Chapter 29
HALLIE MAE
T he ride back to Charleston was quiet, the kind that wraps around you like a soft quilt, giving you room to just be.
Anna drove, her hand steady on the wheel, the other resting easy in her lap.
She didn’t fill the silence with chatter, and I was grateful.
Words felt heavy today. Instead, soft classical music—strings and a gentle piano—hummed through the speakers, its aching beauty letting me feel without having to think too hard.
It fit her, I realized. Anna, the harpist, carried grace in her quiet.
Outside, the Lowcountry rolled by—marsh grass catching the golden light, palmettos standing tall, and then the elegant sprawl of downtown Charleston easing into view.
Cobblestone streets. Iron balconies. Old churches holding their ground against a sky painted with the last of the afternoon’s colors.
My daddy was in the ground now. The final amen had been spoken. The casserole dishes were packed away. It was over. And somehow, I was still standing.
I carried that truth as we pulled up to Dominion Hall, its solid walls oddly comforting. The first time I’d walked through those doors, it was all chaos and fear. Now, it felt like something else. Like a home.
Anna parked and turned to me, her voice soft. “You okay?”
I nodded. “Getting there.”
Her smile said she understood better than most. “You need anything—text me.”
“I will. Thank you.”
She pulled me into a quick hug, no fuss, just steady warmth, before I stepped out.
Inside, the estate was calm, the frenetic energy of the mission faded, replaced by a low hum of things settling.
I made my way to Noah’s room, heels dangling from my hand, my feet sore, my heart a little less raw than it had been at dawn.
I didn’t expect him to be there.
He’d ridden back with Atlas earlier, said he had something to handle. He’d kissed my forehead, brushed his thumb down my cheek, and promised he’d see me soon.
But stepping into that room, I felt him everywhere. His scent clung to the sheets. His jacket hung over the chair. Scuffed boots sat by the bed, like he’d peeled them off in a rush.
I slipped off my dress, trading it for cutoff shorts and one of Noah’s soft black tees, washed my face, and let out a breath I’d been holding for days. And then, I smiled.
Something had cracked open inside me on that ride home. Not grief. Not pain. Adventure. A spark of playfulness I hadn’t felt in forever.
I grabbed my phone and texted him, grinning as I typed.
Me: Hey.
Me again: I want to go to an adult store.
Me again again: Don’t make it weird.
His reply came in thirty seconds, as I watched him grin from across the room.
Noah: I’m already in the truck.
Noah: You’re driving. I want to watch you blush.
I laughed out loud, the sound bright and real.
Twenty minutes later, I was behind the wheel, Noah sprawled in the passenger seat, boots propped on the dash like he hadn’t stared down death. His knuckles were scabbed, his jaw bruised, but his eyes were alive, locked on me like I was the only thing worth seeing.
“Just to be clear,” I said, adjusting the rearview as I pulled out of the Dominion gates, “this is your fault.”
“My fault?” His voice was all heat and mischief. “You’re the one who suggested we go buy handcuffs.”
“I never said handcuffs.”
“Oh, but you meant handcuffs.”
I kept my eyes on the road. “You’re impossible.”
“And you,” he drawled, “are about to walk into a sex shop with a man who has no shame. Hope you’re ready.”
I wasn’t. Not even close.
The store was tucked off a side street downtown, nestled between a pawn shop and a tattoo parlor. Discreet enough to blend in, but inside, it was another world—sleek black shelves, soft red lighting, a low thump of music pulsing in my chest. I froze halfway through the door.
Noah leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “You can still turn around. No judgment.”
I glanced back at him. “I don’t want to turn around.”
His eyes flared. “Good.”
We wandered the aisles like kids sneaking through a candy store, except this candy came with leather and batteries. Noah was relentless, picking up a black satin blindfold and turning it over in his hands. “This one’s gentle. Easy to start with.”
“Start with?” I arched a brow.
He grinned. “Oh, Hallie Mae. We haven’t even started started.”
I tried not to blush, but the heat crept up my cheeks, my skin tingling, a flutter low in my belly. We passed a wall of restraints—leather cuffs, colorful ropes, silk ties with gold clasps. He held up a red set, testing the buckles. “Good quality. Not the cheap kind that chafe.”
I blinked. “How do you know that?”
He just smirked.
Near the back, I stopped at a display—domestic, almost tasteful. A beginner kit labeled “Intro to Bondage,” with adjustable cuffs, a blindfold, and a soft flogger that looked more decorative than dangerous. “I like this one,” I said, tracing the flogger’s handle.
Noah stepped close behind me, his heat wrapping around me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I swallowed. “It’s … kind of pretty.”
His hand settled on the small of my back. “You’re not who you were when we first met.”
“I know.” I turned, meeting his gaze. “I used to think sex needed a ring first. Like it had to fit in a moral box. A timeline.”
“And now?”
I bit my lip. “Now I want to know what it’s like to hand the reins to someone I trust completely. To you.”
His breath hitched, his gaze darkening. “I don’t need any of this,” he said, voice low. “I’d be just as happy watching TV tonight, your legs tangled in mine.”
“I know.” I cupped his cheek. “But I want to try. With you. Because I’ve never felt safer than when I’m yours.”
His fingers tightened on my hips. “You’ve always been mine.”
The air between us turned molten, heavy with promise. We paid in cash—I didn’t want to explain a receipt—and left with a black paper bag that felt like it might catch fire. I carried it, barely.
Back in the truck, Noah kissed my knuckles across the console. “You sure you’re ready for this?”
I met his eyes, heart pounding. “I’ve never been more sure.”
Back at Dominion Hall, the sun had dipped low. The black paper bag in my hand may as well have been glowing neon. I clutched it tighter as we slipped through the front doors.
Of course, we didn’t make it three steps before someone clocked it.
Marcus.
He lounged at the foot of the staircase, sipping something dark from a crystal glass, his expression all wicked mischief.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled. “That wouldn’t be from The Velvet Room, would it?”
Noah didn’t blink. “You want me to describe the contents?”
Marcus raised a hand. “Please don’t. I’m drinking.”
Claire breezed by, glanced at the bag, then at me, her grin devilish. “Two plates at dinner, or should we leave you to your sins?”
“We’re ordering in,” Noah called. “Plenty of fluids.”
Laughter erupted—Ryker in the kitchen, Isabel groaning a loud oh my God , Elias yelling about bleach for his eyes. But we were already up the stairs .
Noah didn’t wait for the door to close. His fingers tangled in my hair, his mouth crashed against mine, the bag hitting the floor as we stumbled toward the bed.
His hands roamed my back, peeling off my shirt, my shorts, leaving me bare in seconds.
I gasped into his kiss, my own hands tugging at his belt, his shirt, desperate for skin.
He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes dark with hunger. “Tell me what you want tonight.”
I swallowed, voice trembling but sure. “You. All of you. No holding back.”
He growled low, lifting me onto the bed, his body pinning mine to the mattress. The black bag lay forgotten until he reached for it, pulling out the red cuffs we’d chosen. “Still sure?” he asked, voice rough.
“Yes,” I whispered.
He moved with deliberate care, wrapping the soft leather around my wrists, buckling them gently but firm, securing them to the headboard.
The vulnerability sent a thrill through me, my pulse racing as he trailed a finger down my chest, between my breasts, to the heat pooling between my thighs.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his lips brushing my collarbone. “Mine.”
I arched into his touch, a soft moan escaping as he kissed lower, his mouth hot against my skin.
He parted my thighs, his breath teasing me before his tongue found me, slow and deliberate, drawing gasps I couldn’t hold back.
My hips bucked, the cuffs tugging at my wrists, the restraint heightening every sensation.
He didn’t rush, savoring every shudder, every plea, until I was trembling, on the edge of unraveling.
“Noah,” I gasped, voice breaking. “Please.”
He rose, shedding his jeans, then settled over me. His eyes locked on mine, searching, ensuring I was with him. “Tell me you’re mine,” he said, voice raw.
“I’m yours,” I breathed. “Always.”
He paused, his eyes locking on mine, dark and searching, as if he could see straight through to my soul.
His hands stilled on my hips, the weight of his gaze pinning me as surely as the cuffs above my head.
“Hallie Mae,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel underfoot.
“I don’t just want you for tonight. I want you forever.
” He leaned closer, his breath warm against my lips.
“Marry me. Be mine in every way, every day, for the rest of our lives.”
My heart stopped, a sob catching in my throat—not from fear, but from the raw, unshakable truth of it. “Noah,” I whispered, tears prickling my eyes. “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”