Page 165 of Tangled Kisses
“I do,” I whisper.
His mouth moves lower, over every bruise, every faded mark, reclaiming every inch of me from the man who tried to break me. By the time he reaches the waistband of my jeans, I’m trembling and crying—not from pain, but from the way he loves me.
When he finally pushes inside, slow and steady, I gasp, biting back the sound as my nails dig into his shoulders. The stretch is exquisite, unbearable in the best way, and I can’t stop staring at him. The awe, the grief, the love so fierce it could devour us both—it all plays across his face, raw and unhidden.
“Reese.” My name rips out of him, a groan, his head dropping against my shoulder. “So good. My God, so good.”
I frame his face, forcing him to look at me as tears blur my sight.
“Are you okay? I’m not hurting you, am I?”
“I’m perfect,” I breathe, a smile breaking through the tears.
He delivers a slow, drugging kiss against my lips. “You’re everything I dreamed of.”
And in that moment, I understand why nothing else ever worked out. Why no other man could ever reach me, why my heart never opened the way it was meant to. Griffin was right. I’d been waiting for him all along.
In that instant, I realize something deeper than I ever let myself before—Griffin, despite everything in his past, is finally living his dream. He isn’t performing, isn’t pretending, isn’t being paid to give pieces of himself away. He’s free here, free with me, with a body he loves as much as I love his.
And every time we connect, he reclaims a piece of his soul. I’m on a quest to help him find all the pieces.
And now, finally, I know—this is what forever looks like.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Griffin
The fire crackles low in the stove, throwing a soft amber glow across the cabin. I sit back on my heels, watching her move around my kitchen like she belongs here. Like she’s always belonged here.
She set out the wine and cheese earlier, but now she’s got a pot bubbling on the stove, steam rising as she stirs a simple pasta with sauce. I told her to sit and rest, but she was insistent—said she needed to take care of me. Even bruised and sore, she won’t stop giving. Nothing fancy, but God, the smell of it makes my chest ache. Home. She’s here. She’sreallyhere.
And for the first time in… hell, more than a year, I can breathe. Not just because she’s back, but because of everything that came before.
The weight that’s been crushing me for so long I almost forgot how it felt to breathe deep. Since the first night I accepted cash for my body, convincing myself that was all I was worth. Since the endless string of women who wanted nothing but what I could give, leaving me emptier every time. Since I first met Reese and knew—knew—she could never be mine, not with theway things were. Since I loved her, and then lost her, wondering if I’d ever see her again.
And then the call about my dad—arriving at that sterile hospital room two minutes too late, listening to Pearl beg him to wake up, though we both knew he never would. Watching her break while I stayed dry-eyed, because if I gave grief an inch, it would have finished me.
All of that—every moment of agony—led me here. To this fire, this cabin, this woman who has no idea how much she’s saved me the minute she walked back into my life.
A gift I’ll spend the rest of my life returning.
She brings over two bowls and sets them on the low coffee table in front of the couch. We both sit cross-legged, knees brushing. She shifts, wincing a little, favoring the bad knee, and my hand is there before I even think about it.
“Are you okay, baby? Do you need anything?”
Her eyes soften as she looks at me, moose-print pajama pants pooling around her legs. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”
And just like that, the hollowness inside me fills.
“You spoke to Piper?”
Reese nods, sprinkling Parmesan onto her plate. “I did. Told her we’d come up to the main house first thing in the morning.”
“She was worried sick about you. We both were.”
Seems my girl doesn’t want to linger on her return to New York. Can’t say I blame her.
“I’m here now. That’s what counts.” Reese twirls pasta around her fork, then gives me a look over the rim of her bowl—half challenge, half tease, wholly determined to change the subject. “You saw me eat lo mein, so you already know how I am with noodles. You’ve been warned.”
