Page 125 of Piece Us Together

Oh, oh, oh.

So, this is how it feels.

“You’re mine,” I hear him say. He’s close again, either kneeling or squatting to be face to face. I can’t look. I feel like I’m a second away from breaking apart at the seams and I know I won’t last if I look at him.

His hands find the sides of my neck, cupping them. It’s a gentle, but firm grip. His skin is warm against mine. A sudden feeling of being settled passes over me. It feels like my world shifts into his control, taking the weight of itself with it.

Everything is his to deal with now. He’ll take care of me. Take care of meandNolan.

He’ll collect all of our pieces with careful hands, not leaving a single one behind. He’ll be the liquid gold that pours into the cracks, piecing us together until we’re whole again. Until we’re stronger than we ever were before. Until we’re beautiful. A work of art. A love story with a happy ending.

“Both of you are mine, Maison. You and Nolan. I think you have been for a while now. I think it’s time we stop pretending otherwise.” He cups my cheek. I’m helpless, unable to stop myself from looking at him. He smiles. “Don’t you?”

I can’t fight anymore.

All I ever do is fight.

I’m so tired of fighting.

I meet his eyes with mine, wanting to look into them when I say this. Wanting to see him react.

He’s so close, hovering just inches away, his hands warm on me, his knees on each side of my legs. His eyes are wide and bright with hope and fear.

He’s unbearably beautiful.

“Yes,” I whisper, watching as the word settles over him, sinks in, his eyelashes fluttering as he closes his eyes in a moment of relief, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “Yours. We’re yours. And you’re—you’re…ours?”

He smiles, slow, bright, like a man just realizing he’s been handed everything he’s ever wanted. “Yes, sweetheart. I am all yours.”

It feels good, so fucking good, but I don’t let myself sink into it quite yet. I have to know one more thing first. One last fear. “What if I’m not a sub? What if I don’t like it?”

He shakes his head. “All you have to be is Maison. I just want you to be Maison and to be mine. Nothing else.”

I surge forward, crashing our lips together in a near-violent kiss. It feels like a reflection of the way I fell for him, fast and hard, hurting a little, setting my world on fire. He allows the frenzied press of lips for a few seconds before placing his hands on my cheeks and gently guiding me back. I try to fight it, too overwhelmed to even be embarrassed by the ridiculous little whine that comes out of me. He just tightens his grip and hushes me, his eyes soft and warm.

“Breathe, Maison.” He smiles again, the one from before. “I’ve got you now.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Nolan

The battery on Matt’s new tablet is dead by the time I’ve finished telling him everything and answering hismanyquestions regarding all of it. The voice he’d been using today was a pompous English dude that reminded me a little too much of JARVIS from theIron Manmovies. I was sort of glad to not have to listen to it any longer, even if it sucked seeing Matt so frustrated when he lost the ability to so easily speak his mind.

His hands had shook as he’d practically scraped words onto the back of some junk mail nearby to continue his questioning. Thankfully, he started losing steam soon after, starting to mostly rely on his facial expressions and three signs—IdiotandSorryandOkay. The idiot was usually used for Maison, at least, though I got one when I told him it felt like everything was my fault for wanting things I shouldn’t.

I have the junk mail in my lap, nearly every inch of it covered in words. The last corner holds the words he wrote down in big, angry letters after he’d used theidiotsign on me: WANTING TO BE HAPPY ISN’T WRONG. I trace the words with my fingeras Matt runs his fingers through my hair where my head rests on his stomach. I’m trying not to look at my phone. Hunter stopped calling and texting after we spoke, leaving the door open for me to reach out without bothering me. Maison hasn’t answered anything I’ve sent him. He hasn’t returned a single call. The last time I looked at the time on it, it had been three hours and seventeen minutes since I woke from my nap.

Wanting to be happy isn’t wrong.

It isn’t, but the problem is that Iwashappy with Maison. I just got greedy. I asked for more than I needed.

I exhale and check my phone.

Three hours and nineteen minutes.

Still nothing from Maison.

Matt taps my forearm twice, his way of checking in. I sigh. “Nothing yet. He’s probably drunk somewhere…”

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