Page 91 of Until Forever Falls

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?”

---