Page 68 of The Founder's Power

It’s about forever.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders and holds me close, rocking her hips up to meet mine.

All too soon, her body tenses, and her mouth parts in a trembling gasp. The way she squeezes my cock is too much for me, and I follow.

Later, we lie tangled together, her head on my chest, my hand tracing circles along her spine.

She presses a kiss to my collarbone and whispers, “So that’s what marriage feels like?”

I smile. “No,” I say, voice thick with emotion. “That’s what us feels like.”

Beyond power, beyond legacy, beyond anything I thought I needed, this is the life I was always meant to build.

EPILOGUE

Lucas

I’m halfwaythrough my second glass of bourbon, watching Damian Kincaid smile like a man who didn’t used to know how.

The bastard actually looks happy. Genuinely happy.

He’s not only married. He’s relaxed and in love.

He’s swaying with Isabelle under a string of golden lights, her head tucked against his chest, the kind of content look on his face I used to think only existed in marketing campaigns.

And yet, here we are.

I take another sip. “Someone should frame that,” I murmur.

“What?” says the voice beside me.

I glance down at Nadine Geraldine, my plus-one for the evening. Not a date. God, no. She’s a fellow consultant I’ve partnered with on a few cross-border deals. Sharp as hell, allergic to commitment, and blessedly uninterested in whatever I’m not offering.

She follows my gaze. “You mean the newlyweds slow dancing like a toothpaste commercial?”

“Exactly that.”

Nadine smirks. “Getting soft on me, Ashford?”

I grin. “I’m sentimental, not suicidal.”

She snorts. “Tell that to your jaw. You’ve been clenching it since the cake cutting.”

“Just admiring the decor.”

She gives me a look. “Sure, and I came for the chicken skewers.”

I unclench my jaw and wrinkle my nose. I’m not uptight because of jealousy. I don’t envy Damian. I respect him, although I would never tell him that. We go way back. We’re friends, although we have gone head-to-head a few times. No grudges between us ever, though. Just some bruised egos that healed. He’s earned whatever this is, though, this new version of himself. He didn’t get it by closing a deal.

He got it by letting go of one.

That’s something I’ve never done. Not even once.

I scan the place—happy faces, soft music, wine-glass clinks and the low hum of laughter. It’s a different kind of power here. Not currency or contracts.

Connection.

That’s the one thing I’ve never managed to negotiate.

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