Page 41 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

His eyes meet mine, searching. “You sure?”

"I'm sure." I guide him to my entrance, wrapping my legs around his waist. "I want to feel you. All of you."

With one powerful thrust, he enters me, and we both moan at the sensation of nothing between us. It's reckless, perhaps, but it feels right—a physical manifestation of the emotional barriers finally breaking down.

“I haven’t been with anyone else either, baby. I couldn’t. Couldn’t imagine being inside anyone else like this,” he groans, his voice full of a vulnerability that grips at something in my heart.

Dean sets a relentless pace, each thrust driving deeper than the last, his hands gripping my hips with enough force that I know I'll have marks tomorrow. I welcome it, meeting him movement for movement, my nails scoring his back as pleasure builds to an almost unbearable intensity.

"Mine," he growls again, the word a guttural claim as his movements become more erratic. "Say it, Brooke. Tell me you're mine."

"Yours," I gasp, feeling the first tremors of release building. "I'm yours, Dean. Always yours."

My orgasm crashes over me without warning, a tidal wave of sensation that has me crying out his name, my body clenching around him. Dean follows moments later, his face buried in my neck as he pulses inside me, my name a prayer on his lips.

For long minutes afterward, we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin, hearts gradually slowing to a more normal rhythm. Dean's weight is a comfort on top of me, grounding me in the reality of what just happened, what we just admitted to each other.

Eventually, he shifts to his side, one arm still draped possessively across my waist, his expression more open than I've seen it since we arrived in Hawaii.

"I meant what I said," I whisper, needing him to know this isn't post-coital euphoria speaking. "I love you. I never stopped."

Dean's fingers trace idle patterns on my hip, his gaze thoughtful. "I love you too," he says simply. "But love was never our problem."

The truth of this statement settles between us, a reminder that declarations alone won't solve the fundamental challenge we've always faced.

"So what happens now?" I ask, forcing myself to voice the question neither of us has been brave enough to tackle. "After the wedding. After Hawaii."

Dean is quiet for a long moment, his hand still moving in gentle circles on my skin. "That depends," he finally says. "On whether you're ready to actually build something together. To compromise. To stop running every time things get hard or scary."

There's a challenge in his words, but also vulnerability—the fear that even after everything, I might still choose to walk away.

"I want to try," I tell him, placing my hand over his heart, feeling its steady beat beneath my palm. "I want to find a way forward together. I just don't know exactly what that looks like yet."

He nods, accepting this as a start if not a complete answer. Then his expression grows more serious, an edge of determination in his eyes. "I need you to know something, Brooke. I don't think I can do fake anymore."

The words land with the weight of ultimatum, though his tone remains gentle. "What do you mean?"

"I mean this has to be real. All in. No more pretending, no more running, no more choosing career over us like they're mutually exclusive." His gaze holds mine, unwavering. "I'll compromise. I'll meet you halfway. But I need to know you're in this with me, completely."

The intensity of his declaration both thrills and terrifies me. All in. No safety net, no escape route, no carefully maintained distance. Just us, together, facing whatever comes.

"I'm scared," I admit, the confession easier now in the intimacy we've created. "But I'm more scared of losing you again."

Dean's expression softens slightly, his thumb brushing across my cheekbone. "That's a start," he says quietly. "That's enough for tonight."

As he pulls me against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear, I wonder if it really is enough. If love and fear and desire can overcome the practical challenges we still haven't addressed. If we can find a way to merge our separate lives into something stronger than what we had before.

I don't have the answers yet. But for the first time in two years, I'm willing to stay and look for them instead of running away.

FIFTEEN

Brooke

Morning comeswith the gentle whisper of waves against the shore and Dean's arm heavy across my waist, his breath warm against the back of my neck. For a single, perfect moment, I exist in the liminal space between sleep and wakefulness where nothing matters but this—the solid weight of him behind me, the tangle of our legs beneath cool sheets, the pleasant ache in my body that reminds me of last night's passion. Then reality crashes in like a hangover, bringing with it the full weight of what I admitted in the heat of the moment. I love him. I never stopped loving him. And now that I've said it out loud, there's no taking it back, no pretending this is still just a convenient arrangement for my sister's wedding.

I carefully extract myself from Dean's embrace, holding my breath when he stirs slightly before settling back into deep sleep. Standing at the foot of the bed, I allow myself a moment to look at him—really look at him. His face relaxed in sleep, the perpetual furrow between his brows smoothed away. The sheets have slipped to his waist, revealing the broad expanse of his chest, more defined than I remember from two years ago. Ranch life has hardened him, physically at least, though in all the ways that matter, he's still the same Dean—loyal, steadfast, loving.

God, I'm still madly in love with him.

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