Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Blythe
It’s been almost ten weeks since my life started changing.
No. Longer than that.
It started the moment I found the courage to leave my old life, my abusive husband, and everything that was slowly destroying me physically and mentally.
The moment I took the first step toward something different, even when I didn’t know where it would lead.
Six months of hiding, but also searching.
For myself. For my future.
And somehow, along the way, I found him .
I found love. The love of my life—Atlas Timberbridge.
Now, we have a home.
Not an apartment on top of our business.
Not a temporary hideout.
A real home.
The house we bought is close to Atlas’s favorite lake, tucked in a place that feels untouched, quiet like a secret only we know.
It’s the same spot he used to escape to when he needed to breathe.
When the Timberbridge name felt more like a burden than a bloodline.
And now, it’s ours.
This home is everything I never thought I wanted and more.
Atlas is across the room that will become the nursery, screwdriver in one hand, eyeing the half-built crib like it personally offended him.
The pieces are scattered across the wooden floor, the instructions crumpled beside him.
I bite my lip to keep from laughing.
He insists on doing everything himself for our daughter.
Sanford reminded him that the concierge who helped us furnish the house could hire someone to create the perfect nursery, but he insists we do it ourselves.
On the wall behind him, there’s my own little hell.
I’ve painted different squares trying to decide what color I want this room to be—sage, yellow, gray, mauve, and a lilac that is so peaceful it might be the winner.
Though I haven’t made up my mind, all the nonsense colors are driving Atlas insane.
Atlas exhales slowly, tilting his head at the wall like the color selection is what’s keeping him from figuring out the crib.
“Do you need help?” I ask, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice.
He glances at me, then at the crib, then back again.
“No. This is fine.”
“You might want to follow the instructions,” I tease.
“It’s not about the crib,” he says, a little irritated.
“There are too many colors,” he mutters, scowling at the wall.
“I can’t concentrate.”
I laugh.
I can’t help it. “Indulge me.”
“I told you, if you want, I can paint a mural,” he offers, waving the screwdriver at the wall like it’s a brush.
“Something unique. A scene. But you have to make a decision.”
I pause.
Because that’s actually tempting.
“What kind of scene?”
He shrugs.
“Something peaceful. Something that feels like . . . us. A garden, a zoo . . . I’m not sure, what do you want, baby?”
I glance at the wall again.
“What about a night sky? Stars, constellations. A full moon on one side and then on the other the lake with flowers and bunnies and . . . something peaceful and pretty.”
Atlas hums, considering.
“That could work. We could add an owl or something for her. Like a guardian watching over her.”
A smile tugs at my lips.
“You want our daughter’s room to have a guardian owl?”
He smirks.
“What, you want a rabbit hanging on a tree instead? That’d be weird.”
I roll my eyes, nudging him with my foot where he’s kneeling beside the crib.
“That’s not what I mean, but if you can make a cute owl, I’ll take it.”
“I can do anything for you, Blythe. I will do anything for you,” he states, and those words make me fall in love even more.
“The mural sounds perfect,” I whisper.
Atlas grins, looking smug.
“Told you I had good ideas.”
I roll my eyes again, but my heart is so full it almost hurts.
This is our life now.
Not survival. Not waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I run the parlor’s office now, not just answering phones but managing everything—schedules, artists, finances.
I have control over something.
Atlas works five days a week now, and only one of those days is over the weekends.
We’ve built a team strong enough that he doesn’t have to do it all on his own.
And therapy?
Therapy is going better than I ever imagined.
Not perfect. Some days, I still feel like the girl who had to run.
The one who disappeared to survive.
The daughter who owed her parents blind obedience.
Like I deserved everything Winston did to me, because that is what he made me believe—that I was worthless.
But I’m learning how to exist without fear pressing into every corner of me, learning to love myself and be proud of who I am.
I’m learning how to breathe.
How to build.
How to love.
I press my hand to my belly, warmth unfurling as I feel the faintest movement beneath my palm.
A slow, stretching glide.
She reminds me that everything I’ve fought for—the sleepless nights, the hard choices, the moments I wasn’t sure I’d make it through—were worth it because she’s safe.
We’re safe.
“She’s moving,” I murmur, my voice barely above a breath.
His eyes drop to my stomach, darkening with something deeper than love.
More than devotion. He kneels in front of me, pressing his lips to my belly, whispering something I can’t hear, but I feel it in my bones.
Then his gaze lifts, locking onto mine.
A slow drag of heat crawls up my spine.
I know what he wants.
I know what I want.
His fingers trace up my thighs, slow, possessive.
The fabric of my skirt bunches beneath his hands, rising higher, exposing more.
My pulse stumbles, my breathing going unsteady as he finds the band of my underwear and drags it down my legs.
The air is cool against my bare skin, but it’s nothing compared to the fire where I need him most. He doesn’t tease.
Doesn’t hold back. He leans in and licks into me, tongue firm, unrelenting, sending a shock of pleasure racing through me so fast my legs go weak.
I grip his shoulders, my fingers digging into him, but he doesn’t stop.
He doesn’t let me escape the pleasure, doesn’t let me shy away from the way I unravel beneath him.
His mouth works me over, slow and knowing, dragging me closer to the edge, pushing me right to the brink.
I moan his name, barely a sound, but he hears it.
He groans against me, pulling back just enough to look up at me, his mouth glistening with my arousal, his eyes dark with need.
He moves back, lowering onto the lounge chair we have in the nursery, and my breath stumbles when I see him.
“Come here,” he orders, his voice rough.
He leans back, undoing his belt with one hand, shoving his pants down just enough to free himself, and my breath catches at the sight of him.
His cock is thick, long, flushed dark with need, already dripping at the tip.
It juts up, hard and perfect, the veins lining the shaft pulsing with each slow stroke of his hand.
Lust claws at me, raw and insatiable.
I want him.
I want to sink onto him, take every inch of him, feel the stretch, the pressure, the impossible fullness only he gives me.
“Sit,” he commands.
I straddle him, my knees pressing into the cushion as I hover over him, the broad head of his thick, veiny cock brushing against my entrance, teasing us both.
“Take off your shirt.”
I do, tossing it aside, my pulse hammering when his hands go straight to my covered breasts, cupping them, thumbing my sensitive nipples, making me gasp.
“Now, your bra.”
I unclasp it, letting it slide down my arms, and the second I’m bare, his mouth is on me.
His lips close over my nipple, tongue rolling over the tight bud before he sucks, making my core clench with need.
I moan, grinding against him, slicking his cock with my arousal, needing more, needing all of him.
“Now take me,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Sink and take all of me.”
I grip his shoulders, positioning him at my entrance, teasing us both with the way I slide against him, slicking his length with my arousal.
His fingers dig into my hips, his restraint hanging by a thread, but he lets me control the pace.
I sink down slowly, inch by inch, feeling every thick, pulsing stretch of him as he fills me completely.
My mouth parts on a gasp, my body molding around him, gripping him so tight he groans, his head tipping back against the chair.
“Fuck, baby.” His fingers flex on my hips, a shudder rolling through him.
“You feel that? You feel how perfect you are for me?”
I nod, but it’s more than that.
It’s more than just this moment, more than the way he fits inside me, the way we move together like we were made for this.
It’s love. It’s trust. It’s everything I never thought I’d have.
I move.
I roll my hips, grinding against him, taking him deeper, and he curses under his breath, his control slipping.
His hands guide me, setting the rhythm, making me take him the way he wants.
He thrusts up into me, deeper, harder, his breath ragged, his lips dragging over my throat, my collarbone.
His mouth closes over my nipple, sucking, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud, making me moan as pleasure crashes through me, tightening, building, pushing me closer to the edge.
He thrusts up into me, harder, deeper, dragging a cry from my throat.
His tongue flicking over my nipple before his teeth sink in, just enough to make my stomach clench, my body pulse around him.
“I fucking love you so much, Blythe,” he says with a desperation that almost makes me come.
“Say it,” he murmurs against my skin.
“Say you love me.”
“I love you,” I whisper, and the words break something open inside him.
His movements turn desperate, his grip tight, his thrusts rougher, deeper, as if he’s trying to bury himself so deep inside me, that I’ll never be able to leave.
Pleasure coils low, tighter, hotter, until I shatter around him, my release slamming into me so hard I tremble, gasping his name, my nails digging into his skin.
And then he’s right there with me, groaning low in his throat, his body tensing beneath me.
I feel it.
I feel the thick, hot rush of his release spilling inside me, coating my walls, filling me completely, making me moan at the deep, raw pleasure of it.
His arms wrap around me, his forehead pressing against my shoulder as he lets go, as he gives me everything, his body shuddering beneath mine.
And then he exhales, his hands smoothing over my back, his lips pressing against my temple, my jaw, my mouth.
“I never thought this would happen to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse, filled with something so deep it roots me to him.
“I never thought love would find me. Not here, not ever, but thank fuck it’s you. You who owns me and my heart.”
I close my eyes, sinking into him, sinking into this moment, into the way he holds me like I’m his whole world.
Because I am his, and just like him, I never thought love would find me.
I never thought I would fall in love with a protective, caring man who might be broody some days, but loving and generous all the time.
“I love you so much, Atlas Timberbridge.”
“I love you more, baby.”