Page 116 of The Lilac River

“I’m sor?—”

“No.” He cut me off gently but firmly. “No more apologies, Lila. It’s over. He can’t hurt us again. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way.”

The conviction in his voice was like steel wrapped in velvet. Unshakable and warm.

I pressed closer, clutching the fabric of his shirt in my fists. “I need you, Nash.”

“You have me.” His voice rasped low in his throat. “All of me.”

And then we weren’t speaking anymore.

We moved together with the desperation of lost time, years apart we couldn’t get back. He pulled my shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor, his eyes roaming over me like I was something sacred. Reverent. Famished.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he breathed, almost to himself.

His mouth found my breast, his stubble rasping softly over sensitive skin, and I gasped, arching into him. His hand slipped under the waistband of my panties, and the heat of his palm made my thighs tremble.

“Christ,” he muttered, sliding two fingers into me. “You’re already dripping.”

“I’ve wanted you all day,” I panted, hips rocking into his touch. “I need you.”

He stripped the rest of my clothes away with quick, hungry movements, then shoved down his jeans. His cock sprang free, thick and hard and flushed dark.

“You want it rough, baby?” he asked, voice a gravelly growl. “Because I don’t think I can be gentle tonight.”

“Then don’t be,” I whispered, breathless. “I want to feel you lose control.”

That did it.

With a groan, he lifted me effortlessly and sank into me with one brutal thrust, knocking the air from my lungs. My head fell back, a cry ripping from my throat, but he didn’t pause. Didn’t hold back. His rhythm was fierce, each thrust a pounding heartbeat against mine, pouring ten years of need and regret and want into every movement.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, mouth pressed hot against my throat.

“You,” I gasped, nails digging into his back. “Always you.”

He crushed his mouth to mine, swallowing every sound as he moved harder, faster. His thumb found my clit with ruthlessprecision, and the world exploded in a white-hot burst of pleasure. I shattered around him, crying out his name like a prayer, and moments later, he followed groaning into my neck as he pulsed inside me, his body taut and trembling.

Even then, he didn’t let me go.

He held me through the aftershocks, his breath ragged, his hands tender as they stroked my back. We were tangled together, sweaty, spent, and yet somehow more whole than we’d ever been.

“I’m not letting you go again,” he murmured. “Not for anything.”

And in that moment, wrapped in his arms, I believed him.

Later, after we’d pulled on clothes and curled beneath a throw blanket on the sectional, Nash tucked me against his chest. The TV played softly in the background, casting flickering light across the room. His thumb traced lazy circles on my arm, a steady rhythm that slowed my heart.

“We will be happy, Lila,” he whispered against my hair. “I swear it.”

My heart swelled so full it ached. “I want that,” I said. “With you. And Bertie. This life.”

“You’ve got it,” he said simply.

But peace was a fragile thing.

The door burst open with a bang, making both of us jolt.

Gunner crashed in like a one-man stampede, slamming the door behind him. His cheeks were pink from the cold night air, eyes wide with urgency.

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