Page 111 of Riot

Fabric bolts lined one wall, rolls stacked in a custom oak rack like they’d been waiting for me. In the corner stood a sleek white cutting table, glossy and untouched, surrounded by mannequins in different sizes. There was a high-end sewing machine already threaded, plus shelves stocked with sketchbooks, pencils, shears, pins, buttons, zippers, even thread in every color I could imagine. A drafting table sat under a skylight well, letting natural light spill in even from the basement. The whole room was glowing. Alive. It was more than just a workspace. It was a dream manifested into something tangible.

I turned slowly, my chest tight, eyes already stinging with tears. Riot was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching me like he was proud of himself. Like my reaction was the only thing he needed today.

“I—” My voice caught in my throat.

He pushed off the frame and came toward me slow, his hands sliding around my waist. “You don’t ever have to wait on your future. Not in this house.”

Tears slipped free before I could stop them, and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pressing my face into his chest. “You did all this for me?”

He kissed the top of my head. “I did it because you deserve to have a space to create. A space that’s yours.”

I pulled back, my eyes tracing every corner of the room again. “Riot… this is… it’s everything.”

He smiled, slow and sure. “Good. Because it’s only the beginning.”

I didn’t even know how to process the depth of what I felt in that moment. No one had ever poured into me like this. Not just with gifts, but with intention. With foresight. He didn’t just believe in my talent. He carved out room for it to thrive.

“I got one more thing,” he said, brushing a thumb over my cheek.

“More?” I laughed through the tears.

He took my hand and led me upstairs to the living room, where he dropped onto the couch, pulling me into his lap like I weighed nothing.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he started, rubbing slow circles against my thigh. “About what really matters. What I want to build. Who I want to be.”

I studied him carefully, waiting for the catch.

“I’ve decided to give the animals away.”

My breath stopped. “What?”

“To sanctuaries. All of them. I’ve already been reaching out, getting things in motion. Places where they’ll be safe. Cared for. Where they can live out their days without being some rich man’s trophy or part of a power flex. I’ve been watching you, the way you care… the way you see things. And I realized, I want to build something cleaner. Realer.”

Tears welled in my eyes again, different this time. Not because of the gift, but because of the shift. Because he wasn’t just changing his life—he was letting go of the darkness he’d once clung to for power.

“I don’t want to be the man who keeps things in cages anymore,” he whispered.

I leaned in and kissed him, slow and deep, tasting the promise in his mouth. My heart expanded, stretching in ways I didn’t know it could. This was the kind of love people wrote about. The kind that broke curses. That rewrote legacies. That turned haunted men into protectors.

“I love you,” I whispered against his lips.

He pulled me in tighter, his forehead pressed to mine. “You make me want to be more than I was.”

His hands slid down to grip my hips, and the energy between us shifted, thickened. The way he was looking at me now—like I was something he needed to devour—made heat and wetness swarm my pussy.

"You know what you do to me?" His voice dropped to that dangerous register that made my thighs clench. "Walking around here looking like that, smelling like that..."

"Riot..." I breathed, but he was already moving, hands sliding under my dress, fingers tracing the edge of my panties.

"Nah, baby. I need you to understand something." He shifted me on his lap so I could feel how hard he was beneath me. "Every time you leave this house, I count the minutes till you come back. Every. Single. One."

His fingers found me wet and ready, and he groaned deep in his chest. "This for me?"

I nodded, already losing myself in the way he touched me—confident, possessive, like my body was territory he'd claimed.

"Words, Allure."

"Yes," I gasped as he slipped two fingers inside me. "Always for you."

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