Page 124 of The Cuddle Clause
“I think we should all move into a giant commune,” he announced to no one in particular. “Sleep in a pile. Eat only things we grow. Never wear pants again.”
Maggie leaned toward me, her voice low. “Is he serious? I never can tell.”
Epilogue
Maggie
The apartment was quietly comfortable.Nothing was expected, no one was trying to fill the silence. Roman had made tea. I hadn’t even asked. He just handed me the mug like he knew I’d been craving something warm and grounding.
We were on the couch, legs tangled together, my head on his chest. His heartbeat was solid and steady beneath my ear.
His fingers drifted along the curve of my spine, slow and absentminded. I could tell he was holding his breath a little. Like he was still afraid to exhale.
I wasn’t. Not tonight.
I tilted my head to look up at him. “Roman?”
He looked down immediately. His brows were knit, like he thought I was about to break something between us. But I was done breaking. I was done hiding.
“I’ve been thinking…” I paused. The words swelled behind my teeth. “I want to talk about the bond.”
Roman froze. His hand went still against my back. He didn’t say anything.
I pushed forward anyway. “I want it. It’s not fake for me anymore. It hasn’t been for a while. And maybe I was scared. Maybe I didn’t think I was someone worth choosing, but?—”
He cupped the side of my face so gently it undid me. “Maggie,” he said, and my name in his mouth made everything inside me still.
His thumb traced the line of my cheekbone. “You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”
There was so much relief in his voice, as if he’d been holding something so heavy for so long and it had just lifted.
“I wanted to ask you, so many times. I thought about it every day. Every time you walked into a room. But I didn’t want to pressure you. You’ve already been through enough. I wanted it to be your choice.”
“It is,” I said softly. “I want this. I want you, Roman.”
Something shifted then. Not between us—within us. We weren’t broken people stumbling into each other anymore. We weren’t just roommates or fake partners. We were choosing this. Choosing each other.
He kissed me.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t needy.
It was reverent.
His lips moved against mine like he’d been waiting his whole life for this exact moment, and now that it was here, he wasn’t going to waste a single second. My hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer as I straddled his lap. He gripped my waist, firm and shaking just a little, like he still couldn’t believe I was here.
“Take me to bed,” I whispered against his mouth.
He didn’t speak as he picked me up and carried me down the hallway. The second we were in his room, everything slowed down. He set me on the bed gently and knelt in front of me, like I was something sacred.
I pulled my shirt off first. He watched.
Then I helped him out of his shirt and explored the familiar, beautiful lines of his chest, his shoulders, the steady rise and fall of someone trying not to lose control.
He kissed me again—harder this time, his tongue sliding against mine like he owned the space. There was no performance here, no pretending for anyone. Just raw need. Just us.
We stripped each other slowly, almost painfully so, like we both wanted to savor every inch. My fingers skimmed the ridges of his abs as I pushed his shirt over his head. His hands swept down my sides, thumbs brushing the underside of my breasts before sliding under my top and tugging it away.
“Perfect,” he murmured, eyes dragging over me. “Every damn part of you. You know that?”
