Page 116 of What Hurts Us

I manhandled her up onto her hands and knees and rammed my cock deep inside of her. Layla screamed again, head tipping back as if trying to find her way in the dark. I grabbed her hair, fisting it close to her scalp as I thrust inside. I could still feel her quick flutters pulsating around me. Her breasts swung and clapped together as I fucked her. It was hard and dirty, andfuck—I loved it.

My balls slapped against her skin as I drove into her again and again. My thighs shook as I neared my own end. Layla’s elbows quaked, trying to hold herself up as I fucked her into oblivion.

I came, hard pulses of arousal filling her. Layla collapsed onto the pillows, her chest on the bed, her ass still in the air. I pulled my softening dick out of her and cupped her sex. She was throbbing.

My release pooled in my hand as it spilled out of her. A wave of possession washed over me. I slid my hand over her ass, leaving a light sheen on her skin. “Mine.” I helped her onto her knees and used the remnants of my orgasm to paint her breasts. “Mine.” I grabbed her throat. Layla didn’t cower. She looked me dead in the eye as I pressed my slick thumb against her lips. “Mine. All mine.”

“Yours,” she whispered. “Forever.”

By the time we rinsed off and had another round of getting dirty in the shower, the sun was coming up. Layla and I sat on the porch, curled up in blankets as we sipped our tea and coffee and watched Falls Creek come to life.

It was a peculiar thing—love. It was a thing that required armor and nakedness. There was the expectation of sacrifice. Of trust. Of protection.

There was the expectation of vulnerability—the willingness to expose your wounds to someone and trust that they’ll ease the suffering, not add to it. Trust makes you feel bulletproof, but love makes taking the bullet worth it.

EPILOGUE

LAYLA

Threads of English and Farsi filled the tight corridors of the Ballentine House Bed and Breakfast. The spring breeze floated through open windows, relieving us from the suffocating fumes of hairspray and setting powder. Beth elbowed her way into the melee, shoving my aunt, mother, Gran, and Brandie Jean out of the way to hand me a folded piece of paper.

“From your man,” she said with a waggle of her eyebrows.

I tore into the envelope, imagining Callum doing the same in the presence of my brother, Shane, and Austin.

With nimble fingers, I unfolded the letter and moved to the window to read his message.

Layla joon,

We made it, honey. The day we lied about looking forward to is finally here. I don’t know if you remember it, but back when we were faking it, we had a fight, and you took the ring off. I had never felt real fear in my life until that moment. And ever since then, I’ve known that this day is what I wanted for us.

For most of my life, I felt hollow. Like I was waiting for something but didn’t know what. I thought it was my family—my parents. For a while, I thought it was my job. Serving the town had to be the be-all, end-all for me. But it wasn’t, and I was empty.

Then I met you.

I will never know what the hell made you say yes when I showed up at your motel room and asked you to be my fiancé. But I am so fucking grateful every single day that you did.

You put me back together when I didn’t even know I needed to fall apart. You held me and let me hold you. You loved me and trusted me in ways that go beyond my comprehension.

You are the strongest woman I’ve ever known. You are radiant from the inside out. I’ve never been good with words, and I’m sure as hell not poetic, but words are all I can think about when I see you. Gentle. Kind. Beautiful. A force to be reckoned with.

For the last week, I’ve had a stupid smile on my face that I can’t get rid of from thinking about seeing you walk down the aisle. You’ve put so much work into making today beautiful. The flowers, the decorations, all of it. But I’m most thankful that you spent your life making your soul just as beautiful.

Dooset Daaram, hamsar-am. I love you more than anything.

Yours,

Callum

“No, no, no!”my grandmother chided as she scuttled over with a tissue. “You’ll mess up your makeup!”

I folded the note and tucked it in the pocket of my dress. White lace swished around me as I hurried over to the snack table my aunt had set up for us. In a late-night crafting binge, I had made champagne flutes for the ladies with our names on them.

Which ended up being a damn good thing because my champagne flute didnothave champagne in it.

But no one else knew that.

I took a sip, calming the roiling in my stomach. Bubbles coated my tongue, and the ginger ale seemed to do the trick. From across the room, Beth gave me a curious look.

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