“Did you forget who I am in the past five minutes? I could bench-press you in my sleep. You’re fucking perfect.”

To my disappointment, my words haven’t done shit. My lungs pinch at the shame keeping her lips from tipping into my favourite smile. Those men in her past have done so much damage to how she sees herself in intimate situations, and I battle off a blistering rage.

I look over her shoulder just in time to turn into my bedroom, and a beat later, I’m setting her on the edge of my bed and turning the bedside lamp on. The soft light filters through the room, illuminating Braxton and her stiff body. I open the nightstand drawer and pull out a picture frame.

Two steps and I’m in front of her, dropping to my haunches and letting the frame hang between my legs. I look at her and hope that she can see just how happy I am to have her here, in my bed. In my goddamn life.

She meets my gaze head-on, and a flare of pride fills me.

“Do you remember the photo I kept of you in my nightstand? The one of you riding that massive black horse named Kit-Kat?”

Her cheeks flush. “I do.”

I swallow a sudden ball of nerves before setting the picture frame on her thighs, face up. “The first time I showed you this, it was because you asked me if I thought you were pretty, and I remember being so stupefied at the question because I thought it was obvious.”

“You remember that?”

Her bottom lip wobbles as she traces the edge of the frame with a trembling finger. I set my hands on her knees and slip my thumb back and forth over her jeans.

“I remember everything,” I admit, pressing my lips to her knee before pulling back. “You have never been just pretty to me. Not when I was a boy, not when I was a zit-faced teenager, and definitely not now that I’m a man. All I want is for you to feel confident with me. No matter when or where, I want you to know that I believe everything about you was custom-made just for me and that I love every single inch of your beautiful body.”

There’s a crack in my voice when I finish and carefully pick the frame back up and set it to the side.

“I have loved you at a hundred pounds, and I would love you at a thousand. Let me show you how much I love you right now.”

Surprise and a bit of disbelief flash across her face before being replaced with a look that shakes the ground beneath me.

Suddenly, she’s reaching for me and taking my face in her hands. Pressing my bottom lip with her thumb, she leans in and whispers, “I have never stopped loving you. Not once. I don’t think I know how.”

The world shifts. All of my broken pieces heal, and my jagged edges smooth out. Every hollow part of me fills with something warm and reassuring. A sense of home hits me like a brick to the balls. A feeling of rightness.

I push to my feet, and with a firm grip around her thighs, I lift Braxton and toss her up the bed. Her giggle floats around the room, sinking into the walls and making the big, cold penthouse feel warm and homey.

“I’m going to devour you, baby girl.” I reach behind my head and pull my shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room before lowering my hands to the band around my hips.

“Is that a threat or a promise?” she taunts, pushing up on her elbows to watch.

But then suddenly, her entire demeanour changes to one of pure shock. I would have missed what caused her to look so devastatingly surprised had her eyes not been locked on the tattoo on my chest, the one she’s never seen before, and I feel my nerves skyrocket.

Her lips part, throat bobbing heavily. “Is that . . .?”

I brush my thumb over the ink-drawn heart and the B + M that fill the centre. It sits directly between my pecs, over the organ that beats only for her.

“Yeah. The heart we engraved in the trunk of the tree beneath our tree house when we were fourteen.”

“When did you get that tattooed?” she whispers.

I swallow. “My eighteenth birthday.”

“Maddox . . .” Vulnerability tugs at her features. I ache to make it go away.

“I’ve never once regretted it. Not after you left, and definitely not now that you’re back. Whether we found each other again or not, you were always going to be with me. Right here.” I stroke the tattoo a final time before dropping my hand.

“Maddox.” It’s a soft, beautiful sound.

“Yeah, baby?”

“It’s beautiful. I love it. And you. God, do I ever love you,” she sighs.