Page 64 of Until She's Mine
The stretch and fullness of him is almost too much, but then he moves, and everything else falls away. There’s only him: his hands on my hips, his lips on my skin, his body moving over me with a rhythm that feels like it’s been written in my blood.
I cling to him as waves of pleasure crash over me. He whispers my name like a mantra, each syllable a promise that binds ustighter together. And when I finally shatter in his arms, it’s with the knowledge that I’m not alone anymore. He’s here,he’s mine, and nothing will ever be the same again.
Later, as we lie tangled in the sheets, the storm outside has quieted to a gentle rain. Lucian’s arm is draped over my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. The room smells like sweat and sex.
I turn in his arms to face him, my fingers tracing the contours of his face. He watches me with those dark eyes that see straight through me, and for the first time in my life, I don’t feel the need to hide. There’s a quiet understanding between us, a silent acknowledgment of the darkness we both carry and the light we’ve found in each other.
“What now?” My voice is barely audible over the soft patter of rain against the windows.
“Now,” he says, reaching for the nightstand drawer and pulling out a small velvet box. My breath hitches as he opens it, revealing a ring. It’s a single emerald, surrounded by diamonds that catch the dim light like fire. “Marry me. Not because I know, or you owe me anything. Marry me because you want to. Because you know we’re stronger together than we are apart.”
I can’t speak, can’t move. I only stare at him, at the ring, at the future he’s offering.
And I want.
I want him too, with every flaw, scar, secret, and lie. He’s not offering me a fairytale. He’s not asking for perfection. He knows what I am, what I’ve done, and he’s choosing me anyway.
I blink back the tears that threaten to spill over and say, “Yes.”
My hand trembles as I reach for the ring, but Lucian catches it, his fingers intertwining with mine. His grip is firm, grounding me as he slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly, as if it were always meant to be there.
His lips meet mine in a kiss. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the quiet space between us. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. Forever.”
“Forever,” I echo.
I’m a monster, and I found my match.
Epilogue
Evelyn
Six Months Later
“Are we really doing this?” I ask, looking at the New York City Hall building through the tinted windows of our town car. The morning sun casts sharp shadows across the stone steps, where a handful of couples already linger in their finest attire—brides in white lace, grooms fidgeting in stiff suits.
Lucian’s fingers tighten around mine, his thumb tracing slow circles over my knuckles. My engagement ring catches the light.
“Unless you’ve changed your mind.” His other hand brushes a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I roll my eyes. “Not a chance.”
There is this or a grand society wedding that would make headlines and invite scrutiny, but we’ve both had enough of the spotlight. Lucian suggested it first, his voice calm and steady as he outlined the benefits of a quiet ceremony at City Hall.
“No paparazzi, no guest list negotiations, no speeches,” he’d said. “Just us.”
And that’s what I wanted. Just us. No pretenses, no expectations.
The driver opens the door, and Lucian steps out first, offering me his hand. His suit is a deep charcoal, perfectly tailored to his frame, and the crisp white of his shirt contrasts sharply with his tanned skin. He looks every inch the powerful man he is—controlled, composed, and utterly devastating.
I take his hand and let him guide me out of the car, my heels clicking against the pavement. The dress I’ve chosen is a simple and sleek ivory sheath that clings to my curves without being ostentatious. It’s understated elegance, much like the man standing beside me.
Inside City Hall, the air is cool and smells faintly of cleaning products and old paper. Lucian doesn’t let go of my hand—not when we climb the steps, not when we pass through the metal detectors, not even when we take our place in line behind a pair of giggling teenagers who keep sneaking kisses between nervous glances at their paperwork.
When it’s our turn, the clerk barely glances up from her computer. “Names?”
“Lucian Blackwood and Evelyn Laurent,” Lucian says smoothly, sliding our documents across the counter.
The clerk’s fingers pause on her keyboard. Her eyes flick up, taking in Lucian’s expensive suit, my designer dress, the way we stand together like we own the very air around us. Recognitiondawns slowly across her face—the Blackwood name carries weight even here, in this fluorescent-lit government building.
