Chapter Thirty-Eight
Presley
The moment I get comfortable in bed, I hear the rumble of Rygaard’s truck passing along the pavement, escaping the jailhouse he’s been living in ever since I showed up here.
He says I’m not a burden, but that’s exactly what I feel like. And God, how I wish I could run away from all of this.
But that’s not an option.
Not yet.
Instead of planning my escape, I reach for the box he left in front of me.
Taking off the lid, I find a note lying on top of a zillion letters.
Unfolding it, I read:
Princess,
Every single letter is in chronological order, starting the day I was taken from you. You have to read them in order to understand. Toward the front of the box, I labeled it ‘ Start Here .’ From there, everything is already in order for you. , Ry
Shit. Even through a damn letter, he still holds a certain kind of power over me. I feel obligated to do exactly as he says.
Pulling out the first envelope marked ‘ Start Here ,’ I open it and begin to read.
Three hours later, I’m bawling my fucking eyes out.
“Oh, my sweet Ry…” I whisper.All these years, I blamed him for everything I went through, when he was living through his own private hell.
Sniffling, I grab my phone and, with trembling fingers, type the only thing I can manage: Ry Ry ?? .
Hoping he understands how desperate I am from that simple text, I set the phone back on the nightstand, cuddle into my bed, and hug my pillow close.
The letters I’ve read are scattered all around me. Memories flood my mind, and the tears don’t stop.
I cry myself to sleep with thoughts of the life Ry and I could have had, and maybe, just maybe, still can.
The sound of soft music, birds chirping outside, and the strange sense of being watched pulls me from sleep.
Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I sit up, and there he is.
Rygaard.
Slumped in a chair beside my bed, sleeping peacefully. Leaning back against the headboard, I just… watch him.
His chest rises and falls with each deep breath. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, exposing a chest that is definitely worth staring at.
In one of the letters, he’d mentioned hitting the gym two, sometimes three times a day, getting ready to take on anything.
Preferably his father.
He stirs, and I can’t help but giggle when I notice the very obvious morning wood situation he’s got going on. Throwing the covers off, I grab for my crutches and start to get up. That’s when his deep, husky voice cuts through the quiet room.
“Going somewhere?”
I freeze. “Uh, yeah. Bathroom.” I grunt, struggling to steady the crutches under my arms.
“Here, let me.” Before I can protest, he moves in, scoops me up like I weigh nothing, and carries me toward the bathroom.
I squeal, clutching his neck. “Ry, I need to practice walking!” I argue.
He smiles that heart-melting smile. “I know. But when I’m here, you can use me instead.”
God help me, he’s beautiful. “Thank you,” I murmur, and immediately want to smack myself.
“What?” he teases. “No way you just said that out loud.”
“You sure?”
He nods, grinning like he’s just won a bet.
“Well, I guess...” I mutter.
When we reach the bathroom, he sets me down carefully, but doesn’t leave. “Uh, you can go now,” I say, awkwardly gesturing. “I’ll holler when I’m done.”
He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Nah. I’ll just wait right here.”
I glare. “I can’t pee with you in here.”
“You can’t poop with me in here. You can pee just fine.”
How the fuck does he remember that?
Oh right, because he wrote it in his letters. Every little thing about me, he remembered.
“Fine. Have it your way,” I grumble, pulling down my sleep shorts, revealing, unfortunately, that I’m not wearing panties.
His eyes darken.I sit down, legs trembling just enough that I nearly fall, but Ry’s there in a flash, catching me. “Careful,” he murmurs, helping me steady myself.
“Thanks,” I mumble, cheeks burning. “You know, if you weren’t staring so hard, maybe I wouldn’t have stumbled.”
He grins. “If you’d worn some underwear, maybe I wouldn’t have been staring.”
“Ha! Lies. You like watching me. Your letters said so.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yep.” I finish up and stand, letting him help me pull my shorts back up.
“So, tell me, Princess... What else did you read in those letters?” The way he says Princess , low and rough, sends a shiver down my spine.
My body aches for him. Not just any man.Him.
Always him.
“I-" I start to answer, but Ry’s lips crash down on mine, swallowing my words.
His hands cup my face, angling us just right. He tastes like mint, heat, and memories.
God, he feels so good. Like home. Like everything I thought I’d lost.
When I tense, he immediately pulls back, guilt flashing across his features. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have, ”
“No, it’s okay,” I cut him off, resting my forehead against his. “I liked it.”
He jerks back slightly, eyes wide. “What? No smart-ass remark? No telling me to fuck off?”
I chuckle softly. “Nah. None of that.” I wrap my arms around his neck, grounding myself in him. “I haven’t read all your letters yet, hell, it’ll probably take me a year, but what I have read... it changes things.”
I turn away, limping back to the bed to put some distance between us. “I hated you for so long, Ry,” I whisper. “Blamed you for everything. I used my body to fill a void I thought you left behind. But it wasn’t you. It never was.”
The tears come faster than I can blink them away.
He follows, wrapping his arms around me from behind, pulling me flush against his chest. “Shhh. Stop,” he murmurs. “I never gave up on us, Presley. Not once. That’s why there’s so many letters, I wanted you to have every piece of me, even if you couldn’t be there to see it happen.”
I twist in his arms, looking up at him, and what I see in his eyes makes my knees nearly buckle.
Love.Anger.Hope.
The boy I fell in love with.The man I still love now.
“Kiss me, Ry Ry,” I whisper, “and then make lo- ” I don’t get to finish.Because he’s already spinning me around, already claiming my mouth with a desperation that mirrors my own.
He lifts me easily, and my good leg wraps around his waist. The world narrows to the feel of his mouth, his hands, his hard body pressed against mine. “You have no idea what your words do to me, Princess,” he groans, grinding against me, “but I’m about to show you.”
“Show me then,” I dare him, breathless.
He carries me toward his room, muttering filthy promises against my skin. Each word makes my body ache harder.
When we cross the threshold, something in him shifts.
Gone is the playful Ry, and in his place stands the man who was always meant to claim me. He sets me on my feet gently, then strips off my shirt in one smooth motion. His gaze darkens when he sees the lace bra barely covering my nipples.
“See something you like, Ry Ry?” I tease, unhooking my bra and letting it fall.
He doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t need to.
Because the way he stalks toward me says it all.
And when he growls, “Better hope that leg can take it, Princess,” I know exactly what kind of night I'm in for.
I bite my lip, heart hammering against my ribs, as Rygaard’s hands come to rest low on my hips.
His touch is hot, reverent, almost achingly gentle.
“Still so perfect,” he rasps, voice thick with emotion.His thumb brushes the edge of my pajama shorts, tracing the waistband with slow, teasing strokes.I shudder beneath his touch.
He leans down, lips brushing over my jaw, my ear. "You have no idea what it’s been like... dreaming of you. Missing you. Waking up with nothing but a fucking pillow to hold." His voice cracks, and it guts me.
This man, who has been my everything and nothing all at once, is still here.
Still choosing me.
Still fighting for me.
Tears blur my vision, but I blink them away.
Not tonight.
Tonight, I need him.All of him.
"I’m right here, Ry," I whisper. "I’m not going anywhere." A rough, broken sound escapes him. And then he’s kissing me again, desperate, consuming, like he’s trying to climb inside my skin and stay there forever.
His hands are everywhere, sliding up my ribs, cupping my breasts, thumbing my nipples until they pebble painfully.I arch into him, gasping his name like a prayer.
He backs me toward the bed, lowering me down onto the mattress with agonizing slowness.
Then he steps back, stripping his shirt the rest of the way off, and fuck, he’s gorgeous.All hard muscle, and scars, and pent-up hunger.
My gaze drops to the tent in his jeans, and I lick my lips without thinking.
He notices.
Of course he does.
“Take them off, Princess,” he growls, voice rougher than gravel. "Show me how much you still want me."
I tremble under the weight of his gaze, but I obey, hooking my thumbs into the sides of my shorts and sliding them down my legs.It feels like a confession, the way he watches me.
No shame. No judgment. Just pure, unfiltered need.
When I’m finally bare before him, he exhales sharply, like he’s been holding his breath for years.
“Fuck, Presley,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to keep from losing control. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I smile, slow and wicked. "Good," I whisper. “Maybe I'll bring you back to life while I'm at it.”
His restraint snaps like a frayed wire. He’s on me in an instant, carefully pushing my thighs apart with his broad shoulders, burying his face between my legs without hesitation.
The first swipe of his tongue rips a moan straight from my soul.I writhe, gasping, hands tangling in his hair as he devours me like a starving man.
“God,” I sob, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. “Ry... please…”
He hums against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my entire body, and grips my thighs tighter, holding me in place as he feasts on me like I'm the only meal he's ever wanted. "I missed this taste," he growls between licks. “Missed the way you fall apart for me.”
I’m already close, already teetering on the edge, but Rygaard’s not about to let me fall just yet. He pulls back, lips glistening, eyes dark with a promise that makes my toes curl. “I want you to come when I'm inside you,” he says roughly. “Want to feel you break for me.”
I whimper, beg , reaching for him like I’ll die if I don't have him inside me now.
He shoves his jeans down, not even bothering to fully kick them off, and crawls over me, pressing the thick, heavy length of him right against my soaked entrance.
His forehead drops to mine.
Our eyes lock.
And for a moment, everything else falls away.
Just me.Just him.Just us.
"You sure, Princess?" he rasps, voice wrecked and reverent. "You sure you want this?"
I cup his face, thumbs brushing the stubble on his jaw. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life," I whisper. "Take me, Ry. Make me yours again."
A tortured groan rips from his chest, and then he’s sliding inside me, slow, and deep, and devastating.Filling every broken, hollow space I didn't even realize still existed.
I sob his name, clutching at his shoulders as he bottoms out, holding perfectly still, trembling with the effort it takes not to move.
"You feel like fucking Heaven," he chokes out, voice breaking on a ragged breath. "So tight. So perfect. So mine."
"Yours," I gasp, nails digging into his skin. "Always yours."
That’s all he needs.
He starts to move, slow at first, grinding deep with each thrust, like he’s savoring every second. Like he’s mapping my body all over again, memorizing the places that make me whimper, moan, scream.
Our bodies move together, frantic, and clumsy, and perfect.
Tears streak down my cheeks, not from pain, but from the overwhelming, suffocating love I feel for him.
He kisses them away, murmuring words I can't even process because all I can feel is him.
Inside me.
Around me.
Everywhere.
When I shatter, it's not just an orgasm.
It’s a collapse.
A surrender.
A breaking and a rebuilding all at once.
Rygaard follows seconds later, cursing against my mouth, driving so deep I swear I feel him in my chest, pulsing hot and thick inside me.
We cling to each other through the aftershocks, trembling, gasping, utterly wrecked.
And when it’s over, when the world finally stops spinning, he doesn't let me go. He wraps me up in his arms like I'm something precious, something worth protecting.
Something worth keeping.
"I love you, Presley," he whispers into my hair, voice hoarse, and cracked, and real. "I always have. I always will."
Tears slip down my cheeks again, but this time, they’re happy. "I love you, too, Ry," I breathe.
"And this time... I’m not letting go." He pulls back just enough to kiss me, slow, deep, claiming.
A promise sealed in sweat and tears, and the kind of love that never fucking dies.