Page 51 of The Sculptor

There is no negotiation. No further conversations. Nothing will change my mind. This woman is done.

Ramsey Ford’s fate is sealed.

She. Is. Mine.

Feeling her concede, I ease up, kissing a path up her stomach until I meet her gaze. “I’m okay, Ray,” I assure her earlier concern.

Just knowing Langston won’t put his hands on her quiets the screams.

Nodding, she threads her hands gently through my hair. “What can I do to help you, then?”

Closing my eyes, I remember the last night I spent loving her. “You can let me make love to my wife.”

It’s the most open and honest thing I can say right now.

“Will you give me that, Ray? Will you let me love you?”

Loving her will never be enough for what she’s done for us, but right now, when I’m broken and vulnerable, I just want to bathe in her strength and not think about our pain.

Her hands smooth down my face, cupping my cheeks. Those brilliant green eyes lock on to mine and like the seasons never passed between us, she smiles. “Love your wife, Dr. Potter, and claim the life you’re owed.”

It’s everything I need to hear as I hitch her up my waist and turn off the shower, watching as the water drips down her forehead.

For a moment, all we do is stand there, just breathing—taking each other in.

“I want you to know,” I finally say, breaking the silence, “I never stopped loving you.”

She smiles, and I’ve never seen anything truer. “And I you.”

We don’t make it to the bed.

Slamming her back against the tile, I apologize. “I wanted to love you sweetly,” I admit. “I wanted to move slow—reclaim every second we were apart.”

She shakes her head like she couldn’t care less, reaching between our bodies for my cock. “We have forever,” she assures me, lining up my bare cock with her opening. “But for now, Dr. Potter…”

I fight the urge to surge forward as she continues.

“You should know I’ve onlyeverdreamed of being Mrs. Potter. Not an artist. Not a mother. Just your wife.”

Yeah, fuck being a gentleman. Her declaration severed the last of my resolve.

I thrust forward, ramming my cock to the hilt and stealing our breath.

Ray shifts, trying to alleviate the ache, but I clamp down on her hips. “Don’t,” I bark. “Let me feel everything.” I’ve been deprived of her for so many years. I want every stretch, every bite of pain, as her body remembers where it belongs—around me.

We are two halves of a whole.

We haven’t thrived.

We haven’t grown.

But not anymore.

Now, we are complete.

And for the first time in nearly two decades, I lean forward and kiss my Sunny Ray.

Her lips part on an exhale as my tongue sweeps in, claiming, memorizing, taking all that she has.

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