Chapter Thirty-One Dylan
The world doesn’t go quiet on its own.
You have to leave it.
That’s what I think as the private jet cuts through clouds, Manhattan shrinking beneath us like a monster finally too far away to bite.
Sunny is asleep beside me—head on my shoulder, hand curled over my chest like her body memorized that position through sheer instinct. A part of me still waits for someone to walk in and take it away.
I never believed a man like me could get a moment like this.
No headlines. No threats. No expectations.
Just… us.
I press a kiss into her hair and hold her a little tighter.
We land somewhere most people don’t get to know exists—a private island Connor once mentioned in a drunken confession, reserved for grief he didn’t want his wife to see.
When we step off the jet, the scent of salt and hibiscus hits us like a welcome.
Sunny tilts her face to the sun. Fitting.
She was named for something she actually is.
Palm trees sway; ocean water glitters like liquid turquoise. She turns back to me—eyes soft, hazel bright.
“This is real,” she whispers. Like she needs to check.
I take her hand.
“It’s real because you’re here. Everything before this… feels like a simulation.”
She laughs—quiet, belly-deep, finally unburdened—
and I swear I’d burn Manhattan down again just to hear it one more time.
The villa is all white curtains and open walls, the ocean loud enough to sound like it’s breathing.
Sunny walks in first—bare feet silent on polished wood floors—running her fingertips across the couch, the bedposts, the balcony railing.
Like she’s memorizing every second.
Her voice is soft. “I used to think happily-ever-afters were fairy tales parents told children to help them sleep.”
“And now?” I ask.
She turns toward me. “That maybe they’re just something you build. Brick by brick. Choice by choice.”
There are moments in the world that change you. This is one.
I step closer, cupping her face with both hands.
“Then I want to spend the rest of my life building ours.”
The wind shifted the curtains around us like a cocoon, and suddenly space seemed irrelevant.
Her hands found my chest, small palms pressing against skin that felt hypersensitive, every nerve ending alive to her touch.
"God, Sunny," I breathed against her neck, tasting salt and something uniquely her. My hands mapped the curves I'd been dreaming about since the first moment I saw her—across her shoulders, down the graceful arch of her spine, settling at the small of her back to pull her flush against me.
She made that soft sound in her throat that drove me wild, her fingers threading through my hair as our mouths crashed together.
There was nothing gentle about this kiss—it was all the desperate hunger I'd been suppressing for weeks, all the sleepless nights spent imagining exactly this.
Her tongue danced against mine, and I felt her melt into me, soft curves yielding to hard planes.
The bedroom was only a few feet away, but it felt like miles.
I lifted her, those curvy legs wrapping around my waist as naturally as breathing. Her sundress was gone, leaving her in just white cotton panties that made my cock throb against the confines of my pants. She weighed nothing in my arms, but she was everything I'd never known I needed.
We tumbled onto the massive bed that dominated the room, the white sheets cool against heated skin. I'd dreamed about her like this—hair spread across my pillows, hazel eyes dark with desire, that sprinkle of freckles standing out against flushed cheeks.
But dreams had nothing on reality, on the way her hands tugged at my belt with surprising urgency.
"Slow," I murmured against her collarbone, tasting the salt of her skin. "We have all night."
Her nails scraped lightly down my back as I traced every inch of her with my mouth—down arms that carried too much responsibility, across breasts that made my mouth water.
Her skin was smooth as silk everywhere; broken only by the occasional freckle I kissed like a benediction.
When I finally peeled away those innocent white panties, she was already wet for me, glistening in the dim light that filtered through the curtains. The scent of her arousal made me groan against her inner thigh, my tongue tracing patterns that made her hips buck off the bed.
"Dylan, please," she whimpered, and I was lost.
I shed the rest of my clothes with movements that felt clumsy with need, my cock springing free against my stomach.
Her eyes went wide as she took me in—not with fear, but with wonder that made me feel like a god.
When she reached for me, her small hand wrapping around my length, I had to close my eyes against the pleasure that threatened to undo me too soon.
Our eyes locked as I entered her with infinite slowness, each inch a revelation. She was tight and hot and perfect, her body yielding to mine like we were made for this. When I was fully seated, we stayed like that for a heartbeat, learning each other's breath.
Then I began to move, each thrust deliberate and deep, designed to make her forget every man who came before me. Her legs wrapped around my waist, pulling me deeper, and her nails scored patterns across my shoulders that I'd wear like trophies. The bed creaked beneath us, but the ocean's roar swallowed every sound except our shared breath, her growing moans, the wet slap of our bodies coming together.
"Brick by brick," I whispered against her ear, feeling her inner walls flutter around me. "Choice by choice."
Her climax hit like the waves against the shore—inevitable and overwhelming. She cried out, my name echoing off the villa walls as her body convulsed around mine. The feeling of her coming apart beneath me, because of me, was the final thread. I followed her over the edge with a groan that felt torn from my soul, spilling deep inside her as we became something new together.
After—she lies across my chest, tracing little circles into my skin like she’s writing poetry only I get to read.
“Can I tell you something?” she murmurs.
“Always.”
“When I was younger, I thought my future would be… small.” She swallows. "A classroom. A modest apartment. Doing my best to not make noise.”
My hand covers hers.“You deserve a life that echoes.”
She breathes in—deep, full—like she’s learning how.
“What about your dream?” she asks.
Mine?
My dreams were never pictures. They were absences.
No headlines. No betrayal. No voices reminding me I was alone.
But that’s not what I say.
“My dream is… waking up next to someone who doesn’t flinch when I pull them close.”
Her eyes shine.
“You already have that,” she says.
We fall asleep to the sound of the sea.
Hours later—I wake first.
Sunny’s curled into me, cheeks flushed, lips parted. For once, she doesn’t look like she’s bracing for the next disaster.
I stroke her hair.
And then—she stirs.
Not peacefully. Not gently.
A small sound escapes her—pained.
“Sunny?”
She presses a hand to her stomach—brows furrowed.
“I… I don’t feel good,” she whispers.
A cold slice of fear moves through my spine.
“What kind of not good?”
She swallows—slow, nauseated. "I think I’m going to be sick.”
She sits up fast—hand clamped over her mouth—and I barely catch her before she stumbles.
I scoop her into my arms, already moving.
“I’ve got you.”
But inside—I’m terrified.
Because I finally have everything I ever wanted—and suddenly I’m afraid of what I could still lose.