Page 17

M y body is deliciously sore as I blink myself awake.

Sun streams in from the windows and the scents of coffee and fresh pastries fill the air. I hear the shower running. And I suck in a deep, contented breath, not realizing the water has stopped.

I grin to myself. I should feel panic, but I don’t.

I just feel—good.

The mattress dips and I turn to find Sammy sitting quietly beside me. His beautiful mouth opens, and he reaches for me while he says, “Good morning, Pixie.”

Then, he leans down and kisses me and just like that my heart stutters and I swoon.

I'm not gonna lie. Being in his arms is like heaven.

“Good morning,” I reply once he lifts his head.

He isn’t smiling, but there’s something different about the way he is looking at me.

I can’t put a name to it yet, and it annoys me. But I feel the shift in our relationship. And I wonder how long it will last.

“Coffee? I had them send up a continental breakfast.”

“Yeah. That would be great. I just have to use the bathroom first,” I whisper and bite my bottom lip.

I wait for him to turn his head to give me some privacy. But he doesn’t.

His hazel eyes glitter mischievously, and I know he isn’t going to look away. So, I force myself to remain calm as I slide from the bed and walk butt ass naked to the bathroom.

Okay—so I sort of run.

And he chuckles, obviously amused by my shenanigans.

It’s silly, I know.

The man has seen, touched, kissed, and basically fucked every inch of my body. Last night happened.

And with him, of all people.

I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it finally happened.

And God help me— it was perfect.

As thorough and intense an introduction into the world of physical delights as any girl could ever hope for.

Sammy Ramirez, the only man I’ve ever wanted. The only one I ever dreamed about made me his in every way, shape, and form.

That I’ve been secretly in love with him for years is neither here nor there.

It doesn’t change anything.

Our families are close. I’ve known him forever.

But not that close.

I’m not into that Flowers in the Attic type stuff. So no, we didn’t cross that type of line.

Still.

I know this is going to cause rifts.

And I’m nervous.

Because I know what he said, the things he promised— whispered into my skin, groaned into my mouth, gritted out against my ear as he wrecked me —those are the things I’ve always wanted to hear spilling from his perfect lips .

But I also know the truth.

This isn’t forever.

I’m not foolish enough to think a man like him would want a girl like me for keeps.

But I don’t want anyone to give Sammy a hard time.

He’s been beautiful to me.

Took care of me like I knew only he could.

And for that? I am grateful.

But now? Now, I need to start worrying about what happens next.

I shower quickly, washing my hair with the premium hotel toiletries, scrubbing every inch of my sore, well-loved body.

The scent of him still lingers on my skin, deep in my hair, and for some stupid, ridiculous reason, I don’t want to wash it away.

But I do.

Because this? This was a one time thing.

I brush my teeth with the fresh toothbrush wrapped in plastic, my heart a little too heavy, my pulse a little too quick.

And then—I wrap the soft terrycloth robe around my body, tucking it tight.

It closes all the way.

Good.

Because no, they don’t always do that.

I inhale deep, steel myself, and open the door.

I’m ready to face him.

At least, I think I am.

Then, I see him.

Sitting at the table by the window, sipping coffee, broad and impossibly gorgeous in the morning light.

His hair is slightly damp, curling at the ends even though he brushed it away from his chiseled face. God, he is so handsome.

The short beard only highlights how good looking he is. He is bare-chested and his tanned, tattooed skin is on display. Even his forearms are hot as fuck.

Is that normal? For a woman to think a guy’s forearms are sexy?

Well, his are. They flex as he lifts the cup to his lips.

He’s focused on the view outside until he hears me step in.

Then—his eyes find me.

And damn.

His stare is so focused, so intense, I swear I tremble as I walk. My pussy clenches as heat and awareness stir inside me.

If I had any confidence in my sexual prowess, I’d march right over to him and sit myself on his juicy, muscular thighs. But I’m not quite there yet.

I feel nervous. A little shy. Like I don’t know what to do now that we— you know.

I shouldn’t feel this way.

But I do.

I clear my throat. “Hi,” I say, shyly, uncertain.

His gaze softens, but his jaw stays tight.

“Hi,” he says, his voice low, warm, familiar.

Then—he stands.

Pulls out a chair.

I bite my lip, hesitating, watching him.

Such good manners, but all the men in our family have them.

I shouldn’t read anything into it.

I shouldn’t let myself believe this is more than it is.

Only, when he leans down and presses a kiss to my head as I sit, I kinda do.

Because Sammy makes me feel special.

Like when he said his vows in that little chapel.

Or afterwards, when he took me to bed and made our bodies one.

Maybe he really means it when he says this thing between us is real.

But what if he doesn’t?

I don’t know if I’m strong enough to survive it, if this is just another fleeting thing to him.

It’s scary, being vulnerable.

But my parents didn’t raise a coward.

And when I meet Sammy’s mossy, unreadable stare, I make a choice.

I force the words past my lips, even as my heart pounds hard enough to bruise my ribs.

“What’s going on inside that magnificent head of yours?” he murmurs, voice low, warm, coaxing.

I inhale, steadying myself.

“I’m just thinking, I mean, are we really doing this, Sammy?”

His expression hardens, like he already knows where this is going.

I push forward anyway.

“Because if you didn’t mean it, it’s okay. But tell me now?—”

“Hey.”

His voice is firm, almost gruff, but not unkind.

His brows furrow, his strong hand reaching for mine before I can even think about pulling away.

“Don’t even finish that sentence.”

I stare at his serious, set expression, but I have to ask.

I have to know.

“I just want to know before we see everyone today,” I say softly.

His jaw flexes.

“What do you really mean?”

I hesitate. “Well, how do we act? Do we pretend none of this happened? I mean, you know someone is gonna tell all the parents. And if we’re just fucking around?—”

His eyes darken, flashing something close to irritation, but not at me.

“First of all, I’m not fucking around. Second, it would be impossible to pretend this didn’t happen.”

He gestures between us, his tone rough with certainty.

“And third, I wouldn’t want to pretend.”

His hand tightens around mine, his grip strong, steady.

“This is very real, Aella. But if you don’t want it to get back to our parents yet, we’ll make an announcement at dinner and swear everyone to secrecy. They’ll do it. You know they will.”

He’s right.

We’re all so close, bound together by blood, loyalty, and history.

If we ask them to keep this secret, they will.

No questions. No slip-ups.

“Okay,” I whisper, my voice smaller than I want it to be.

But he hears me.

And he reads my hesitation, the way he always does.

Sammy is a protector by nature. A caretaker. A man who handles things, fixes things.

But the way he takes care of me— it’s different.

It’s everything.

And I like it.

I like it too much.

“Good,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking the inside of my wrist, a slow, soothing movement that does nothing to calm me down.

Then—his next words?

They destroy me.

“Because you’re mine now, Pixie.”

His voice dips lower, dark, absolute.

“And I have every intention of taking care of you for the rest of my life.”

I go still.

The world tilts, shifts, realigns itself around those words.

Mine.

Rest of my life.

Sammy Ramirez just said that to me.

I feel breathless.

Turned on.

Completely wrecked.

Did I say all that out loud?

I must have.

Because Sammy hums, a deep, rumbly sound, one that goes straight to my core, melts me from the inside out.

And I swear my body reacts to him like a live wire, my nipples tightening, a distinct, undeniable slickness pooling between my thighs.

“Fuck,” he moans, low and raw, his fingers dragging my chair closer to his.

Before I can process what’s happening, he cups the back of my neck, fingers threading into my damp hair, tilting my face up so I have no choice but to look at him.

His hazel eyes burn into mine, molten and hungry.

“I can’t resist you when you look at me like that,” he whispers, his breath warm against my lips, his body heat swallowing me whole.

I shiver.

“Then don’t,” I breathe.

His chest rises sharply, his control cracking apart.

I see it.

I feel it.

The moment he loses the battle with himself.

Need unfurls inside me, slow and hot and all-consuming, and I swear I tremble like a newborn lamb in his arms.

Then—finally, finally— he lowers his head and claims my mouth.

And Christ.

I am consumed.

Set on fire.

Ripped apart and put back together by this kiss alone.

Sammy is right. I am his. Completely and irrevocably his.

But is he mine?