Page 87 of Judgment Day

“Let go for me, dove. Show me how I make you come.”

That was it. That was the permission my body had been seeking since they’d left me alone before the wedding. I pushed down on him, grinding my clit against his body.

Lincoln’s hand was in my hair again. “Do it, Songbird.”

Everything was hazy, blurred and out of focus. Sparks of pleasure dotted my vision. My body wound tighter and tighter until I finally broke into a puddle of liquid warmth.

“Fuck yes. Just like that,” Grey growled, and then he melted with me.

I fell forward onto his chest, kissing his neck while I caught my breath and watched as Lincoln tucked himself back into his pants. I smiled against Grey’s skin, realizing that this room was once Winston’s study. This was wherewebegan.

I’d always belonged to Lincoln Huntington—from the day of my mother’s funeral when I’d asked him to run with me and he’d said yes. My spark needed his fire. He made me feel free, wanted, loved.

But I also belonged to Grey Van Doren—from the moment he’d pulled me out of the bathtub and made me promise not to ever try to leave him again. My chaos needed his peace. He made me feel safe, protected, cherished.

The waves traveled their whole lives searching for the shore, believing that was where it ended for them—that perfect collision of water and sand. They never realized that the whole time they’d been guided by the moon.

Linc was the wave, unpredictable and searching. I was the shore, rough rocks and soft sand. And Grey was our moon, thriving in the darkness, making sure we didn’t lose our way.

We were three parts, each unique, all necessary.

Alone, we were broken.

Together, we were whole.

EPILOGUE

Grey

One year later…

A sheen of sweat coated Lincoln’s bare chest and back. His feral grunts floated through the air, competing with the music in the background. I leaned against the doorframe of my home gym and watched as he sparred with Ciaran.

Lincoln showed my son how to be a fighter.

I showed him how to be a man people respected and feared.

Lyric showed him how to be human.

It was messy, and I had no idea if Ciaran understood it fully. He knew Lyric was my wife. He knew Lincoln was my friend. We didn’t hide what we were, but we didn’t advertise it, either. He was a thirteen-year-old kid. I’d explain it to him when he was ready.

We weren’t perfect, but we werereal.

“Keep your hands up. That’s it. Make sure you breathe,” Lincoln barked out instructions as Ciaran lunged forward with his fists, connecting a jab with Lincoln’s jaw.

“Maybe we should spar next. I’ve been dying to kick your ass,” I told Lincoln.

He flipped me off just as Ciaran landed another punch.

“Fuck,” Lincoln said, pulling his gloves off and stepping away from Ciaran. “I think we’re good for today.” He bent over and grabbed a bottle of water from the floor. “Kid’s fucking ruthless. I wasn’t even looking.” He twisted the cap and took a long pull.

That’s my fucking boy.

Ciaran picked the gloves up, then walked over to wipe them down and put them away just as Lyric walked up behind me.

“That’s not exactly the kind of music a thirteen-year old boy should be listening to,” she said, even though it was her dad’s latest album.

Lincoln took another drink of his water, finishing it off as he approached the doorway. He turned the volume up with his phone before he spoke. “He lives with his stepmom and her two husbands, and you’re worried about his music?”

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