Page 127 of Delta

"Rush," she whimpers. "I'm—oh god, oh god, I'm coming, Rush. Oh my fucking god I'm coming so hard."

"Now, Bryn. Now say it."

"Come with me, Rush. Come first. Come with me first."

That's all it takes—her wish is my command. I drive into her and let go, pulling her down onto me as I give in to my orgasm. "Bryn!" It's all I can manage, my breath gone, dizziness washing through as my release empties me utterly.

She leans forward, hunching over me with her hips flying, grinding, taking me and taking me and taking me, hands clawed into the back of my head as she comes around me. "I love you, Rush," she whispers as we come together in perfect synchronization. "Oh god, I love you. I love you so fucking much."

She rocks on me until I start to go soft, and then finally sits back on my thighs, brown eyes liquid with pleasure, hot with passion, delirious with love.

Which is when she notices that I'm…well, somewhat less than able to breathe properly.

"Ohmigod, Rush!" She leans over the side of the chair, snags the cannula, and fits it onto me, and then starts the flow. I groan in relief as the cool oxygen rushes into my system.

"Leave it on, next time, Macho Man,” she says, caressing my cheek. She starts to move off me. "I must be crushing you."

I hold her in place. "You're perfect."

"Why didn't you say you couldn't breathe?"

"Felt too good to stop."

"Your lips were blue!"

"Worth it."

She laughs, shakes her head. "You're incorrigible. Next time, the cannula stays on."

"As you wish, my love."

We stay like that for a while, her on my lap in the chair, salt breeze fluttering her hair, my hands trailing over her silky brown skin, her lips pressing kisses to my shoulder, my throat, my cheek, my lips.

At some point, that turns to kissing. Kissing turns to making out. And then I’m hard and she's welcoming me inside her once again, and this time it's slow and soft, and there are no commands, just love made in the soft light of sunrise, her gasps and my growls a song without words.

Later, after we've showered, Cuddy and Kyrie bring Eliza and Ren over, and the kids play in the water.

It feels like a lifetime ago that I was fielding a call from Pugli and heading to Berlin.

Just goes to show you that your life can change in an instant. Take a job you know is wrong, and somehow, you end up here—loved, accepted, understood, seen.

Forgiven.

Changed.

Definitely changed.

A couple of days later, Bryn, Eliza, and I are lounging in the main house with Layla Harris—and I see where Bryn got a lot of her personality from, now—when Layla's phone rings.

"Nicky?" she answers, voice shaky—every call could be the call saying they’ve found them. She listens for a few moments, her expression unreadable. “Okay, got it. Love you too.”

She hangs up, tosses the phone aside, rakes her fingers through her long, curly black hair, so much like Bryn's.

"Mom?" Bryn asks. "What is it? What'd he say?"

She looks at Bryn. "They found a car abandoned in a parking lot at an airport in Belgium. Lear was able to find security footage showing that Killy and Story were alive, together, and in that car as of forty-eight hours ago."

"Belgium?" Bryn asks. "And…Killian and Story are together? I thought Story was in Minnesota, doing her residency at Abbot?”