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“Yes, what?” His fingers still, and all I need is more.

“Yes, I-I’ll be your wife. Just keep going. Please keep going.”

“That’s it, little ruin. Your husband is going to keep you stuffed full every minute of the day—you’re going to take his cock, his fingers, his tongue, his cum, and you’re gonna beg him for more. Aren’t you, wife?”

“Yes.Fuck, yes.”

“That’s it. Squeeze that perfect cunt around my hand just like that. Such a good fucking girl.”

The minute the words leave his mouth, I’m coming. “Grey!” I scream, my moans filling the room as I ride his hand hard andfast. I love having him inside me. I love beinghis. I even love having his ring on my finger, claiming me as his partner forever. I love him so much my heart aches.

Grey’s fingers are still inside me when the door bursts open. We jerk away from each other guilty, like two teenagers caught having sex behind the bleachers at school.

“Angel!” Toby calls in excitement as he rushes toward me. “I thought it sounded like you were awake. I heard you down the hall.”

Mierda, the kid heard me having an orgasm that was so loud it traveled down the hall? I’m going to have to work on reigning myself in. Or maybe getting our bedroom soundproofed.

“Hey, Toby,” I gasp, still trying to control my overactive heart and lungs. “I’ve missed you, little chef.” I pull him into a hug against my good side, and he melts right into me.

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” he half-sobs against my chest. His small fingers trail up and down my arms, like he’s reaffirming that I’m real and safe and not going anywhere.

The day after I met Tobias, Grey told me he noticed I wasn’t triggered by his touch. And it’s true. I’ve never even considered pulling away from Toby, no matter how soft his touch is. Something about him disarms that side of my brain that tells me to panic when I feel things that remind me of my past. It’s given me hope that maybe I’m not broken beyond repair—maybe there’s a chance for healing finally.

I’ve been brave enough to try it with Grey, too. I’ll let him touch me for a few seconds, lightly stroking his fingers down my arms or across my cheeks. I breathe myself through it, and each time it gets a little bit easier. Maybe one day he’ll be able to touch me without being afraid to break me. And until then, we’ll just enjoy how skilled he is at breaking me for fun.

“So what did she say?” Toby asks excitedly. Grey finishesdrying his hands and throws the paper towel in the bin by the sink.

“Wait,” I look between the two of them, “you knew about this too, little traitor?” I hold up the large ring on my finger as evidence.

“Of course,” Tobias admits proudly. “I helped pick the ring. Do you like it?”

“I love it. You did a very good job.” I glare up at Grey for involving a nine-year-old in his entrapment scheme.

“And did he tell you about Paris? And the restaurant?”

Clearly Grey keepsTobybetter informed than he doesme. “He did,” I tell him, my own excitement growing as I feel Toby’s about to explode.

“And? Are we going to Paris?” He looks up at me with wide, blue eyes that I could never, ever say no to.

Tobias clearly misses the country he grew up in, and I don’t blame him. There’s something special about Paris—the restaurants, the culture, the wine, the pastries. Everything seemed brighter and fresher there. The weekend that Grey and I spent in Paris was one of the happiest moments of my life. And I’d love for us to make Paris our home.

“We are,” I announce happily. “Just as soon as they let me out of this hospital bed.”

“Will you let me help with the restaurant? Can I help you cook?” Toby asks, his tone wary like he’s afraid I might turn him down. But I’m not Aurélie. I would never keep a kid from the kitchen.

“Of course you can, little chef. I don’t think I could manage it without you.”

He grins at me. “Really?”

I smile down at him, my chest so full of happiness it hurts. “Really.”

Grey walks over and wraps his large arms around both of us,squeezing until Toby and I are squealing and giggling. “So what are we going to call this restaurant of yours? It’s your first one, so you better make it something good,” Grey teases.

“Hmm,” I hum, thinking for a moment. “To Die Forhas a nice ring to it.”

“Christ, you have the darkest sense of humor,” Grey sighs with an indulgent smile. “But To Die For it is.”

“It’s going to be the best restaurant in all of Paris,” Toby declares with the utmost certainty.