Chapter 43 #2
She laughed too, soft and ragged, her head falling against my shoulder. “Not in the least. Never knew I had such a kink for dirty talk. Or praise.”
I raised a skeptic brow. “Really? Your type A personality didn’t clue you in that you’d get off on being told you’re perfect?”
That almost earned me a mock punch to the shoulder, but I caught her wrist before she could swing, laughing softly.
I leaned in until my lips brushed hers, gentle, unhurried this time. “I meant every word though,” I murmured against her mouth. “You’re mine now, Nightcrawler.”
Her smile softened, the teasing melting away. “I am yours,” she whispered back, “as much as you are mine.”
I caught the flicker in her expression right before she spoke, the look that always came before logic tried to ruin the moment.
“But…” she hesitated, breath trembling, and I could feel her pulse hammering against mine. “For now maybe we should keep this…secret?”
I drew back just enough to see her face, to make sure I’d heard right. “Is that what you want?”
Her answer came fast. “Gods, no. If I had my way, I’d be disgustingly happy in everyone’s face. I’d never shut up about it. About us, about you.”
I smirked, not too unhappy about that small declaration.
“But for now…” Her voice cracked, soft and rough. “It’s the smart thing to do. At least until we figure out how to deal with the United Chiefs.”
I closed my eyes for a second, swallowing the urge to tell her to let them burn. Then I leaned in until my forehead rested against hers, until her breath mixed with mine.
“I’m yours, Emma,” I whispered, the truth low and heavy between us. “Any way you want me, you have me. In the open, in secret, in blood or fire, I don’t care. I’m yours.”
She shivered, and I felt it, felt her believe me.
“There is something else you should know,” she said softly, gaze flicking up to meet mine before dropping again. “When I jumped to the future…”
She trailed off, lips parting, searching for words she clearly didn’t want to say.
I reached for her and pulled her back into my arms. “Hey. Whatever it is, there’s nothing you could’ve seen that would ever scare me away.”
Her big blue eyes lifted to mine, hesitant, luminous. Then she blurted it out. “It was you and me. Trying to get pregnant.”
My brows shot up so high they probably disappeared into my hairline. “You saw us…having sex?”
She nodded, cheeks flushing. “Yeah.”
A slow grin tugged at my mouth, wickedly. “So, you saw the goods before tonight and decided you just had to have it?”
She rolled her eyes, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.
I chuckled low. “That must’ve been…uncomfortable.”
“Not really.” She shrugged, then added with a half-smirk, “Though I did feel oddly jealous of my future self.”
That almost pulled a laugh out of me, but something inside me twisted instead.
I’d been fighting the prophetic bullshit that was Emma and James for months now. Had mocked the idea James was Alek’s father, had tried to pretend it didn’t hang over us like a godsdamn storm cloud.
Only to become it myself.
But I’d be damned if I let Emma choose me because of some warped, manipulated version of the future. A vision someone else handed her like it was fate carved in stone.
The choice had to be hers, not some prophecy’s.
Hers.
Or it didn’t mean a damn thing.
I lifted her chin until her stare met mine. “Emma,” I said quietly, rough around the edges. “Tell me you didn’t choose this—didn’t choose me—because of some fucked-up sense of duty.”
Her eyes widened, shock flashing there. “No, Caden. Of course not!”
She grabbed my face between her hands, fierce and steady. “All it did was make me certain of something I already knew: James will never be the father of any child I may bear.”
Her voice cracked, but she held my gaze. “But that has nothing to do with this, Caden. You…”
She drew in a deep breath. “Nothing has made sense since I left Crown. Nothing has made me feel alive, or happy, or even whole. Except for this. Except for you.”
Then she kissed me, soft, sealing the words between us.
“Whatever the future may or may not have shown me,” she murmured against my mouth, “it wasn’t what decided this.”
Another kiss. Deeper. Final.
“You are what I want. You are who I want,” she whispered. “The world be damned.”
She kissed me again, like she meant to etch it into memory. Her lips were soft but certain, tasting of salt and air and something that felt like surrender. My hands slid down her back, tracing the curve of her spine, the rise of her breath.
The kiss deepened, the rhythm of it shifting, gentle turning urgent, measured turning hungry. I felt her fingers pulling me closer, anchoring herself to me like she was afraid the world might tear us apart again, and I could feel myself grow hard again.
By the time she broke away, we were both breathing hard. Her forehead rested against mine, our breaths mingling in the narrow space between us.
“Ready for round two?” I murmured against her lips.
“Fuck yeah,” she breathed, and then I did exactly that.
For the next three days straight.