Chapter 22
The celebration was still going when Float found Delaney.
She was near the fire pit with the old ladies, a drink in her hand and a smile on her face that looked almost relaxed.
Three weeks of tension, of violence, of surviving threats that should have killed them both—and here she was, laughing at something Maggie said like the world hadn't been trying to destroy her.
Float watched her from across the compound and felt something fierce settle in his chest.
They'd won.
Garvey was dead. The surveillance operation was ashes. Every man who'd threatened her, hunted her, tried to take her from him—all of them were gone. The war was over, and they were still standing.
And she was still his.
Delaney looked up, catching his eye across the fire. Her smile shifted into something private, something meant only for him.
Float crossed to her.
"Can I steal you?"
"From these ladies?" Delaney glanced at the old ladies, who were watching with knowing expressions. "They might object."
"They won't." Jolene waved a hand. "Take her. We remember what victory night feels like."
Maggie's smile was sharp with understanding. "Don't let us keep you."
Float took Delaney's hand and led her away from the celebration, toward the cabin at the edge of the compound. The noise faded behind them—laughter, music, the sounds of a family celebrating survival.
"Victory night?" Delaney asked as they walked.
"That's what the old ladies call it." Float pulled her closer, his arm around her waist. "The night after a war ends. When everyone's still alive and everything's possible."
"What happens on victory night?"
Float stopped at the cabin door and turned to face her. The compound lights were distant now, stars scattered overhead, the lake dark and quiet below.
"Whatever we want."
He kissed her—deep and claiming, the kind of kiss he'd been holding back all night while they celebrated with the club. Delaney melted into him, her hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer.
"Inside," she breathed against his mouth.
Float kicked open the door without breaking the kiss.
They didn't make it to the bed.
Float lifted her the moment the door closed, and Delaney wrapped her legs around his waist like she belonged there. He pressed her against the wall, his body pinning hers, his mouth trailing fire down her neck.
"I've been waiting all night to do this," he growled against her skin.
"We were celebrating."
"I wanted to celebrate like this." He pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark with want. "Just you and me. No witnesses. No interruptions."
Delaney's breath caught as he rolled his hips against hers. "Then stop talking and celebrate."
Float laughed—that rough, genuine sound that still surprised him when it came out—and kissed her again.
He stripped her with desperate efficiency, clothes falling where they landed, his hands hungry on every inch of skin he revealed. She was just as impatient, yanking at his shirt, his belt, anything between them that wasn't skin on skin.
"Float—"
"I've got you." He lifted her again, her back against the wall, her legs locked around him. "I've got you."
He slid home in one smooth thrust, and they both groaned.
This wasn't tender. This wasn't slow or careful or anything like the quiet morning they'd shared before the compound assault. This was victory—fierce and triumphant and claiming everything they'd almost lost.
Float moved hard and fast, driven by weeks of fear and violence finally releasing into something better. Delaney matched him, her nails scoring his shoulders, her mouth demanding against his, taking as much as she gave.
"Mine," he said, the word a claiming. "You're mine."
"Yours." She gasped as he shifted angles. "Always—God—right there—"
He gave her what she needed, gave her everything, poured weeks of terror and relief and desperate love into the way he moved inside her. Her head fell back against the wall and he kissed her exposed throat, her pulse hammering under his lips.
"We survived," he said against her skin. "We won."
"We won." Her voice was wrecked, beautiful. "Now make me feel it."
Float made her feel it.
The wall was just the beginning.
They made it to the bed eventually—after the wall, after the floor where they'd collapsed when her legs gave out, after a brief detour against the dresser that knocked over a lamp neither of them cared about.
By the time they finally fell onto the mattress, they were both wrung out and laughing.
"We broke the lamp," Delaney said, sprawled across his chest.
"I'll replace it."
"We might have traumatized your neighbors."
"They've heard worse." Float traced patterns on her back, lazy and content. "Victory nights get loud."
Delaney lifted her head to look at him. Her hair was a disaster, her lips swollen from kissing, her eyes bright with satisfaction.
"You look smug," she said.
"I feel smug." He pulled her up for a kiss. "I just made the woman I love scream loud enough to wake the compound. I earned smug."
"Love?" Her voice softened.
"Love." He cupped her face in his hands. "Did you think I was just saying that? That it was adrenaline or proximity or—"
"No." She kissed his palm. "I believe you. I just like hearing it."
"Then I'll say it as many times as you need.
" Float pulled her down until they were face to face, breath mingling.
"I love you. I love you when you're behind a camera and when you're in my bed.
I love you when you're standing in broken glass telling me to get out and when you're curled against me in the dark. "
Delaney's eyes were bright. "Float—"
"I love the way you see things other people miss. I love that you're strong enough to survive everything that's happened and still trust me. I love that you make me want to stand still." He kissed her softly. "I love you. All of you. Forever."
"Forever is a long time."
"Not long enough."
She kissed him then—deep and sweet, the fierce edge softened into something tender.
"I love you too," she said against his mouth. "In case that wasn't clear."
"It was." Float rolled them until she was beneath him, his body covering hers. "But I don't mind hearing it again."
"I love you."
"Again."
"I love you." She laughed as he kissed her neck. "I love you, I love you—"
He cut her off with his mouth and showed her exactly how much he loved her back.
Later—much later—they lay in the quiet dark, bodies tangled, heartbeats slowly returning to normal.
The celebration outside had wound down. The compound was peaceful, the way it always was when threats had been eliminated and families were safe.
"What happens now?" Delaney asked.
Float considered the question. What happened now that the war was over? What happened when survival stopped being the priority and living became possible?
"Now we build the life we talked about." He pulled her closer. "Your studio. My place in the club. Whatever we want."
"Whatever we want." She sounded like she was testing the words. "I've never had that before. There was always the next crisis. The next disaster to manage."
"No more disasters." Float kissed her hair. "Just us. Just the life we choose."
"I choose you."
"I know." He smiled in the darkness. "That's why we won."
Delaney was quiet for a moment. Then she laughed, soft and wondering.
"What?"
"I was just thinking." She propped herself up on his chest. "A month ago, I was a photographer with a studio and a routine and a life that made sense. Then a man broke into my studio, and everything changed."
"Regrets?"
"Not one." She leaned down and kissed him. "Not a single one."
Float wrapped his arms around her and held on.
The war was over. The future was waiting. And the woman he loved was in his bed, choosing him the same way he'd chosen her.
Victory night, the old ladies called it.
Float thought that didn't begin to cover it.
This was more than victory.
This was everything he'd never dared to want, finally held in his arms.
He fell asleep with Delaney curled against him and the knowledge that tomorrow, for the first time in years, he had something to wake up for besides hustling.
Something worth keeping.
Someone worth everything.
His.