Page 134 of Dangerous King
"You are mine." He growls.
Thrust.
"You'll wear my name."
Thrust.
"You'll carry my children."
Thrust.
A sob catches in my throat. Pleasure coils hot and heavy between my legs, building with every ruthless stroke.
"I love you," I gasp, the words slipping free before I can catch them.
He stills.
Just for a moment.
Then his hand tightens on my hip. "Say it again."
"I love you."
He groans, a sound from deep in his chest, like he's been starving, and I just gave him a feast. He pumps into me harder, faster, until the entire world is spinning around me, pushing me to the edge and over it, until I shatter around him, a cry muffled against my own arm. I feel like I'm going to collapse, but his arm catches me around the waist, holding me until he follows with a curse and a final, brutal thrust, collapsing against me for a moment, both of us gasping for breath in the soft, golden silence. I'm draped over his arm like a wet rag. It's all that's holding me up. His head is bent low over my back, and I feel his hot breath on the nape of my neck. My heart is beating so hard, I'm worried a seam of my dress will rip.
When we finally untangle, he tucks me gently into his arms, brushing my hair off my damp forehead.
"I was going to wait," he murmurs against my skin. "But you wreck me, Cat. Every fucking time."
I smile, curled into him like I was always meant to be there. "I meant it," I whisper. "I love you." I'm not ashamed of saying it, nor of saying it first. I don't even need him to say it back; I just need him to know.
"I love you, too," he says, kissing my temple. "And I'm never letting you go."
He just looks at me, his eyes soft and hungry all at once, like I'm something he's never going to stop craving. His thumb traces slow, reverent circles over my cheek, and I feel truly seen. Not as a problem to be solved or a puzzle to be unraveled, but as a person—messy, complicated, unfiltered, and loved. I close my eyes and let myself believe it, just for this golden moment.
"You know," he murmurs, voice still rough around the edges, "I didn't plan on falling for you like this."
My heart already feels too big for my chest, and when his words hit me, they do it with the force of a tsunami: he loves me.
Everything else—every scar, every shadow, every cruel memory—fades beneath the roar of that truth. He loves me. Not because he has to. Not because I've been convenient or useful or safe. But because ofme. Because of who I am. A wild joy flares in my chest so fast and so bright, I think I might start floating away. I feel it everywhere—tingling in my fingertips, fluttering behind my ribs, soaking my skin in warmth I never thought I'd get to feel.
I want to cry. I want to laugh. I want to scream it to the sky.
He loves me.
Me. The broken girl who never thought she'd be more than background noise in someone else's story. My skin tingles, my pulse flutters under his fingers. There's a warm, rising ache in my chest that makes tears burn behind my eyes because it's all too much—in the best way. I don't just feel loved. I feel chosen. Protected. Kept.
He could have anyone. He's rich. Powerful. Untouchable.
But he pickedme.
And that knowledge settles somewhere deep in my bones, anchoring me in ways I've never known before. I press a kiss to the hollow of his throat and whisper, "Good. Because I don't think I could ever let go of you either."
And I mean it with every breath, every heartbeat, every trembling, terrified inch of me.
A few days later…
After thedebacle in the cleaning closet, as I've come to call it, there is no stopping us. To hell with having our firsts in a bed. We have our firsts wherever, whenever the opportunity arises. Mamma might have stationed a guard underneath Cat's balcony, but even she is no match for Cat's and my ingenuity in finding hiding spots for clandestine meetings.
