Chapter 33
Saif heard the raw ache in her voice, and he instinctively tightened his arms around her, cradling her against his chest like she was something breakable. Something precious. Her grief wasn’t just about today. He could feel the weight of months—years—pressed into the curve of her spine.
She’d never had time to grieve. Not really.
She’d been heavily pregnant when her mother died, struggling to keep it together for Jasper, for the baby.
She’d had to give birth while mourning the woman who’d raised her.
Then she’d moved out of their family home, taken on the burden of caring for her brother, her newborn, and battling debt collectors—all on her own.
No wonder she was exhausted.
No wonder she flinched when anyone tried to help.
Who had been there for her? Who had held her while she cried, wiped her tears away?
No one, he realized bitterly. Maybe Jasper had tried, but Jemma wouldn’t have let him. She would’ve been too proud, too protective, too determined to be the strong one.
But she didn’t have to be strong right now.
“Will you tell me about your mom?” he asked softly.
Her head jerked up, eyes wide and wary. But before she could retreat, he kissed her lightly—just enough to let her know he meant it. “Only if you want to,” he murmured. “I never got to meet her. Was she nice? Did you two get along?”
A small, tear-dampened smile curved her lips. She exhaled shakily and leaned her head against his shoulder. “Yeah,” she whispered. “She was really fun.”
He eased her into his arms again and carried her back to the bed, still wearing his shirt. He didn’t remove it. She needed comfort more than intimacy right now.
And she relaxed.
Over the next few hours, they lay tangled together while Jemma talked.
She told him stories about her mother’s laugh, about Jasper’s heartbreak when she passed, about giving birth to Jayla with no one to hold her hand.
She told him about her regrets. About the secret she’d carried—his daughter—and how she’d convinced herself that keeping him out was the right thing to do.
He argued that it wasn’t. Gently. Fiercely.
At one point, he even swatted her bottom with a mock-glare that made her laugh through her tears.
And through it all, he just listened. No judgment. No expectations. Just Saif. Present. Steady.
When she finally looked up at him with tear-soaked lashes and kissed him, the moment didn’t feel rushed or impulsive. It felt right.
He kissed her back, slowly deepening it until their grief blurred into something else—something warm and aching and healing.
He wanted to give her peace. To make her feel again. To remind her of everything she’d once been, and still was beneath all that pain.
So he took his time.
He kissed her skin reverently, reacquainting himself with every curve and every sigh. He mapped her body the way only a man who had loved her could. With infinite care, he coaxed pleasure from her, using everything he remembered—and everything he’d learned in the last year of missing her.
When he moved lower, spreading her thighs, she gasped and tugged at his hair. “Saif, you don’t…!”
“Shhh.” His voice was thick with tenderness. “Let me take care of you.”
The way she shuddered when his breath brushed over her, the way her fingers clenched the sheets as his mouth found her—all of it made him ache with love and desire.
But this wasn’t about his need. Not yet.
She came apart in his arms, her body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure overtook her. He held her through it, grounding her with kisses and murmured praise.
And then—then—she touched him.
Just the brush of her fingers on his skin made him hiss, the sensation so powerful he nearly lost control. But he held still, barely breathing, as she took him in her hand, her touch light but deliberate.
When she leaned down, her mouth hot and soft, he groaned and buried his fingers in her hair.
“Jemma…” It was a warning, a plea, a prayer.
He tried to pull back, afraid of losing himself too quickly—but she wouldn’t let him. Her grip tightened, her tongue teasing, her determination fierce.
The world narrowed to her mouth, her hands, her beautiful, relentless devotion. When he came, it was with a raw, grateful cry, his body wracked with tremors.
Afterward, she rested her head on his stomach, her cheeks flushed, her hair wild around her shoulders.
He didn’t say anything. He just pulled her up, kissed her forehead, and held her close again.
When it was all over, he looked down at her and all he could say was, “Marry me!”
She laughed and snuggled against him. “I need to shower and get dressed.” She lifted his hand to check his watch and gasped. She leapt up and raced for the bathroom. “How in the world did we spend a whole day in bed?”
Her voice was muffled by the running shower, but Saif enjoyed watching her in the bathroom mirror as she stepped under the warm spray.
He followed at a more leisurely pace, knowing that his bodyguards were guarding the babysitter’s home.
He grabbed his phone and sent his guards instructions to collect Jayla and Jasper and bring them home, thinking that Jasper’s enthusiasm for the bigger house could help encourage Jemma to marry him.