungry .

The last time we were together is not the way I want to remember having her.

I ridiculed her for loving me.

I shamed her that night for being the soldier I no longer was.

I did my best to strip her pride, to save her from this type of life, to selfishly save myself the worry, but she wasn't having any of it.

I left in awe of her, in awe of who she became without me.

Even more so, guilty for the way I couldn't step up.

She told me then that love makes the danger worth it.

I'm just going to keep believing her. Even if my biggest fucking fear is seeing it unfold all over again, this time with her as the sacrifice.

It's only a matter of time until we go head-to-head again, but it has to be the right time. I want no fear in her eyes when I claim my queen for good. I want her fighting back, and more so, I want her certain about me the way she was—of my place in her heart, by her side.

She's chosen her personal armor in the way of fucking flannel pajamas.

Grabbing my newly delivered dumbbells, I do another set of reps to try and rid myself of restless energy. Facing out her bedroom window, I note the painstaking lengths she's gone to replicate her father's garden. Between hedges and rows of empty vines is a reading nook. Above the wooden canopy hangs branches of deadening wisteria.

The sight of it brings me back to the morning in Roman's garden, where I all but blurted out my love for her. Dropping my dumbbells, I walk over to the window and reflect upon our shared past. It wasn't the first time I took her in a way that conveyed physically what I was feeling, but it was that morning in particular that I felt it most, that I knew I was irrevocably in love with my enemy's daughter. With a shared look and with a confession I felt to the depth of my soul, I broke my own creed and gave in to the deepest part of me, and my soul-deep ache for a connection with her. Within seconds of recalling those minutes, I surrender to the heat coursing through me. My arm braced on the window as I grip my cock in my mesh shorts.

Stroke.

Her exposed throat.

Stroke.

Her breathy moans.

Stroke.

The unguarded love in her eyes.

Stroke.

Her perfect tan thighs spread out before me, tight pink pussy glistening.

Stroke.

The feel of her wet heat on my fingertips.

Stroke.

Her pebbled peach nipples.

Stroke.

My first desperate thrust inside her.

Jaw tensing, spine tingling, heat emanating from my every pore, I'm just about to grunt her name when the bedroom door opens, and Beau comes barreling through with Cecelia behind him, her eyes widening when she sees me.

"Oh," she whispers, darting her eyes away before palming the handle to close the door.

"Don't you fucking dare," I hiss, which freezes her movement. I release my angry grip on my cock and stride toward her, leaving it untucked from my cheap sports shorts as her eyes widen a little further with every step I take. When I reach her, I crowd her at the door, gripping her hand from the knob and cover my raging dick with it.

" You ." I wrap her fingers around me, gripping her hand and lead it along my length to stroke. "That's what I'm thinking about. You ." I bend eye level as her breath picks up and her dark-blue eyes pool. "I saw the wisteria in your garden, and it reminded me of that day. Remember that day, Cecelia?" My cock jerks in her hand. I run her curled fingers along the length of my shaft, and we move together as her full lips part. I lick along her lower lip. "You."

"Tobias—" She tries to release her palm, and I jerk my chin, tightening it around me.

"I didn't come here to play fucking roommate."

Inhaling her scent, I continue to guide her hand down my length, cupping her palm over the head before pulling it back down, a curse full of pleasure leaving me on exhalation as I show her my need.

"I know," she rasps out.

"Do you remember that day?"

"Of course, I remember."

"Have you come thinking about that day?"

"Yes," she replies hoarsely.

"Then you remember how good it felt the second I pushed inside you."

"Tobias," she whimpers as I lick along her lips, drawing them into a responsive kiss. She grips me even tighter, eliciting a groan from deep inside of me as we get lost in the past, summoning that morning into her bedroom. Veins thrumming with the need to claim, possess, and destroy her hesitation. I rip myself away to watch the rise and fall of her chest before my gaze rolls down the rest of her.

"That's a nice outfit," I grit out as she strokes me without prompt, her purse still hanging from her shoulder. Fingering it off, I relieve her of it while doing my best to restrain the beast roaring inside of me. "You look beautiful."

"T-thank you."

I'm tempted to laugh at her reply, but I'm too fucking hard, too needy, and on the verge of making a fool of myself. Years of pent-up longing, of need, of lust, of devotion, of love, threaten to overtake me. I want her too much, I always have, and at this point, I want to punish her just as much as she has me, but it wouldn't be just. But when she smears the precum over the head of my dick with her thumb, I snap. "Sorry, I'm about to ruin it. "

Before she can react to my threat, she's off her feet and in my hold. Slick with sweat from my workout, she glides her hands along my shoulders, pressing her forehead to my bicep as I walk her toward her bed. "Is it too much to ask to take things slow?"

Attaching my lips to her neck, I bite down. "At the moment, yes."

It's when I lay her on the bed, and her hair fans out behind her that my cock jerks in warning. She gazes back at me, waiting, no more protests on her lips.

Jerking her skirt up to rest on her hips, I groan when I see she's wearing leggings. More layers. Annoyed, I yank her sweater up to see lace-covered breasts and drag the flesh-colored material beneath her perfect tits, so they're drawn together in offering. Regripping my dick, I resume my strokes, and she gazes on, rapt.

At the sight of her drawing nipples, I increase my pace, and with a few more frustrated tugs, I groan out my release, coating her breasts, bared stomach, and leggings.

Disappointment flits over her features as her navy eyes drop.

Good.

"You're playing on a weakness we both have, Trésor." Lifting her foot, I pull off her Uggs one by one and toss them over my shoulder. With the beast partially satiated for the moment, I kneel at the end of her bed, pulling both her panties and leggings down. She watches, entranced, as I run my hands up and down her newly bare skin while she sinks further into the mattress. It's my voice that brings her gaze back to me.

"You want slow?" I run a finger through her soaked lips and am rewarded with the buck of her hips. "Fine, we'll go slow, though I don't see the fucking point because I'm not the only one you're punishing. But since we're laying down the law—" I press a thumb to her clit, massaging it briefly before taking it away. She hisses through her teeth, eyes flickering with impatience.

" Lover, boyfriend. " Leisurely, I rim her opening with the pad of my finger before I slowly push it in—knuckle deep. The sight of it, along with her neatly trimmed landing strip, threatens to ruin what restraint I have. My dick hardens, envious at the sight, as she clenches, wet and hot. Her eyes close when I twist it to beckon her G.

"Tobias."

"That will do, too," I say, blowing along her center, increasing my speed while using the ridge of my finger to fully prime her. "Not your fucking roommate." I lick her soundly from center to top, sucking her clit briefly to earn my first plea. "The man in your life, your partner, your soulmate, your other half." I dip again and jackhammer my tongue where she needs me most. She mewls in protest when I pull away.

"Tobias." Her voice is laced with years of ache, and I feel every single day of our separation.

Heart hammering its own plea and fully erect again from just the taste of her, I tamp down my own need because there's something I want more.

"I thought I would never hear that again. Dis mon nom." Call my name. Dipping, I nudge her clit with my nose, and she bows off the bed. She needs this just as much as I do. Flattening my tongue, I smoothly lick her again and pull away.

Tossing her head back in agitation, she slams her eyes shut as I press in a second finger, filling her before nipping her clit.

"Who am I?"

She lifts her hips, searching for friction. In response, I hook her legs over my shoulders, ignoring my greedy dick as it demands its rightful place. But it's greed I shove away, needing to feast.

"Who loves you, Cecelia?" I enunciate each word carefully, knowing they'll bring her back to the first night I brutally kissed her in that clearing, a place that has since become sacred to the both of us. I want her to know that even then , I wanted her for myself. The way I still want her. I've been starving for her. But it's penance I'm paying, for then, before there can be a now.

My needs don't matter.

Not yet.

"Please," she cries out as I continue to run my finger along her G, feeling the telltale swell. She rips at my hair, thighs quivering and squeezing around my head. I reward her with another long pull on her clit. Pulling away, I gaze up at her, just as she sinks her nails into my scalp in retribution.

"Slow," I remind her. "I'm capable of slow. It requires patience. You think I haven't suffered through the lesson of patience while waiting for the right time to come back to you? Waiting all these months for the day I could finally and fully give in to what I feel for you? All I've got now is time." I savor the anger swimming in her eyes, her pebbled nipples, the flush of her skin, the swell of her body.

Rising from my position, I lift her top from her body as she pounds against my chest in protest, in an attempt to get me back to the task at hand, all traces of her own patience gone, her need taking over. I hover above her as she glares up at me, still covered in my release.

"You want to take things slow, Trésor? Is that what you want? All these years apart wasn't enough? If I seem eager—" I let her hear the jealousy in my tone as I lift my hand, spreading my cum on her chest before sliding my palm down her stomach. "If I seem eager, it's because I want to erase every touch that wasn't mine." I trail my hand down her body and press my essence between her thighs. At the moment, I'm at her mercy in every aspect of our situation, even in the bedroom. But it's time to remind her that I'm still the bad guy, and forever will be the tyrant she fucked and fell for—and on this playing field, we're equals. But her relenting to let me dominate is a gift I refuse to let her take away. The vulnerability that shines in her eyes, the emotions she's feeling, the hint of helplessness is what I need solely for the purpose to let her know—in this physical way—she can still trust me as she has countless times before. Her pleasure is mine, and without it, I'm not the same man.

Fingers still thrusting inside her, I hoist myself atop her and press our bodies together as I gaze down at her with the culmination of the longing I've felt, hoping she can see .

"I love you," I murmur and instantly see her eyes soften. "I've missed you so fucking much, so much." Emotion threatens as I think about the collective seconds, hours, minutes, days, and years I forced myself to believe she could never belong to me again. Of how at one point, I knew I possessed her, that she was mine, and losing her cost me more than a broken heart. It cost me my sanity and my soul. "I can do slow, but don't deny me my rightful fucking place."

She grips the back of my head and brings me to her, kissing me with unspoken confession. Clasping her legs behind my back, she opens for me fully. Mouths molding, tongues dueling, we kiss for long minutes, and I rub my cock against her pussy and stop her just as she lifts her hips to allow me inside. Pulling away, I shake my head. "I'll wait for you, Trésor, as long as it takes."

Lowering back to kneel before her, I thrust my fingers in and suck her clit with fervor. Not long after, she calls my name, gripping the sheets in her fists. She goes completely silent as her body erupts, back bowing from the bed, her clit pulsing against my tongue with each wave of release, the glide of my fingers growing slicker and slicker as she floods my mouth. As another wave hits, my name bursts out of her, and the sheer force of it has my throat burning.

Fast breaths pump out of her as I milk the orgasm, savoring the taste along with the crash of emotion coursing through my chest. My act turns selfish as I seek more, feeding the rush. Only she can get me this high. Only she can make me feel this way. Only she can soothe the burn she, herself, creates.

I love her beyond limits because she loved me through what I forced her to endure. She loved me, though I made us impossible.

I was the one who forced our stars to blaze past each other. I was the one whose wrath made our path detrimental to us both.

And she loved, and still loves me, despite it all.

But even with the solidarity of that love, it's trust and forgiveness I seek.

It's when she goes limp that I go in for another, and she clamps her thighs against my ears in an attempt to push me away. Wrenching them apart, her dark-blue eyes shine with momentary surrender as I bow and resume my worship.

With a few more targeted thrashing licks, she's writhing again, and it's then I relent, pulling my soaked fingers from her, licking the sweet, tangy aftermath off my lips. Dick throbbing, I watch her come down, her eyes glazing over. Flushed and gasping, she looks down at me when I bend and kiss the top of her pussy, the sensitive skin of her thighs, darting my tongue out one last time to her center, spearing her with my tongue just to satisfy my own greed with one last taste. When I lift to hover above her, the sight of her takes my breath. She's a prism of beauty, glowing in residue as I flip her, caressing the wings on her back with my fingers. For the first time since I marked her, I can fully appreciate them for what they represent. Gripping her neck with my hand, I run my throbbing dick along her slit before lowering my mouth to trace the ink with my lips and tongue.

"Faite pour moi." Made for me .

I squeeze her neck, kissing every single inch of marked skin before collapsing to her side, refusing myself the chance to make my words a lie.

Slow.

The stars have managed to pave the way for us again, and I'm not fucking up another chance to collide with her.

It's taken me years to admit that the thing I fought the hardest brings me the most peace—as much peace as a man like me can have.

Turning her head, she looks over to me with eyes that hold heavily guarded affection, and I know I made the right choice by stopping myself.

"I won't pretend to know how I hurt you or what it felt like when I did, Cecelia. But I do know how much it hurt me , and that's enough to know I deserve your anger and caution. But right now, I need you too goddamn much to stay away when you're right fucking here in front of me. When you are who you are, which is, in case you're wondering, the other fucking half of me. I'm sorry for the things I've done, but it's time you let me show you how much."

She slowly nods her head, a lone tear sliding down her cheek. She's angry with herself for giving in, and I make a firm decision that I won't press her for more physically, no matter how much the space hurts.

Slow, it is.

We lay there for long moments before I speak again.

"Ask me anything ," I whisper as she regards me carefully, mulling over her thoughts before she finally speaks.

"Is the truck... with your things, still idling?"

I dip my chin.

"Then have them brought here." Lifting to hover above her, I grip her face in my hand, searching for the sincerity in her words. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure."

"You know what you're saying?"

"I'm adequately scared, Tobias, and I'm not playing immune, but I like to think that my na?veté died a long time ago. I know who I am now. Next time, believe me—" her eyes flash with residual anger from the night her innocence was truly stolen, her tone sharpening with hindsight bite—"I won't hesitate."

She's finally on guard the way I need her to be, and that brings me partial relief. Leaning in, I draw her lips in for a kiss. She breaks it, her voice an icy warning. "I'm expecting huge fucking dividends on my investment, Mr. King, a big payoff. You break my trust, my fucking heart again, and I'll put a bullet in you my damn self. I'm still angry. I'm still trying to get used to the idea of you being here. All is not well with us, yet , but facts are facts, and the facts are, we're in this together, no matter what. There's a lot that hasn't changed and never will. And sadly, I do love you, too."

I can't help my chuckle, and I kiss her again, this time more aggressively, and she latches on, kissing me back because we both know time isn't on our side, never has been. These seconds are precious, and she lets me draw on her as much as I want because she feels it too. We're forever on borrowed time, our opponents faceless, a whole new board, but this time we're making all our moves together. When she finally pulls herself away, keeping closer to the edge from the free fall she used to allow herself when we got swept in our emotions for the other, I allow her the retreat. It's when she pauses at the doorway to the bathroom, looking back at me for lingering seconds with the same longing, that I feel a shift between us. It's small, but it's there.

And it's enough.

Finally.

Progress.