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“But you didn’t,” I said. “You listened to me.”

He exhaled slowly. “Only because I knew he’d suffer longer this way.”

I smiled faintly and closed my eyes, letting the sound of his breathing wrap around me like the most relaxing lullaby.

He shifted, easing me onto my back, moving over me slowly, his body warm and solid, his weight held carefully as he hovered above me. His hand cupped my cheek, thumb stroking beneath my eye.

“I want you to know something,” he said softly. “You’re not just my future wife. You’re not just mine.”

His voice deepened.

“You’re the other half of my soul. Your place isn’t just beneath me here, it’s beside me, as my partner and as my queen.”

He kissed me then like every inch of me was hallowed ground, something he had to relearn with his mouth.

He started with my lips, soft and patient, tasting the truth between us. Then lower, the curve of my jaw, the hollow of my throat, the pulse point that fluttered beneath his tongue.

He held himself up with one hand and then the other drifted over my hip, up my side, fingertips grazing the gauze at my wrists with a touch so careful it almost undid me.

Then he went lower.

His mouth moved like a vow—over my collarbone, the swell of my breasts, the soft skin beneath. He kissed every place the ropes had touched, every place I still ached, like he could erase the memory of my pain and replace it with absolute devotion.

By the time his lips reached the inside of my thighs, I was trembling.

Not from fear or shame, but with fervent arousal.

He held me open with warm hands and kissed the inside of my thighs, before he moved to kiss my clit directly—each passionate stroke of his tongue a reminder that I was still here, still whole, still his. My breath caught, my body arched, and his mouth was relentless.

He worshipped me like I was his religion, an altar he’d been denied for too long.

I whispered his name.

He answered with another kiss directly over top of my clit. With a flick of his tongue, I arched clean off the bed, moaning and squirming and coming undone in the gentlest, most sensualway I could have ever imagined. His mouth closed over my most sensitive place, suckling and kissing me, sending my head reeling straight up into the clouds.

He took his time. He teased and taunted me with slow licks, varying the pressure until I was moaning and begging for him to let me come.

But he didn’t let me, not right away.

His tongue circled over my clit, dancing over the sensitive bundle of nerves and just when I thought I could take no more, he plunged two fingers inside of me and curled them just so, forcing me right over the edge into a deep pool of ecstasy I didn’t know if I would ever be able to surface from.

I came hard, but it wasn’t sharp or fast—it was slow and incredibly deep. A letting go I didn’t know I was holding in my bones. The type of climax I would remember for the rest of my life. It rolled through my body like a tsunami, powerful and irresistible, wave after wave of bliss washing over me.

When it was over, I gulped down a breath of air, then another and another, just trying to put my shattered pieces back together once again.

He didn’t move right away. Just stayed there, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs, my hips, my stomach, like he was telling each part of me that I was safe.

That I was loved.

When he finally pulled me into his arms again, I sank into him with a new joy in my heart. He wrapped the blankets around us, tucked me against his chest like I was something rare and valuable, worth protecting long after the danger had passed.

In that peaceful darkness, with the city blinking far below us and his breath soft against my hair, he whispered the words I needed to hear.

“I love you, baby girl.”

Once. Then again. And again. Over and over until I pressed my lips to his and kissed him before saying, “I love you too, Daddy.”

CHAPTER 41