Chapter 3
AMELIA
Idon’t think I’ve breathed properly since Gage slipped that ring on my finger. And now he’s looking at me like the vows were foreplay and that the second the door shut behind us, I stopped being something he had to hold gently and became something he’s finally allowed to devour.
“God,” I whisper. “You’re my husband.”
He stills.
As if that word detonates under his ribs and rearranges his entire fucking bloodstream.
“Say it again,” he growls.
No patience. No room to tease.
Just raw possession in a three-word command.
Heat floods me.
He steps forward. Slow, focused, intentional.
And suddenly I’m very aware of how married we are and how long he’s been holding back.
“Husband,” I breathe.
“Louder.”
His hands are on my hips now, thumbs pressing in.
I grip his jacket, drag him closer, and say it again. Louder. “Husband.”
That’s the moment he breaks.
He lets out a low, guttural sound. Half growl, half exhale, all restraint gone.
One hand comes to the back of my neck. The other to my ass.
And then he yanks me into him like he’s done pretending we’re not already forever.
His mouth crashes down onto mine, wild, hungry, claiming. There’s nothing polite in it.
Nothing gentle. It’s the kiss of a man who’s waited too long, wanted too hard, and finally—finally— gets to call me his.
I gasp into him, fingers twisted in his jacket.
He kisses me harder. Like that word on my lips did something unholy to him.
“Mine,” he rasps against my mouth when he ends the kiss.
His gaze drops to my collar—the one I’ve put back on for him—and I feel him lose himself in it.
He brushes his knuckles over the silver. Then brings his eyes back to mine, stripped raw.
“Say it one more fucking time, Princess. Say it like I’m inside you already.”
My whole body flames with heat, want, need.
Love.
So much love it hurts.
It’s not just heat. It’s an ache. The kind that doesn’t just burn. It brands.
I swallow, feeling all of it. Letting it hit.
Gage is the man who gave me exactly what I needed. No questions. No pressure.
Three months of silence.
And he still waited.
Tore himself apart and waited anyway.
Was standing right where he said he’d be when I was ready to come home.
I don’t know a better man. And I’m so fucking lucky I get to call him husband now.
I stare into those dark, wrecked eyes of his. And then I say it. “Husband.”
I don’t say it softly. Or sweetly. Or the way I said it any of the other times.
This time, it comes out exactly how he asked for it. Burning with need. Breathless. Like I’m already taking him deep. Like I’m telling him he belongs to me.
I’d say it again if he wanted that.
And again.
And again.
I am so gone for this man I’d beg him to ruin me slower just so I can feel every second of it.
A raw, course sound comes from him, pulled from somewhere deep, and then everything in him snaps. “Dress off,” he says, voice feral but focused. “Leave the collar. That stays.”
That command in his voice?
Holy hell of all things indecent.
It causes my breathing to turn erratic. My heart too.
Hot damn, I need a minute.
Gage gives it. He doesn’t rush me.
I slide the straps down slowly, baring my shoulders first.
His eyes follow the fabric’s path.
The dress slides down my body like it knows its job is to get out of the way for what’s coming. When it pools at my feet, I step out of it.
And now I’m standing in front of him in nothing but a black lace bra, matching panties, and the collar that will never leave my throat again.
Gage’s jaw flexes. His hands fight to stay restrained by his side. But his eyes? They touch every inch of me.
“Jesus Christ, Amelia.” His voice is pure gravel. “You are so fucking beautiful.”
He lifts one hand. Trails his fingers along my jaw, down my neck to my throat, to the collar.
And then, god, he leans in. And kisses it.
This isn’t just a press of a kiss, or a graze. He kisses it as if he’s making a vow. It’s a fuck, you’re mine again and I will never forget this kind of kiss.
He keeps his mouth there as his hands slide around my hips, pulling me in close, and I swear I hear him breathe me in like I’m the only thing keeping him standing.
When he pulls back, his hands tighten on me. “You ready?” he asks, eyes locked to mine. “Because I’m about to vow my fucking soul into your skin.”
I don’t know how I’m even still standing.
My knees threaten to give.
My lungs are working overtime.
And my heart’s doing something dangerous and permanent.
Vow his fucking soul into my skin?
Yes, please and thank you.
Gage doesn’t miss a single second of my emotional unraveling. He watches me so intensely it feels like he’s already inside me giving me his soul.
When I don’t answer with words, he brings his mouth to my ear. “Get on the bed, Princess. It’s time you hear what forever sounds like.”
I do what he says because my entire body wants to obey him. Because there’s not a single cell in me that doesn’t want this man everywhere, all at once.
I turn and climb onto the bed. Lingerie still on. Collar at my throat.
Breath shaky. Heart racing. Soul wide open.
The sheets are cool against my skin as I settle on my back and watch my husband.
He shrugs out of his jacket, his eyes never leaving mine. Removes his vest. Unbuttons his shirt with deliberate slowness.
His energy is everywhere.
All control. All heat. All devotion.
Even if my eyes were closed, I would feel him here.
He follows me. One knee on the bed. Then the other. He crawls over me with that slow, unhurried dominance.
The bed dips beneath his weight, and then he’s above me, chest bare, one hand braced beside my head, the other skimming down my arm.
His eyes drag across my body, blazing a trail of heat. And then he lowers his mouth to my collarbone. Warm breath. Bare skin. Everything sacred.
“I promise to give you the quiet you need,” he murmurs, every word said into my skin like he’s worshipping it. Worshipping me. “And never mistake it for distance.”
If I ever thought Gage had wrecked me before, I was wrong.
This?
This is devastation wrapped in devotion.
Vowing his soul into my skin like it’s the only language he knows.
I’m breathless.
Falling.
Irrevocably his.
He kisses just below my collarbone, then his lips follow the line of my body down to the curve of my breast. Soft and slow, undoing me one inch at a time.
He finds the clasp of my bra and unhooks it in one fluid motion. Not rushed. Not greedy. He peels it away like he’s revealing something precious.
His mouth finds my breast again, pressing a kiss there.
“I promise to listen. Even when you’re not speaking.”
My breath hitches.
My eyes water.
My body arches.
Because this isn’t a man seducing me. This is a man claiming me forever with the vows he didn’t say in front of others but kept just for me.
His hands find my waist, and then he lowers his mouth again, to the soft slope of my stomach.
“I promise to never ask you to shrink. Not even for me.”
And I know it deep in my soul, that’s the one that breaks me, because I believe him.
Tears slide down my cheeks as he presses a kiss to my hipbone.
“I promise to love you like it’s a privilege. Not a possession.”
My hands fist in the sheets. My entire soul is trying to hold still.
He moves further down my body and slowly slides my panties down. And when he looks up at me from between my thighs, not to take, not to demand, but to worship?
I’m his.
I’m ruined.
I’m forever.
Then his mouth lowers to the inside of my thigh, and just before his lips touch me, he whispers, “I promise I won’t let silence steal what I should have said.”
He settles between my legs and his mouth finally finds the place he’s been aching for, and it’s not just heat written across his face.
It’s home.
It’s love.
It’s forever.
His lips start out gentle, but not for long. Soon, he’s consumed. With making a goddamn mess of me. With dragging every sound out of me that he owns.
And when his eyes flick to mine and he growls, “Wife,” that’s when I know my husband is done with adoring me softly.
Now he’s going to lose his fucking mind.
Because now—now—I’m his wife.