Page 118 of Only for Him
She nods. That one tiny motion shatters something in me.
And with every word, every breath she takes, the ache for her becomes unbearable. It coils tight in my chest, like I was built to carry this for her. My hand finds the edge of my glass, then shifts closer, always closer. I reach out, brushing away the single tear that slips free from her eye.
That tear kills me.
“It wasn’t your fault,” I swear, channeling the conviction she needs to believe it. “None of it was your fault.”
She looks into my eyes, and I swear, I see her entire past swirling there, waiting for release.
Revenge.
“Thank you for telling me,” I add, but it feels small. Useless. Petty.
What she deserves is carnage. And I’m the only one who can give it to her.
What no man ever has.
“We will avenge her,” I vow, locking my gaze on her. “We’ll make sure every man who had a hand in her death pay. I promise.”
The weight of my words hangs between us, charged and heavy. She searches my eyes for sincerity, and in that fleeting moment, our shared anger and sorrow becomes an unbreakable bond.
Our pain is the same now.
And so is our purpose.
It isn’t only sexual, this thing we’re doing.
It never was, but I liked pretending, for my own fucked-up sake.
It isn’t just about control. Or conquest. Or the exquisite way she trembles when I pin her beneath me.
I don’t just want to feel her surrender.
I want to watch her rise, healed and whole. For me. Because of me.
“I need to know if you’re serious,” she says. “Everything you’ve done so far… it would be nothing compared to you lying about this.”
I close the distance between us, slow and deliberate.
“I swear, Giselle,” I say.
She blinks away her emotions, a shimmer of hope pooling in those deep brown doe eyes.
She leans in. Our breath twines. Her cheeks are red, her lips dewy and pink, heat rolling off her in waves.
When we kiss, it’s not like before.
My blood rushes and my cock hardens, but it’s not really a physical act at all.
It’s a reckoning.
Something spills open between us: vengeance braided with devotion. Pain layered over desire. Her mouth tastes like fury and faith, and I take all of it.
I want to keep this version of her in my bones.
When we finally part, the world has shifted slightly, bowing under the gravity of an unyielding promise.
“I’ve already taken care of the paperwork,” I tell her, voice steady as I draw back just enough to look into her face. “You’re on extended leave from the NYPD. Effective immediately.”
