Page 37

It’s dark, and I am absolutely drowning in the scent of Emin Argent.

Usually, this is a nightmare. But not this time. This time, his scent is more comforting to me than ever. I know how this is going to go, and it’s not the way it did all those years ago. I feel my intuition inside me, that guiding force that I’m finally able to give a name.

I turn my head side to side, taking in the brush of the fabric against my face, the smooth scrape of the cotton. I close my eyes, open them, let myself exist in the moment. Remember what it was like to be the teenager hiding in this closet. Think about just how far I’ve come since that moment.

There’s no fear. Only a faint gratitude for everything I’ve gone through, and how strong it has made me.

Only a second later, the door opens, letting in the low light of the moon through the window. Emin stands in front of me—no longer a teenager, but his full, adult self.

So handsome, that red-gold hair loose and wavy on his head. He smiles at me, and even in the dark I can make out the glint of his eyes, that honey golden color I could pick out of a line-up. Sarina got so much from him—so much strawberry and light, glittering rose gold.

Holding one hand, he reaches out to me. I grasp his hand, and he pulls me to my feet.

“Come on,” he whispers, tugging me up and into him, so our chests press together. Holding my gaze, he says, “I’m not hiding you, Veva. Not any more.”

His father is in the doorway, and he smiles at me. Kellen Argent, making small talk with me, thanking me for coming over. Kira and I laugh together, and for a moment, I feel the pang of what it could have been like—Kira and I being there for one another in high school.

Instead we went through everything alone.

But it’s okay, because I have Sarina, and Kira has her twins.

And, given the choice to go back and change, I’m sure neither of us would have done a thing differently.

I love Sarina for the strong, independent girl she is, and I love that I know I’m capable of taking care of her and myself, if I ever need to.

Dream Emin glances at me, raising an eyebrow, clearly reading my thoughts and saying, You will never need to again, Veva.

We go to the dining room, eat dinner with his sister and his dad. The food is fantastic, my mind bringing Kira’s current cooking talents into this dream. After, we walk through the door together, hand in hand.

Like always, in this dream, it’s a sweet summer night, the fresh scent of the lilacs floating in the air around us as we walk. We move through town, in and out of street lights, watching as the buildings fall away and the landscape opens up for us.

The mesas rise in the distance, towering giants bathed in the light of the moon.

Once we’re far enough out of town, Emin grabs my hand, spins me around, and presses me against the small trunk of a tree. His lips crash into mine, his hands rising up to my hips, his breath hot and fast.

“I love you,” he whispers, dragging his nose up the line of my jaw.

I pull back, smile at him, twine our fingers together. “I know.”

“Veva,” his voice comes again, but this time, it comes from above, dissolving the night around me and delivering me to our bed. I smile, feeling Emin curled all around me, his hand gripping at my waist tightly.

“Emin,” I murmur back, and he scoots in closer. I can feel him hard against me, the way he pulls my hips back into his, the way he breathes at the nape of my neck.

Sarina has been home for two days. The first night, we all slept together in the living room, but she announced tonight that she couldn’t deal with Emin’s snoring, and wanted to sleep in the guest room. Alone.

“Are you dreaming about me?” he asks, his voice low, his breath fanning out over the back of my neck. “You’re clearly dreaming about someone—it had better be me.”

“I’m always dreaming about you.”

He lets out a low sigh and buries his face in my neck, breathing in my scent. I can feel him now, growing harder and harder against me as I move my hips, grinding back into him.

Words and thoughts fall away as we move together, him pulling at my pajama shorts and panties, me arching my back into him, grabbing a fistful of his hair and drawing him in closer. He grabs my thigh, lifting my leg and propping it up on his hip, then slides the length of his cock against me.

I’m wet for him, and he glides through my folds, the head of his cock brushing against my clit. When I let out a low sound, he reaches around, covering my mouth with his hand.

I know that it’s just to muffle me, to keep from waking Sarina across the hall, but it sends a shock of lust through me, a surprise reaction to the move. From anyone else, I’d recoil. But I trust Emin with my life. I trust him with my body, with my family, with my future.

And with his hand over my mouth, I feel the dangerous thrill of walking the line with someone you love.

I arch into him, moaning again and biting my teeth gently into the soft part of his palm, and he growls in response, his other hand flying to my hip, gripping it and pulling it back sharply so my ass hits his lap.

Then, sliding his hand down so it’s wrapped around my throat ever so lightly, he hitches, finds my entrance, and slides inside me.

I take him so much easier than the first time—that first time of having him again, adjusting to that length. Now, he’s in after two thrusts, filling me completely, the pressure of it so intense and satisfying that I feel it in my chest, behind my throat, on the backs of my eyelids.

Emin and me, together. His body against mine. Skin on skin.

“ Fuck , Veva,” he hisses through his teeth, drawing out and pushing into me again. I keep one hand wound into the curls at the back of his head, but slide the other down my body, touching myself in time to his thrusts, the pleasure of it almost too much.

He growls when he realizes what I’m doing, his pace increasing, his cock starting to grow inside me. I feel the knot forming, except this time—maybe due to the angle, or our position—it hits my g-spot.

When I cry out, he brings his hand back to my mouth, brushing my hair away from my face gently and covering my lips, holding me as my body writhes against him.

His grunts are soft and hot against my ear, and I give into the pleasure, my fingers going still as the g-spot orgasm rocks through my body.

There’s nothing but the sound of us breathing and moving, then, when he lowers his hand to my throat again, I pull my hair to the side with shaking fingers, body still in the aftershocks of my orgasm, and tip my head to the side.

“Veva?”

“Do it,” I rasp, wanting nothing more than to feel this man’s mark on my body. To know that I am, officially, his. That’s he’s mine, that our scents are coming together. We’ll belong to one another, a family.

“Are you sure?”

“Emin.” I let out a noise that’s caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob, the cool air on my neck sending shivers down my back that compound with the shaking of my body. “Do it. Now.”

I don’t have to tell him twice—he lowers his head, sinking his teeth into my skin.

At first, it hurts—stinging like the first time I had him inside me, that gentle tearing, too much stretching at once—but then, it eases into a low, warm pressure, like pressing a hot rag against your skin and relaxing into it.

Emin gives his final thrust as I come down from the high, my body loose, wrung-out, completely spent. It’s the first time since coming together again that I’ve only had a single orgasm, but that orgasm is still ricocheting through my body, bolstered by the pleasure of the marking bite.

“Come here,” Emin commands, taking me by my hips and pulling me so I’m straddling him.

Whimpering, I rock my hips against his, still feeling the after-effects of the orgasm inside me, like it’s afraid to let me go.

Tipping his head back, Emin puts a hand on the back of my neck and brings me down. “Mark me, Veva.”

And so I do, biting into his neck, savoring the feeling, feeling the way our bodies are already changing. My skin lights with new sensation, each nerve ending more receptive to him, and him alone.

When it’s finished, Emin stands from the bed, picks me up, and carries me into the bathroom. He turns on the water, steps into the shower still with me wrapped around him.

He soaps us, rinses us, then when we step out, he cleans my wound. I tend to his, feeling the weight of the tradition. Mark one another, then care for the wounds.

Once we’re scrubbed and tended to, Emin picks me back up again—apparently believing I can’t walk for myself—and carries me to the bed.

The hands that were rough and needy just an hour ago are gentle, soothing. He tucks me under the blankets, situates his body beside mine, pulls me onto his chest and holds me there.

“I love you,” I murmur, my lips against his bare chest.

He squeezes me. “I love you, too, Veva.”

I start to drift off, but I can tell that he’s still awake.

“Emin?” I ask, clearing my throat, trying to keep my eyes open. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he says, leaning over and pressing a kiss to my forehead.

A moment later, maybe when he thinks I’ve fallen asleep, he whispers, “I never thought I would be this content.”

Sleep washes over me, but not before I smile into his chest, realizing that after everything, we made it through to the happy ending.