Chapter 20
POV: Amber?
He worshiped me.
He always did.
And he always knew the exact places my body craved him—where I wanted to be touched, where I needed to be held, where I wanted his mouth.
The sight of him between my legs, giving me every kind of pleasure, his green eyes locked on mine… it undid me.
My hands went to his hair, gripping, needing.
“That’s it,” he murmured.
One of his hands slid up, brushing over my breasts, teasing my nipples, and the combination—his mouth, his touch—pushed me closer and closer to the edge.
I felt it building.
Higher.
Tighter.
Until I couldn’t take it anymore.
“Zander…” I breathed.
And that was it.
I came.
A gasp tore from my throat as my body arched, trembling, shaking under him. Wave after wave crashed through me, stealing the air from my lungs until I was completely, utterly breathless.
He didn’t stop until I was falling apart.
Then he kissed his way back up my body, slow and deliberate, his thumb brushing over my lips before he murmured, low and possessive—
“That’s my girl.”
He kissed me.
And I could taste myself on his lips.
That was all it took.
I pushed at him, desperate, still shaking, needing more. I could feel him—hard, hot, right there—and I needed him just as much.
“Easy,” he said, his voice rough but controlled. “We have all the time in the world.”
I didn’t believe him.
I didn’t want time.
I wanted now.
Still, he helped me—guided me—as I pulled his shirt off, then his belt, then his pants.
And when he was finally bare, when his cock sprang free between us, I didn’t hesitate.
I wrapped my hand around him, slow at first, then leaned down, taking him into my mouth.
He groaned immediately, his head falling back slightly, his hand tightening in my hair.
“Fuck… Amber…”
Every movement I made was deliberate.
Every sound he gave me told me exactly what he needed.
“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered—half laugh, half moan, completely wrecked.
I felt him getting close—his muscles tightening, his breathing shifting.
“I need to feel you,” he said, firmer now.
His hand cupped my jaw, guiding me back.
I climbed over him without hesitation, straddling him, my body still sensitive, still humming from my release. I dragged myself along his length, coating him, positioning him right where I needed him.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
“Now take me.”
I sank down on him slowly, inch by inch, until he filled me completely.
We both groaned.
“That’s it,” he breathed, his hands gripping my hips. “Just like that.”
For a moment, he let me lead.
I moved over him, finding the rhythm, the angle—until he couldn’t take it anymore.
He flipped us in one smooth motion.
A gasp left my lips as my back hit the bed, his body covering mine, his control snapping.
“Mine,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.
His thrusts became deeper, harder, more precise. He adjusted my hips, lifted my leg, hitting that exact spot that made my vision blur.
“Yes—there,” I gasped.
“I know,” he said, voice dark with certainty.
The pressure built again, fast this time, overwhelming.
“Come with me,” he ordered.
And I did.
We shattered together, our bodies moving in perfect sync, breaths breaking, gasps tangling between us.
For a moment, everything else disappeared.
Just us.
Just this.
When it faded, when the world slowly came back, we were still tangled together, foreheads pressed, breath mixing.
And at the exact same time, like we always used to—
“I love you.”
For a while, neither of us moved.
His forehead stayed pressed to mine, our breaths still uneven, our bodies tangled like we had never learned how to exist apart.
My fingers traced lazy patterns along his back, feeling the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
“Still alive?” he murmured, voice low, amused.
I let out a soft laugh, eyes still closed. “Barely.”
His chest vibrated under my hand. “Good. That means I didn’t go easy on you.”
I opened my eyes just enough to look at him. “You say that like I didn’t do my part.”
A slow, crooked smile spread across his lips—the one that used to ruin me when we were teenagers.
Still did.
“Oh, you definitely did,” he said, brushing a strand of hair away from my face. “I’m still recovering.”
I snorted softly. “Liar.”
“Absolutely,” he agreed without hesitation.
That made me laugh for real this time.
God… I had missed this.
Not just the heat.
Not just the way he touched me.
This.
The ease.
The teasing.
The way everything with him felt… natural.
His thumb traced along my jaw, slower now, more thoughtful.
“You’re smiling,” he said quietly.
I hadn’t noticed.
“I guess I am.”
“Missed that,” he admitted.
Something in my chest tightened—but in a softer way this time.
I brushed my nose lightly against his. “You see it every day now, remember?”
He held my gaze, something deeper settling behind his eyes.
“Yeah,” he said. “I plan to.”
The way he said it—so simple, so certain—made my heart trip over itself.
So I did what I always did when things got too intense.
I nudged his shoulder. “Careful. You’re getting sentimental.”
He huffed a quiet laugh. “You started it.”
“I did not.”
“You literally just told me you loved me.”
I raised a brow. “And you said it first.”
“Only because you were taking too long.”
I gasped softly, offended. “Excuse me?”
He grinned, completely unapologetic. “Twelve years, Amber. I’m not risking you overthinking it again.”
I tried to glare at him.
I failed.
Because he leaned in and pressed a slow, soft kiss to my lips—completely different from before. No urgency. No heat.
Just… us.
When he pulled back, I rested my forehead against his again, smiling without even trying to hide it this time.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Maybe I missed you a little too.”
“A little?” he teased.
“Don’t push your luck.”
“Too late,” he said easily, pulling me closer against him. “I already got you back.”
And somehow… wrapped in his arms like that, listening to his heartbeat under my ear—
It felt true.
***
Some time after that…
“Amber, we’re late.”
“We’re not late,” I shoot back, grabbing a stack of folders from the kitchen counter. “We’re almost late. There’s a difference.”
A laugh comes from behind me—low, amused, entirely too pleased with himself.
“Oh, yeah? And whose fault is that?”
I turn just enough to glare at him over my shoulder.
“Yours.”
Alexander leans against the kitchen island like he has all the time in the world—which is ironic, considering he was the one rushing me five seconds ago.
“My fault?” he repeats, raising a brow.
“Yes,” I say, matter-of-fact. “You got into the shower with me.”
He doesn’t even try to look sorry.
“You were in my bathroom,” he counters smoothly. “Naked.”
I blink at him.
“Xander—”
“I had no choice.”
I let out a laugh, shaking my head as I shove the wedding folders into my bag.
“Please. You always have a choice.”
“Not when it comes to you.”
The way he says it—so easy, so certain—still does something to my chest.
It’s ridiculous, honestly. After everything we’ve been through, after twelve years and all the pain and the rebuilding and the choosing… he can still undo me with a single sentence.
So, naturally, I ignore it.
“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter.
“And yet,” he says, pushing off the counter and walking toward me, “you’re marrying me.”
I try to keep my expression neutral.
I fail.
“Debatable.”
He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can feel his warmth, his presence wrapping around me like it always does.
“You said yes,” he reminds me softly.
My fingers brush instinctively over the ring.
His ring.
No—ours.
“I said yes,” I correct. “I didn’t say you get to be this smug about it.”
“Too late.”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling—I can feel it.
God, I’m always smiling with him.
“Also,” he adds, reaching for his coffee mug like we’re not in the middle of a discussion, “you’re the one who distracted me.”
I turn fully to him now, hands on my hips. “Oh, I distracted you?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He takes a slow sip, watching me over the rim like he’s enjoying this way too much.
“You exist,” he says simply. “It’s very disruptive.”
I stare at him.
Then I laugh.
I can’t help it.
“Unbelievable,” I repeat.
But I step closer anyway.
Because this—this right here—is what we fought for.
Not just the big moments.
Not just the confessions and the heartbreak and the I love yous whispered like they might break.
This.
The mornings.
The teasing.
The way we move around each other like we’ve relearned the rhythm we never really forgot.
My bag is half open on the counter, wedding folders peeking out—venues, menus, guest lists, contracts.
A life being built.
I still work with Mr. Sterling—consulting now, on my terms.
Less pressure. More control.
And Alexander’s company… somehow became mine too.
Not in name.
But in presence.
In meetings. In contracts. In decisions.
His clients became mine. My structure became his backbone.
We didn’t merge.
We just… fit.
Like we always did.
“You have the contracts?” he asks, nodding toward my bag.
“Yes.”
“The updated one too?”
“Yes, Xander.”
He narrows his eyes slightly. “You forgot it last time.”
“That was once.”
“That was important.”
I step into him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before he can say anything else.
“I’ve got it,” I murmur against his mouth.
He exhales softly, like even now, I still catch him off guard.
“Okay,” he says.
But his hand finds my waist anyway, holding me there for a second longer.
Just a second.
Just enough.
“We’re really doing this,” he adds, quieter now.
There’s something in his voice—something that still carries the weight of everything we survived.
I look at him properly then.
Not teasing.
Not deflecting.
Just… him.
“We are,” I say.
His thumb brushes lightly against my side.
A small, grounding touch.
Like he needs to feel it’s real.
Like I do.
“Come on,” I say softly, pulling back just enough to grab my bag. “We’re getting married. We can’t be late to our own planning.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Pretty sure that’s allowed.”
“Not for us.”
“Why?”
I glance at him, smiling.
“Because we already wasted twelve years.”
Something shifts in his expression.
Not pain.
Not anymore.
Just… understanding.
“Yeah,” he says. “We did.”
Then he reaches for my hand.
And this time—I don’t let go.