Chapter Twenty-One
NITRO
One Week Later
The following week blurs past in a flurry of planning.
Beck’s been sneaking around with his camera, capturing candid moments of Marley and me that I didn’t even know were happening.
Things like laughing over coffee, my hand on the small of her back as we walk through the clubhouse, or the way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not paying attention.
Each photograph is a gut punch of emotion. This woman, this incredible, beautiful, brilliant woman, looks at me as if I’m her whole world.
And I still haven’t told her.
The guilt punches through me like a hot blade.
But I can’t think about that right now.
“These are incredible,” I tell Beck when he shows me the collection on his laptop. We’re at the apartment while Marley is at work, and I’m supposed to be helping him pick which ones to include in the montage.
But I can’t stop staring.
There’s one of us at the clubhouse, Marley mid-laugh at something Ro said, and I’m watching her with this expression on my face that’s so openly adoring it makes my throat tight.
Another of us on my bike, her arms wrapped around my waist, her cheek pressed against my back.
The trust in that image, the intimacy, it’s everything.
“You love her,” Beck says softly. Not a question. A statement.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice rough. “I really fucking do.”
“Does she know?”
“Not yet.” I drag a hand through my hair. “I’m waiting for the right moment.”
“Nitro.” Beck turns to face me fully. “Every moment with her is the right moment. Don’t wait too long for your chance to tell her.”
His words echo in my head for days.
But I am still hiding a part of me from her.
That part of me I hide from everyone.
That I am Damon Blackwell, the billionaire.
The billionaire who got Marley the job she is currently thriving in.
The billionaire who is goddamn lying to her.
Four Days Later
The night before the party, I couldn’t sleep.
Marley is curled against my side in bed, her breathing deep and even, completely trusting. I trace patterns on her shoulder, my mind racing through tomorrow’s plans.
The decorations are ready. The food is ordered. The brothers have their costumes, even though there was much complaining and reticence. Queenie confirmed she’s coming, and I’ve arranged for a car to bring her from Sunset Manor.
Everything is perfect.
Except for the knot of anxiety in the pit of my stomach.
Because tomorrow, Marley is going to meet Queenie. The woman who raised me, who knows every secret, every scar, every broken piece of me. And I’m concerned that somehow, introducing them will make everything too real.
Too vulnerable.
What if Queenie doesn’t approve?
What if Marley realizes I’m not worth the trouble?
What if all my secrets come out?
“You’re thinking too loud,” Marley mumbles into my chest, her hand spreading over my heart as though she’s trying to quiet the thunder inside it. “I can hear your brain from here.”
I kiss the top of her head, breathing in vanilla shampoo and warm skin, the scent that’s become my new weakness.
“Sorry, Small Town,” I murmur. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Her cheek shifts on my skin. “What’s wrong?”
Even half asleep, she sees right through me.
She always has.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I lie softly, brushing a stray curl back from her forehead.
She pushes up on one elbow, the blanket sliding down her shoulder, leaving her bare skin glowing in the soft lamp light.
Her eyes narrow. “Nitro, you spilled coffee on yourself yesterday. You don’t spill coffee. Something’s up.” My throat tightens. “Are you nervous about me meeting Queenie?” she asks gently.
There it is.
The part of me I don’t let anyone touch.
My voice comes out rougher than intended. “I want you to meet her… more than anything.” I swallow hard. “I’m just… terrified.”
Her expression softens like the sunrise breaking across her face. “Why?” she whispers.
“Queenie knows me,” I say, staring at the ceiling because looking at her makes it harder to breathe. “She knows the shit I’ve done. The ways I’ve screwed up. And if she looks at me and thinks I’m not good enough for you—”
She presses her fingers to my lips, silencing every insecurity I’ve ever swallowed.
“Nitro…” she murmurs. “You are more than good enough. Queenie’s going to see the same man I see.
” Her palm cups my cheek, thumb stroking lightly.
“A man who protects people. Who shows up. Who makes me feel safe. Cherished. Like I am… enough.”
The words hit hard.
Harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.
Before I can stop myself, I grab her and kiss her, slow at first, then deeper, hungrier as she melts into me. Her fingers curl into my hair, pulling me closer with a soft, desperate sound that shivers down my spine.
When we break apart, we’re breathing harshly.
“I love y-you,” I hear myself say, my voice cracking. “Marley, I love you. I’ve been trying to choke it down for weeks, and I can’t anymore.”
Her eyes widen, then shine.
Full, bright, and brave.
For one horrible second, fear slices through me.
Then she grabs my jaw and kisses me fiercely enough to steal the doubt clean out of me.
“I love you too,” she murmurs against my mouth. “Nitro, I love you so much it scares me.”
“Yeah?” My voice is nothing more than gravel and hope.
“Yeah.”
Something inside me breaks open.
All the restraint. All the hesitation. All the fear.
Gone.
I slide my hand to her hip, and she gasps softly as I guide her back to the mattress. She goes willingly, her legs brushing mine, her breath catching as I hover over her.
Her fingers trail up my arms, over my shoulders, tracing muscle and ink. “Touch me,” she whispers, her voice trembling with want.
And fuck, that pleading?
That’s all mine.
I kiss her again, deeper, slower, letting her feel every ounce of what I can’t say. My lips trail her throat, over her collarbone, mapping every sound she makes as if I need to memorize it all.
Her back arches, her soft breasts pressing against my chest, her thighs brushing my hips with restless, needy little movements that make heat punch straight through me.
“Marley…” I groan against her skin, my voice rough. “You drive me insane.”
Her fingers slide into my hair, tugging. “Good,” she whispers, her breath shaky. “Then we’re even.”
My hand strokes slowly down her side, feeling her tremble beneath my touch. She’s soft everywhere, all curves, warmth, and a trust she gives me like a gift I’ll never fucking take for granted.
I move lower, trailing kisses across her stomach, loving the way she gasps, sharp, unguarded, real.
Her hips lift, seeking more, but I pin them gently with one broad hand, kissing slow enough that she whimpers.
My fingers slide along her inner thigh, and she inhales sharply, her knees parting in a helpless, beautiful invitation that goes straight to my spine.
“That’s it,” I murmur against her skin, my voice thick with hunger. “Open up for me.”
Her breath stutters.
Not nerves.
Need.
A need I feel just as fiercely.
I drag my mouth higher, kissing the tender spot at her hip, my hand sliding between her thighs, stroking her with the kind of confidence that comes from knowing exactly how to unravel her.
She arches, her head tilting back, lips parted, a soft moan spilling out, the kind I’ve become addicted to.
I claim her mouth with mine again as my fingers find that perfect rhythm that turns her limbs to liquid. Her thighs tense, then relax around me, her hands gripping my shoulders, pulling, pleading.
“Nitro…” she rasps, her voice breaking apart as if she’s been holding the words in her chest for hours. “God, I need you…”
The sound detonates something feral in me.
A growl tears from my throat, low, raw, and territorial. Every instinct I have is clawing to the surface. “Good,” I rumble, my mouth brushing her jaw as my fingers thrust deeper, slower, exactly how she likes it. “Because I need you, too, Small Town. More than I need to fucking breathe.”
Her whole body answers me, a full-body shiver, her back arching off the mattress, her thighs clamping around my wrist, her breath catching in a way that makes me think she’s trying to inhale me.
She melts under my touch, every muscle softening and tightening all at once. She’s unraveling and holding on at the same time. I curl my fingers just right, and she gasps, a perfect, desperate sound, her nails digging into my shoulders so hard I swear she’s branding me.
Her skin is hot, flushed, her heartbeat pounding under my palm as though it’s trying to reach mine. The slick, tight pull of her around my fingers nearly knocks the air out of me.
“Fuck… that’s it,” I murmur against her throat, licking a slow stripe up to her ear while my fingers stroke her deep. “Take it, baby. Let me feel you.”
Her hips lift helplessly, chasing every touch like she’s starving for it.
Shaking.
Trembling.
Fighting to hold on and failing beautifully.
She’s close, I feel it in everything.
The tension in her thighs.
The way her breath hiccups.
The way her hand in my hair tightens, suggesting she’s terrified I’ll stop.
Her whole body coils, tight and trembling, a fuse burning toward detonation.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” I whisper, kissing her slow and deep while my fingers work her in that perfect rhythm. “I’ve got you. I always have you. Come for me, baby.”
She breaks apart in my hand, trembling, gasping, clinging. Her body pulses around my fingers, dragging me deeper with every slow, helpless clench.
I hold her through all of it, every shudder, sound, and moment she loses control under me.
And I swear, nothing in my entire life has ever felt like this.
Like being trusted.
Wanted.
Needed.
She’s still shaking when I ease my fingers out of her, slow so she feels every inch of the withdrawal. Her release coats my fingertips, warm and slick, and I trail them up her stomach, leaving faint, teasing streaks on her skin.