33
Dylan
Now
A broken gasp tumbles from my lips as Brooks’ fingers slide along my skin, one hand pressing firmly into my lower back, securing me against the bed. The other trails slowly up the inside of my thigh, a taunting path that makes my legs part instinctively. I forget to breathe as his lips leave a trail of heated, wet kisses down my spine, and my back arches eagerly.
Every kiss, every movement, sets my body alight. The world seems to fall away, leaving only him. I try to focus, but my brain feels like mush. It’s maddening. The intensity between us flares with every shift, every inch of contact, as if he’s drawing out tension in me I didn’t even know existed. I can’t think straight. I can’t even catch my breath.
Lips press gently against the back of my thighs, and a shudder runs through me like an electric jolt. I want more, need more, but I can’t move, can’t force myself to reach for it. His teeth graze over my sensitive skin, and a soft gasp that escapes me without my control.
I shift, just enough to glance back at him, but his deep green eyes catch mine. For one heart-stopping second, everything stills. He looks at me like he’s memorizing every detail, then his gaze drops lower, roaming over my exposed flesh. It’s methodical, as though he’s studying every inch of me. I can’t help but ache for whatever comes next.
“The last thing I want to do is rush this.”
Sliding from my lower back to my hip, his hand tightens, shaping crescent-shaped imprints on my skin. He pauses, letting my anticipation build, his breath feathering against me. “You move,” he warns, his tongue darting out just enough to send a wave of desire through me. “I pull away. So be good for me—just this once.”
The wait is agonizing, the suspense coiling inside me like a spring wound too tight. I’ve been nothing but broken pieces for years, but with him, it’s like I’ve got a shot at being whole again.
A moment passes, and when I feel his lips return, my body responds with a deep pulsing, hungry for his touch. I remain perfectly still, holding my breath until finally, finally the soft, silky sensation of his tongue sweeps up the length of my center.
Ecstasy floods my veins as his fingers follow, sinking into me with expert, intoxicating precision. He curls them, pressing deep, tracing patterns with an almost devastating finesse that leaves my hands clutching the bedsheets. My body is a bowstring, pulled past its limit, quivering with the need to let go.
A strangled moan catches in my throat as his teeth nip lightly at my clit. My thighs tremble, a violent shudder tearing through me as the pleasure builds, overwhelming, impossible to contain. Against my own protests, my hips buck back into him, begging, searching, pleading for the release I’m suddenly craving.
I’m insatiable, reveling in the feeling like I’ll never get enough. Every stolen year, every unspoken truth we buried, feeds the hunger thrumming beneath my skin.
It’s primal, urgent—years of pain crumbling in an instant. I need this. I need him .
He clicks his tongue. “Greedy little thing,” he muses, withdrawing his touch just as I start to chase it. “I give you one simple instruction, and here you are, squirming for more.” I shift, trying to steal another glance at him, but the candle’s glow betrays me, showing only the movement of his silhouette.
“Stand up,” he orders. It’s not harsh, but it’s an unmistakable command. I push myself up, gradually turning to face him. The fabric of my cami slides against my skin as I tease it up over my body, tossing it aside with a tantalizing movement. I roll my shoulders back slightly, watching him, waiting to see if he breaks.
“You’re intoxicating,” he groans, stepping closer, drawing me tighter into the blaze of his body. His fingers slide over my jaw, tracing, testing, learning, before dipping lower, following the curve of my chest until he finds the soft swell of my breast.
He toys with my nipple, rolling it between his fingers, pulling a sharp whine from my throat. His lips crash into mine, the kiss all consuming as his fingers skim lower, mapping the ridges of my abdomen before returning to stimulate the heat between my legs.
A startled breath escapes me as he hoists me against him, my body molding to his, the rigid length of him pressing exactly where I need it most.
“You don’t even realize what you do to me,” he growls against my mouth. A heartbeat later, my back meets the mattress, and before I can catch my breath, he’s pulling away, a rush of cool air chasing his absence.
The shadows shift, and then the bed dips beneath me as he returns. My hands stretch toward him, but he catches my wrists, pinning them above me as he hovers. A slow glide of leather, a gentle but firm pull. Then the snap of a clasp, his belt . I shift, a reflex, but he’s faster, his body covering mine, pressing me deeper into the sheets.
“I want to watch you fall apart,” he whispers, his fingers pressing into my thighs. “Now be good, spread them wide, and don’t you dare finish before I let you.”
This fucking man.
The intensity of his stare pins me in place, his pupils absorbing every last shade of green. I want to be the reason his self control snaps, the reason he loses himself completely. He doesn’t even have to ask. I’m his. I’ve always been his.
“You gonna listen?” He trails his thumb over my lower lip with a featherlight drag. My mouth parts, tongue flicking out to taste the salt of his skin. The muscles in my thighs loosen, legs widening as if pulled by invisible strings, my head tilting in a slow, deliberate nod.
His thumb glides down the side of my throat, leaving a slow trail of heat and dampness that lingers at my collarbone. “Good girl.” His mouth follows, finding the ink first—lips pressing to the B, a kiss that lands too close to grief. “I left when you needed me most. I have to live with that. But Dylan, I swear on everything—I’m here now.”
I try to form a single thought, a single sound, but he devours it before I can, leaving no room for doubt.
Torturous pleasure spreads through me as he hooks two fingers inside, summoning an exquisite ache that sends fire licking up my spine. A tremor rattles through my body, toes curling into the sheets as a plea catches in my throat. He keeps me right where he wants me, building the pressure with maddening precision, every pulse of sensation tightening the hold he has over me. My body writhes, but he refuses to relent. “Patience.”
If patience were a virtue, I’ve long since lost it. Ten fucking years spent without him. Just days ago, the thought of this was a fantasy I wouldn’t even let myself entertain. But now? Now, he’s here, and patience isn’t just out of reach—it’s a cruel joke, a test I’m doomed to fail.
White musk and amber lace the air, the scent of him settling into my lungs like a brand. I focus on it—on anything other than how he feels against me, on the ache demanding I move. In the next breath, he trades touch for something far more devastating, the blunt head of his cock pushing against my entrance, his chest vibrating with a deep, primal sound.
His pace is merciless in its control, every thrust a promise, a warning, a tease. My vision blurs, my body caught in the sweet agony of pleasure stretched to its very limits.
“Don’t you dare,” he rasps against my temple. My spine locks, fingers curling so tightly around the belt binding my hands that my knuckles ache, every nerve screaming for release.
He angles my disheveled face toward him just enough to trap me in his stare. “That’s my girl.” Then he moves, an intentional roll of his body against mine that steals every last thought from my head.
His mouth finds the swell of my breast, every exhale searing against my skin as he buries himself inside me. The stretch, the fullness, the sheer intensity of him is dizzying. I clench around him, lost in the sensation of being so completely filled. The sound I make is pure surrender, my moan echoing between us like a confession.
Brooks stills, and the loss of movement is agonizing. A frustrated cry rips from my lips as I arch into him, seeking friction, seeking anything to pull me from the edge of madness.
“Now, Rivers. Fall apart for me,” he commands, his pace never faltering, the sheer authority in his voice sending me spiraling into oblivion. Pleasure crashes over me, consuming me completely, and he’s right behind me, his movements turning reckless before he spills inside me.
With deliberate care, he loosens the restraint, the leather slipping away from my skin before he discards it. His gaze flickers down to where our bodies meet, watching himself pull out of me slowly, taking in the mess he’s made. The sight seems to draw a primal satisfaction from him, his breath hitching as he watches, absorbed by the visual.
I should feel exposed…maybe even embarrassed, but instead, I feel a strange kind of power in it. The vulnerability of what we’ve shared, of what he’s made me feel. I’ve never felt more connected to him.
“You should stay.” I breathe, searching his face for an answer before he even speaks.
A surge of panic rises within me as I ready myself for his rejection—but it never comes. Instead, his arms envelop me, mending the cracks in the fragile hope I had been holding onto. He exhales against my shoulder, his grip anchoring me to him, like he’s afraid I might slip through his fingers.
Beyond us, the night is wild—wind tearing at the eaves, rain hammering in relentless sheets—but under these covers, my body melts into his. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, his hold on me a solid comfort against the storm outside. Exhaustion pulls at me, and sleep becomes impossible to resist.
“Did something happen?”
Brooks’ voice presses in, shaking me loose from sleep, my eyes fluttering open. “What?”
The bed shifts as he moves behind me. “You said Beckett got you painting again?”
I track the flickering light from the candles, their glow stretching thin across the room. I chase after my own thoughts, trying to gather them into something coherent.
“Oh. Yeah…I finally went to see him. Spent time with Blake too. My time here has been…messy. But for the first time since he died, I don’t feel like I’ll break by just being here.” I pause, my foot nudging against the edge of the blanket.
“I spent so long outrunning this place, convinced if I never looked back, it didn’t exist. If I stayed far enough ahead, I wouldn’t have to feel. Grieving, remembering, even saying his name—I treated it like an open flame, terrified to get too close. But I can’t keep living like that, carrying ghosts, choking on everything I never let myself say. And Blake, she just—” I bite my lip, feeling Brooks’ fingers comb through my hair, lightly tracing a curl. The subtle gesture, makes it harder to keep my walls up, draws me closer into him.
“Blake is everything I forgot how to be—reckless in her joy, fearless in her love, alive in a way I’ve spent years trying not. Beside her, I felt it—how much of myself I’ve lost in the name of self preservation.”
Brooks doesn’t say anything at first. When I finally glance over, his expression is so open, so raw, it makes me want to fall apart and sink into him all at once.
“I wish you could see yourself the way I see you. If you did, you wouldn’t just see grief—you’d see strength. The power in the way you’re choosing to stay, to feel, to be something more than what you left behind. If you ask me, that’s the bravest thing you’ve ever done.”
His words don’t rescue me; they don’t need to. They just remind me I’m still here. That I never stopped being here, no matter how fast or far I ran. This place, these people—they’ve lived inside me all along, waiting for me to stop holding my breath.
It starts as the softest nudge, his foot brushing against mine beneath the sheets, a hesitant kind of reach, pulling me in closer. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers into the spaces between mine.
I frown, confused. “For what?”
“I’m sorry I walked away, Dylan. I know I said that, but seeing you in Maine—after I’d stopped searching for signs, stopped hoping for second chances—felt like the universe had been listening the whole time. Over the years, I stood in rooms full of people, held hands that weren’t yours, told myself I was moving on. But nothing ever settled. Every smile felt borrowed, every love story belonged to someone else.”
It’s not just what he says—it’s how he says it, as though fate has already decided this for us.
“I let you go once because I thought it was the right thing. Because I was afraid. But I never stopped loving you, not for a second.” His brows knit together, his eyes glossy as he holds back years of emotion before continuing. “And this time, I’ll fight. I’ll stay. I’ll be whatever you need, for as long as you’ll have me.”
Brooks’ heartbeat knocks against mine, steady where mine stumbles. And instead of retreating into doubt, into the past, I do something terrifying—I trust him. I trust that his love never left, only waited. That even in our years apart, his heart still beat in time with mine. A pause isn’t an ending, and love isn’t something that time can steal.
“The second I walked into The Drift, it hit me—even if I hadn’t realized it right away—that I’d spent so long running from the one thing I should’ve held onto.” I give in to the truth, my eyes skimming over him, drawn to the way it settles in his posture. “You. And if I could go back, I’d do everything differently. I love you. You are my home. And I should have understood that wasn’t something I could leave behind.”
The second his lips touch mine, the world reorders itself, like an artist dragging fresh color over a faded canvas, brightening the lines of my existence. I grip his shoulder, anchoring myself in his solid presence, desperate for proof that this isn’t some fleeting dream.
In the moment that follows, we find each other again. We fall back into each other like we were always meant to. The storm outside continues its fury, but here, with him, we make promises to one another. That we’ll never be apart again. That nothing will ever tear us from this. We’re safe in the certainty of us.
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as he exhales against my lips. “Paris,” he whispers, drawing it out like a promise he didn’t forget. “If you never made it there, then I think it’s about time we change that. If this life has shown me anything, it’s that tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I’ve spent enough of my life waiting. That ends now.”
Love has never arrived gently for me. It always came with conditions, with rules or an escape plan. But his voice holds no expiration date, only permanence. He’s right, I never made it to Paris. But I’m done holding back. I’m done keeping life at arm’s length, afraid to feel too deeply. I’m stepping into it now—into all of it. The dreams I tucked away, the love I told myself I didn’t need, the messy, beautiful reality of being alive. I want to feel it crash over me and turn every locked door into an open invitation to the unknown. I want to live like I was always meant to—without fear, without apology. Fully. Freely. Finally.
“I never made it. So let’s go—no more waiting, no more what-ifs. I want to see the world, chase the dreams I left behind. And I want to do it all with you.”
“Alright, then.” His wink is quick, almost imperceptible, but I catch it. Just as the edge of his mouth tilts up, the kind of trouble that doesn’t ask permission before it takes over. “Let’s go…explore.”
No more questioning if I’m enough, if I deserve this, if love is something meant for me. I spent years convincing myself that healing was out of reach, that some cracks could never be filled. But here, with him, I don’t feel broken. I feel whole in a way that has nothing to do with being fixed and everything to do with choosing to move forward.
Brooks loves me. That love isn’t a battlefield littered with losses, nor a coin flipped in the dark. It’s a certainty, as natural and infinite as the tide meeting the shore.
I feel like I’m stepping into a life I get to build. A love I get to choose, again and again.
I am not the same person who ran away, who let fear dictate her future. I am here, fully, without reservation. Not because I’ve outrun the past, but because I’ve finally stopped letting it define me.
This time, I’m not bracing for the fall.
I’m ready.
“Oh? Stealing me away already? I must be special.”