Page 37 of Bound in Matrimony

Her hands tangle in my hair, pulling my mouth to hers for a kiss that's all heat and hunger. "I think I always have," she admits when we break apart, both breathless. "I just wasn't ready to admit it. To you or to myself."

I capture her wrists, pinning them above her head with one hand while the other traces the curve of her cheek, her jaw, the delicate line of her throat. "And now?"

"Now I can't deny it anymore." Her eyes hold mine, unflinching in their honesty. "I'm obsessed with you, Knox Vance. With possessing you. With being possessed by you. With knowing that nothing and no one will ever come between us."

Her words ignite something molten in my core, a need so intense it borders on violence. I release her wrists only to rid her of the scrap of white fabric covering her breasts, then the matching bottom. She's naked beneath me in seconds, her body as familiar to me as my own yet somehow always new, always a revelation.

"Mine," I growl against her skin, my mouth claiming her breast, then her stomach, then lower. "Say it again."

"I'm yours," she gasps as my tongue finds her center, her back arching off the bed. "Completely yours. Just like you're mine."

I worship her with mouth and hands, driving her to the edge and over it, absorbing her cries like they're sustenance I can't live without. When she's trembling, still coming down from her peak, I rise above her again, shedding my own clothes with desperate efficiency.

"No one else," I tell her, positioning myself between her thighs, my control hanging by a thread. "No one else has ever understood. No one else has ever matched me like you do."

Her hands find my shoulders, nails digging in slightly as she pulls me closer. "No one else ever will. For either of us."

I enter her with a single thrust, the feeling of her body accepting mine still as overwhelming as it was the first time. We fit together perfectly, two pieces of the same puzzle, designed for each other down to a cellular level. I set a punishing rhythm, driven by the need to claim, to possess, to mark—and by the knowledge that she feels the same desperate hunger.

"I've wanted to hear you say it," I confess against her mouth between kisses that are more consumption than affection. "Thatyou're obsessed. That you need me the way I need you. That it's not just me being controlling or possessive or too much."

She meets my every thrust, her body rising to accept mine, her eyes never leaving my face. "It's never been just you," she says, her voice breaking as pleasure builds between us. "I was just afraid to admit how much I needed this. Needed you."

The honesty in her voice, the vulnerability beneath her passion, touches something beyond lust. I slow my movements, shifting from frantic claiming to deliberate worship. My hand cradles her face, thumb brushing across her cheekbone with a gentleness that contrasts the intensity of our connection.

"You're everything," I tell her, the words torn from someplace deeper than conscious thought. "The reason for everything I've built, everything I've done. The purpose behind every decision since the moment I met you."

Tears gather at the corners of her eyes, though her smile is radiant. "And you're mine, Knox Vance. My obsession. My completion. The only man who could ever make me feel this way."

Her words push me to the edge of control. I gather her closer, changing our angle, ensuring that every thrust brings her pleasure along with mine. Her eyes widen, her breath catching as she begins to tighten around me again. I watch her face as she comes apart beneath me, absorbing every detail of her expression, every sound she makes. The sight of her surrender triggers my own, my release hitting with an intensity that whites out my vision for several heartbeats.

Afterward, I hold her against me, unwilling to break our connection even as our breathing gradually slows. The Caribbean breeze drifts through the open doors, cooling our overheated skin, carrying the scent of salt and flowers and us.

"I meant it," she says against my chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns across my skin. "Every word. I'm obsessed withyou, Knox. With having you. Keeping you. Making sure nothing ever comes between us."

I lift her chin, needing to see her eyes as I respond. "Good. Because that's exactly how it should be. Both of us, equally consumed." I brush my lips across hers, gentle now that the initial storm has passed. "Equally obsessed."

She settles back against me, her body fitting perfectly into the curves of mine, as if designed specifically for this purpose. Through the open door of our bedroom, I can see the ocean stretching to the horizon, the sky painted in the deep purples and blues of approaching night. Our island. Our sanctuary. The perfect setting for the family we've created.

"Where's the baby monitor?" I ask, not willing to relax completely without confirmation that Claire is still sleeping soundly.

Seraphina reaches to the bedside table, turning the screen toward me so I can see our daughter's peaceful form in her crib. The sight of her—this perfect being we created together—fills me with the same fierce protectiveness that drove me to purchase this island, to create this sanctuary where both the women in my life can be completely safe.

"She'll be up in about twenty minutes," Seraphina murmurs, pressing a kiss to the place where her name is tattooed on my chest. "We should probably get dressed before then."

"Probably," I agree, though I make no move to release her. Instead, I tighten my arms around her, inhaling the scent of her hair, memorizing the weight of her body against mine. "But not quite yet."

In this perfect moment—my wife in my arms, our daughter sleeping peacefully nearby, our island securing us against the world—I allow myself to acknowledge a truth I've known from the beginning:

I've never needed Seraphina to be obsessed with me to justify my own obsession with her. I would have continued loving her with the same consuming intensity regardless of whether she matched it. But hearing her admit that she feels the same driving need, the same possessive hunger—it completes something in me I didn't know was unfinished.

She's mine. I'm hers. Completely. Obsessively. For all time.

And nothing in the world has ever felt more right.

Epilogue

Five years later

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