Chapter 36
S he didn’t say anything when I pressed my forehead to hers. She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t lean into me either. She just stood there, stiff and trembling under my hands, breathing like it physically hurt her to stay.
And fuck , I hated that I had put that look in her eyes—the one that made her look like she was already bracing for me to leave.
I understood why she thought the pact was stupid.
I understood why she felt like I didn’t want to claim her.
But she didn’t see the full picture, not the way I did.
She didn’t see how fragile this was, how delicate everything between all of us was.
If I dropped this bomb now, two months before Jack’s wedding, it would blow apart more than just Jack’s trust. It would stain everything.
It would stain us before we even had a chance to begin.
I wasn’t willing to do that. Not to her. Not to us. But she didn’t see it that way, standing there, looking at me like I’d already chosen someone else over her .
I needed to fix it—not with words, not with empty promises. I needed her to feel it in her bones.
I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her, slow and tentative, like I was asking permission I hadn’t earned yet.
Her mouth was warm against mine, the soft give of her lips trembling just slightly, tasting faintly like the wine we’d had at dinner and something even sweeter that was just her.
She hesitated for half a second—just long enough for my heart to stutter painfully in my chest—but then she opened for me with a tiny sigh, and the feel of it shattered something deep inside me so fast, so brutally, it was all I could do to stay standing.
Her breath mingled with mine, hot and a little shaky, and I breathed her in like I was drowning and she was the only clean air left in the world.
My thumbs brushed along the soft angles of her cheekbones, feeling the heat radiating off her flushed skin, and my fingers slid into the silky weight of her hair like I could anchor myself there, right there, forever.
When her tongue brushed mine—searching, a little desperate—I let out a low, wrecked sound against her mouth, helpless to hold it in.
I kissed her deeper, slower, savoring the way her body leaned into mine instinctively, the way she made a soft, broken noise when I tilted her head back to take more.
I could feel the delicate tremble of her knees brushing mine, the little, unconscious shifts of her hips like she couldn’t get close enough, and all of it poured through me like aged bourbon that lit a warm fire all the way down.
I wasn’t just kissing her. I was binding myself to her. Bone to bone. Breath to breath. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
And when I finally pulled back enough to look at her—eyes glassy, lips kiss-bruised, chest heaving—it was like seeing the rest of my life flash in front of me, messy and certain and already written in the lines of her smile .
Without thinking, I lifted her into my arms and carried her to the bed, laying her down like she was something precious to be treasured.
I didn’t tear her clothes off the way I usually did, didn’t let the hunger take over.
I needed her to know this wasn’t about need; it was about reverence.
I wanted to worship her, and if I couldn’t find the words to do it, I’d let my body speak for me.
I looked at her first—really looked at her. The way her hair spilled across the pillow in wild golden waves. The way her chest rose and fell in shallow, frantic breaths. The way her eyes—clear blue green and wide and shining—watched me like she didn’t know whether she was about to survive this.
“You are it for me, Charlie Winslow,” I said, my voice shaky with the kind of stripped sincerity that makes you half worry that tears will fall. “There is no one else. There will never be anyone else.”
She didn’t speak. She didn’t look away.
Slowly, I undressed her, baring her inch by inch.
I kissed every strip of skin I uncovered—the dip of her collarbone, the gentle curve of her stomach, the inside of her thighs where her pulse pounded in fast gallops under my mouth.
I touched her like she was something sacred, something once-in-a-lifetime, and I wasn’t going to rush a single second of it.
When she was finally naked beneath me, chest rising and falling in quick, broken breaths, I stripped my own clothes off, never breaking eye contact. I needed her to see all of me, not just my body but everything else too—the fear, the devotion, the desperation.
I leaned down, letting my mouth find the curve of her throat first, brushing slow, open-mouthed kisses against the hot flutter of her pulse.
Then I kissed lower, across the delicate hollow of her collarbone, tracing the fragile ridge with my tongue, following the heat that radiated from her in waves.
Her breasts were full and perfect, her nipples flushed a deeper shade of rose against her sun-kissed skin.
They were tight and peaked from the brush of the evening air, and I cupped them both in my hands, feeling the weight of her against my palms, my thumbs stroking lightly across the velvet-soft peaks until she whimpered.
Then I bent my head and sucked one deep into my mouth, swirling my tongue around her nipple in slow, greedy laps.
She arched beneath me with a broken little sound, and I smiled against her, switching to the other side, making sure it got the same adoration.
Trailing my mouth lower, I kissed my way down her ribs, the gentle rise and fall of her stomach, smiling when I reached the faint tan line that dipped across her hips.
I licked along it, tracing the pale strip of skin where her bikini had shielded her from the sun, savoring the faint sweetness of her body lotion still clinging to her skin.
She was trembling now, legs shifting restlessly against the sheets, hands knotted in the fabric at her sides as I moved lower, pressing kisses across her inner thighs, feeling the fine tremor running through her muscles.
Her scent filled the air—heady, intoxicating, thick with want—and I breathed it in like a man starving.
When I finally slid my tongue between her folds, I almost lost my mind.
She tasted clean and wild, like ocean salt and a drizzle of honey.
I licked a long leisurely stripe from her entrance to her clit, groaning low in my throat at the way her whole body jolted beneath me.
Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging helplessly as I licked her again, slower this time, savoring the slick heat of her against my tongue.
I flattened my tongue and dragged it over her clit, circling, teasing, drawing soft, helpless cries from her mouth. Then I dipped lower, pushing my tongue deeper, curling it upward, savoring the way she pulsed and clenched around every slow stroke of my mouth .
She gasped my name, half-sob, half-prayer, and I smiled against her, tongue thrusting deeper, fucking her soft and slow with my mouth while my fingers found her clit again, teasing it in lazy, knowing circles.
She tasted like surrender, like sweetness wrecked by need, and I wanted every drop she would give me.
“Fitz, I need you. I need you inside me,” she panted.
So I moved up, arms caging her in as I settled between her thighs, fitting my body into hers like it was the only place I’d ever belonged. I didn’t move at first. I just stayed there, forehead pressed to hers, feeling the frantic beat of her heart against my chest.
“I love you, Charlie,” I whispered.
And then I pushed inside her, slow and deep, fitting every inch of me into the space that belonged to her.
She gasped, her legs tightening around my hips, her nails sinking into my shoulders as I moved. It wasn’t fucking. It was slow, aching, devastating. Every roll of my hips was a vow. Every kiss was a prayer. Every whisper against her skin was a promise.
I moved carefully, savoring every sound she made, every flutter of her body clenching around me.
She tilted her hips up, seeking me deeper, and I answered her with a slow, deliberate thrust that made her sob into my shoulder.
I wanted her radiant with pleasure, crowned in it like a goddess no mortal man should have dared touch.
I wanted her wrapped in wonder, trembling from the inside out.
I wanted her to feel, in every breath, every shiver, every rush of blood beneath her skin, that she was the axis my whole world spun around—and I would spend my life worshiping at her altar.
I pulled out to the tip, the sensitive crown of my cock dragging slowly through her slick folds, gathering the heat of her along the way.
I gritted my teeth at the unbearable pleasure of it, the molten slide of her against me, before I pressed back in with a rolling thrust of my hips, angling to grind against the spot inside her that made her tremble and clutch at my shoulders like I was salvation and ruin all at once.
Her body started to tighten around me, her muscles locking down, her fingers clenching so hard into my back it left trails of fire under my skin. “Fitz,” she gasped, voice high and broken.
“I’ve got you,” I rasped, my own voice barely holding together. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”
She came with a shudder that shook the bed, her walls clenching around me in frantic, fluttering spasms. The feeling dragged me under right with her.
I pressed deeper, grinding slow and thick against her as I spilled inside her with a sound that didn’t even sound human.
I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in like oxygen, holding her like the world was crumbling and she was the only thing left worth saving.
We stayed like that for a long time—bodies locked together, hearts hammering against each other, breath tangled in the space between our mouths.
I didn’t move. I couldn’t. I didn’t want to break the connection—because somehow, deep down, I knew when I pulled out, when the real world came back, the ache of missing her would start before I even made it down the driveway.