Page 54 of The Ex-Girlfriend Agreement

"Look at me," he requests, his voice rough with feeling. "I want to see you."

I force my eyes open, meeting his gaze as he moves within me. There's an intimacy to it that goes beyond the physical—a soul-deep connection that makes my chest ache with its intensity. This isn't just sex, isn't even just making love. This is a promise, a commitment, a declaration more binding than any words could be.

My hands roam his back, tracing the familiar contours of muscle and bone, the slight differences two years have wrought. He's stronger now, his body more defined from the physical labor of ranch life. But his touch is the same—confident, gentle, attuned to every small sound and shift of my body beneath his.

"You feel like home," I whisper, the words escaping before I can consider them. "Like the piece of me that's been missing."

Dean's rhythm falters at my confession, his eyes darkening with emotion. "You are my home," he says, his voice so low I feel it more than hear it. "Wherever you are, that's where I belong."

The tenderness of the moment is almost too much to bear, the love between us so tangible it seems to fill the air we breathe. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper, needing to be as close to him as physically possible.

Our bodies move together with increasing urgency, the slow, deliberate pace giving way to something more primal as pleasure builds between us. Dean's hand slides between our bodies to where we're joined, his fingers finding the exact spot that makes my vision blur at the edges.

"Come with me," he urges, his voice a strained whisper as his movements become less controlled. "Together, Brooke. Always together."

The dual sensation of his body inside mine and his fingers against me sends me hurtling toward the edge again. This time, I keep my eyes open, watching his face as the tension builds to an almost unbearable peak. When release finally comes, it washes over us simultaneously—a shared explosion of pleasure that has me crying out his name and him groaning mine against my neck.

For long moments afterward, we lie tangled together, sweat cooling on our skin, hearts gradually slowing to a steadier rhythm. Dean's weight above me is comforting rather than restrictive, grounding me in the reality of what we've just shared.

"I'm never letting you go again," he murmurs against my hair, his arms tightening slightly around me as if to emphasize the point.

I turn my head to press a kiss to his shoulder, tasting the salt of his skin. "Good," I whisper back. "Because I'm never leaving again."

Eventually, he shifts to his side, drawing me with him so that we're facing each other, legs intertwined, my head pillowed on his arm. His free hand traces idle patterns on my hip, occasionally drifting to my hand where his ring now rests.

"What are you thinking?" I ask, watching emotions flicker across his face in the fading light.

His smile is soft, a little wondering. "That I never thought we'd be here. That I'd given up hope."

"I'm sorry it took me so long," I say, regret coloring my voice. "Sorry for the time we lost."

"Hey." He tilts my chin up, making sure I meet his eyes. "No more apologies, remember? We're here now. That's what matters."

I nod, letting go of the guilt that's been my companion for longer than I care to admit. "We are," I agree, marveling at the simple truth of it. "We really are."

As darkness settles over the room, neither of us makes a move to turn on the lights or separate. Instead, we remain wrapped in each other, exchanging soft kisses and gentle touches that occasionally flare into something more heated, then settle back into comfortable intimacy.

Eventually, exhaustion begins to claim me, the emotional roller coaster of the day catching up to my body. As I drift toward sleep in Dean's arms, his ring a comforting weight on my finger, a profound sense of rightness washes over me. This—us—is what I've been running from and simultaneously toward all this time. Not just love, but home. The place where I'm fully seen, fully accepted, fully loved.

And for the first time in two years, I sleep without a single doubt shadowing my dreams.

EPILOGUE

SIX MONTHS LATER

Brooke

Six months after Hawaii,I stand on the porch of our ranch house, watching the Colorado sunset paint the mountains in shades of purple and gold. The September air carries a hint of the coming fall—crisp and clean in a way New York air never managed to be. Behind me, the house hums with activity as last-minute wedding preparations unfold—my mother directing caterers with military precision, Taylor arranging flowers with the same attention to detail she brings to everything, my father and James setting up chairs in the meadow where tomorrow, I'll become Mrs. McAllister. If someone had told me a year ago that I'd be getting married on a ranch in Colorado, I'd have laughed in their face. Yet here I am, more at home than I've felt in years.

The sound of boots on wooden steps announces Dean's approach before his arms wrap around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder as he joins me in admiring the view.

"Having second thoughts?" he asks, only half-teasing. Even now, after everything, there's a part of him that wonders if I might run.

I lean back into his solid warmth, covering his hands with mine where they rest on my stomach. "Not a single one," I assure him, turning my head to press a kiss to his jaw. "Unless you count my mother's insistence on those ridiculous Jordan almonds as favors."

His laugh rumbles through his chest against my back. "Your mother gets whatever she wants. She's the reason we're here, remember?"

"Don't remind her," I groan. "She's already insufferable about it."

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