Chapter 51 One Last Night
ONE LAST NIGHT
ASHLEY
By the time I make it back to the ship and down the corridor toward our cabin, it’s late. The hallway is quiet, the carpet soft under my shoes, the low hum of the engines a steady backdrop—a hum that’s just a little quieter than the one thrumming through me.
When I reach our door, I slow.
The suitcases are already lined up neatly outside. All of them. Beckett’s, mine, the huge one I’d brought to hold all the wedding supplies.
I tap my keycard against the lock and push open the door. The lights inside are low, shadows stretching across the bed and walls.
Before I can call out, I hear his voice—muffled, coming from the balcony.
“I figured I’d get locked out. It was bound to happen eventually. It’s gonna have to be enough.” His tone is low, but serious.
A pause.
“Listen, I’ve held up my end of the deal. Just keep my family out of it,” he adds, the edge in his voice sharper now.
Another pause.
What deal?
“I’ll be back Sunday night,” he says. “You do what you gotta do. I’m done.”
Silence.
Cold, creeping silence.
My pulse is hammering so hard I can feel it in my fingertips. I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
Because whatever I just heard—I wasn’t supposed to.
And I have no idea what it means.
The balcony door slides open, smooth as a whisper, and Beckett steps back inside, phone still in his hand.
He startles when he sees me. “Ash.” He exhales, like he’s been holding his breath. “I was about to come looking for you.”
Tension sits in the lines around his eyes, the set of his mouth. But when he crosses the room and pulls me into his arms, I feel the same solid warmth I always have.
I press my cheek against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Everything okay?”
His hand skims down my back. “Right now? It’s perfect.”
For a year now, I’ve wanted him to tell me everything that was going on, but…
Suddenly, I don’t know if I’m ready.
Before I can decide whether to push, his phone starts ringing again. Beckett doesn’t move.
“Don’t you need to get that?” I ask.
He loosens his hold on me and looks at the screen for a long moment. “No,” he says.
He clicks it off.
And then—without hesitation—he turns, slides the balcony door open, steps out into the night, and with one clean, furious motion—
Throws the phone into the darkness.
“Beckett!” I gasp, rushing after him. “What are you doing?”
He doesn’t say a word, just stands there, hands braced on the railing, head bowed. Then he shakes it once and drags a hand through his hair, hard.
The ocean rushes below us, black and endless. The wind tugs at his shirt, ruffles his hair. When he finally turns back to me, his face is stripped bare—anger, frustration, grief, all of it right there.
“No more interruptions,” he says hoarsely. “Not tonight.”
I step out onto the balcony, the cool air brushing my bare arms. He’s leaning back against the railing now, eyes bright, chest rising and falling too fast.
“Ash,” he says. “You asked if I’m in trouble and… last year, I fucked up.”
My stomach drops. That’s exactly what I didn’t want to hear, what I feared this was. What I didn’t want to believe.
“I’m trying to make it right,” he continues. “That’s what I’ve been doing. What I wanted to tell you. I will tell you everything. I just—”
He breaks off.
And it’s all there. The strain. The way this year has carved lines into him the same way it carved into me.
“Ash—”
“It’s okay.” I nod. Because I don’t understand all the whys, or the whos or the whats. But I understand him. What he needs. For better or for worse. And I understand that, somehow, I love him now more than I ever have. I never stopped.
I step closer.
There’s a reason I never signed those papers shoved in a drawer back home.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I tell him.
A tear slips free before he can stop it. He lifts a hand to wipe it away, but I catch his wrist, press his knuckles to my mouth instead.
“I’ll wait,” I whisper.
I can’t stop loving this man. No matter what logic says. No matter what the self-help books say I’m supposed to do.
“Beckett,” I say, just to feel his name on my tongue.
And without breaking eye contact, I reach for his belt.
“Ash—”
“I know,” I murmur. “I’ll be careful.”
The buckle gives. The button. The zipper. I free him slowly, reverently, like this is something sacred.
I lower myself onto the chaise behind me, bringing myself level with him. Close. Intimate.
He’s already hard. Heat radiates from him. Muskier than cologne. Familiar and inviting and achingly him.
The piercing glints softly in the moonlight—gold against flushed skin. I’ve only seen it in flashes before. From a distance. I take a few seconds to really study it now.
“I think it’s beautiful,” I tell him.
His breath stutters.
I press my mouth to him—not the piercing, but the smooth velvet just below it. He hisses, sharp and helpless.
“Does that hurt?” I ask.
“No,” he groans. “You—God—I love you… touching me.”
I lick along the side, slow and deliberate, tasting salt and heat and the faint trace of his cologne. I feel the pulse beneath my tongue. Feel him throb.
My hands slide around his base, slow and warm. My thumbs move in gentle circles, memorizing him, reverent.
His hand sinks into my hair—not to guide me. To hold on.
I let him.
Because even though there’s a low throbbing inside me, pulsing with its own ache—this isn’t just want.
It’s care. It’s connection.
And it’s for me, too.
The way he responds to my touch. The way his body tightens, his voice breaks.
I love doing this for him. Not because I have to. Because I get to.
And maybe it’s also an apology.
He’s given so much, even when I didn’t see it. Even when I couldn’t.
And now… now I just want to give something back. As much as I can. As much as he’ll let me.
I take him into my mouth again, careful around the piercing, listening to the way he breathes—ragged and uneven, like he’s unraveling one thread at a time. His hips lift, hesitant, then steady.
I cradle him with one hand, the other sliding lower, cupping him, and then around his thighs, gripping the muscles there. He groans my name, low and wrecked, and his fingers tighten in my hair—almost painfully, but in a way that anchors me.
I trace around the piercing with my tongue, soft and slow, brushing a kiss just beside it.
His breath falters, body tensing. The tremble starts in his thighs, works up through his stomach.
And I feel it all.
That need to surrender.
I don’t stop.
And when he comes, it’s powerful and uncontrolled, his release spilling warm and heavy, his body shuddering as he cries out.
I stay with him, holding onto him as the last tremors fade.
He leans forward, forehead resting against mine, breath harsh, tears sliding freely now.
I wrap my arms around him, press my face to his chest, feel his heart hammering beneath my cheek.
Whatever secrets he’s carrying.
Whatever storms are coming.
We’re in this together.
But tonight—this night—he’s all mine.
And I’m his.