Page 62 of Stuffed

His smile is wicked. "Let me show you."

The moment we're inside his penthouse, he reaches for me, but I dance away playfully.

"Catch me first," I tease, backing away.

Desire clouds his gaze. "Naughty…"

I laugh, darting around his couch as he stalks toward me. "Too slow!"

"Am I?" In one quick move, he vaults over the couch, catching me around the waist.

We tumble onto the plush rug, laughing and breathless. But when his eyes meet mine, all playfulness fades into something deeper, more intense.

"Got you," he whispers, brushing my hair back.

"You've had me since I was sixteen," I admit softly.

His kiss is gentle at first, but quickly builds into something more passionate. Something that speaks of endings and beginnings, of walls finally crumbled, of love finally free to be shown.

"I love you," he breathes against my skin. "More than I ever thought possible."

"Show me," I whisper back.

And as snow falls softly outside, as the city celebrates new beginnings, we create our own private celebration. Our own perfect start to a new year. Our own happily ever after.

The city lights twinkle below as snowflakes dance past his floor-to-ceiling windows. Zane's hands trace reverent patterns along my skin, his touch setting every nerve ending alight. His blue eyes are dark with intensity as they meet mine.

“Your body is a fucking dream—a fantasy,” he murmurs, his hands beginning to shake from holding back. “I want to devour you, to mark you, claim you…make you mine.”

His kiss is achingly tender at first, but quickly builds into something deeper, more passionate. His hands tangle in my hair as he pulls me closer, like he can't bear any space between us. I arch into him, my fingers tracing the strong planes of his back, memorizing every inch of him.

"You're everything," he murmurs against my lips. "Everything I never knew I needed."

We lose ourselves in each other as the snow falls silently outside, creating our own perfect celebration of new beginnings. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word of love builds to something transcendent—a connection deeper than physical, more profound than passion.

Morning light filters through Zane's floor-to-ceiling windows, painting patterns across rumpled sheets. I stretch languidly, feeling deliciously sore and completely content.

"Happy New Year." Zane's voice is rough with sleep as he draws me against him.

"Mmm." I roll to face him. "Not a bad way to start it."

"Speaking of starts…" He props himself up on an elbow. "I have something to show you."

"More surprises?" But I'm already following him out of bed, pulling on his discarded dress shirt.

He leads me to his home office, booting up his computer. "Remember how I said the shelter would be ready by spring?"

I nod, peering over his shoulder as he pulls up floor plans and construction schedules.

"Well, the crews have been working through the holidays. We're ahead of schedule." His eyes light up as he scrolls through photos. "The apartments are almost done, and the medical facilities are being equipped next week."

"That's amazing!" I lean closer, studying the images. "Is that the kitchen?"

"Your kitchen." He pulls up a detailed rendering. "State-of-the-art equipment, training stations, everything you'll need for the culinary program."

"Our kitchen," I correct softly.

He turns to look at me, expression serious. "You sure about this? About being so involved?"

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