Page 22

Cade has fallen asleep beneath me, but my phone won't stop vibrating. It's Mina.

Everything okay in there?

Hey, just checking in.

I smile, loving how much my friends care for me. I love that they're always looking out for me.

Yes, everything is okay. You can go to sleep now lol sorry.

Chloe writes back right away. Is Cade the real deal? Everything was so tense and then you guys worked through it. Sounds serious.

I smile, my mind trying to find the right words. He is. I think we're pretty serious.

The texts that zip through from both Mina and Chloe are pure happiness, expressing how happy they are for me, how they think I deserve happiness. I thank them and the feeling settles down in my bones.

Sunlight filters through my half-closed curtains, painting warm stripes across the rumpled sheets. I wake slowly, consciousness creeping in at the edges, bringing with it awareness of the solid warmth surrounding me. Cade's arm drapes heavily across my waist, his breath steady against my hair, our bodies curved together like nesting spoons. The events of last night filter back in fragments — Byron's apartment, the fight, the blood, the confessions.

I'm not sorry for being in love with you, Saylor.

His words echo in my mind, clear and undeniable in the morning light. Not a dream. Not a misunderstanding. A declaration that changes everything.

Something hot and tight expands in my chest, pressing against my lungs until breathing becomes difficult. Tears gather, blurring my vision as the emotion crests and breaks within me like a wave against the shore. I try to swallow them back, to contain this overwhelming tide, but a small, choked sound escapes despite my efforts.

How can this be real? How can Cade Connolly — arrogant, infuriating, beautiful Cade — love me? The same man I spent many months despising, whose every word used to set my teeth on edge, whose confident smirk made me want to scream in frustration. Now his arms around me feel like sanctuary, his heartbeat against my back the most comforting rhythm I've ever known.

Looking back, I can see how his actions last night make a terrible kind of sense — the fury on his face when he saw me at Byron's, the deliberate provocation, the willingness to take punch after punch without fighting back. Not the tantrum of an entitled boy who didn't get his way, but the desperate actions of a man watching something precious slip through his fingers.

The tears flow freely now, silent tracks warming my cheeks as I struggle to reconcile this new reality. All my life, I've chosen the wrong men — men who put me last, who saw me as an accessory rather than a partner, who never fully showed up. I convinced myself that was all I deserved, all I could expect. Built walls of cynicism and sharp retorts to protect a heart that expected disappointment.

Yet somehow, the man I most despised broke through those defenses, saw the vulnerability beneath the armor, and chose to love me anyway, flaws, mistakes, and all. The revelation is too much, too overwhelming to contain. My body shakes with silent sobs, tears soaking into the pillow beneath my cheek.

Cade shifts behind me, his arm tightening around my waist. Instead of reaching for his phone as Byron always did upon waking, he nuzzles closer, pressing his lips to the nape of my neck in a gesture so tender it only makes me cry harder.

His body suddenly tenses, awareness clearly hitting him all at once. He rises onto one elbow, leaning over to see my face. The movement tugs at injuries from last night, a small wince crossing his features before concern overtakes it.

"Saylor?" His voice is rough with sleep but sharp with worry. "What's wrong, baby? Are you okay?"

I try to answer, but a fresh wave of tears renders me speechless. Instead, I turn in his arms, burying my face against his chest. His arms encircle me immediately, strong and secure, one hand stroking my hair with exquisite gentleness.

"Hey, hey," he murmurs, confusion evident in his tone. "What's happening? Talk to me."

A laugh bubbles through my tears, the sound watery and strange. I pull back just enough to see his face — the bruises darkened overnight, his split lip more pronounced, his left eye swollen. Yet his expression is soft, open, vulnerable in a way I've never seen before.

"I'm sorry," I manage, trying to get myself under control. "I'm just…overwhelmed."

His thumb catches a tear on my cheek, wiping it away with careful precision. "Good overwhelmed or bad overwhelmed?"

"Good. So good it hurts." The words pour out now, unstoppable. "I never thought I'd have this. Never thought I'd feel like this. And with you of all people — the guy I convinced myself I hated. But you're not who I thought you were. Or maybe you are, but there's so much more, and I just—"

He silences my rambling with the gentlest of kisses, mindful of both our injured lips. The contact sends electricity coursing through me, awakening every nerve ending despite its tenderness.

He pulls back suddenly, eyes wide with alarm. "Your lip. I forgot. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"

I touch my lip, feeling the tenderness where Byron's elbow connected last night. The pain is there, but distant.

"I'm okay," I assure him, wiping away the remaining tears with the back of my hand. "More than okay. I'm falling in love with you too, Cade."

The words hang between us, simple and profound. His eyes search mine, looking for any hesitation, any doubt. Finding none, his expression transforms — a slow-blooming smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, softens the hard lines of his jaw, makes him impossibly more beautiful despite the bruises marking his skin.

"Say that again," he whispers, his hand coming up to cradle my cheek.

Heat rises to my face under his intense gaze. "I'm falling in love with you."

"Show me," he says, the words both a request and a challenge. "Kiss me."

I rise to my knees, shifting to straddle his lap. His hands settle naturally at my waist, steadying me as I lean forward. Our eyes lock, a silent conversation passing between us — acknowledgment of what we've lost, what we've found, what we're building from here on.

The first kiss is careful, mindful of our injuries. The second, bolder. By the third, caution gives way to hunger, to the intoxicating knowledge that this isn't just desire — it's something deeper, richer, more terrifying and wonderful than anything I've experienced before.

His hands slide beneath my shirt, warm against my skin as they trace a path up my sides. I mirror his movements, fingers exploring the planes of his chest, the definition of his shoulders, each touch a wordless confession. When he winces slightly as I graze his ribs, I pull back, concern overtaking desire.

"Are you okay?"

He nods, capturing my hands and bringing them to his lips. "Never better."

I don't quite believe him — the bruises on his torso must be painful — but the heat in his gaze silences my objections. Instead, I press gentle kisses to his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, instinctively avoiding the areas marked by yesterday's violence.

"Saylor," he whispers, my name a prayer on his lips as my kisses travel lower, across his chest, down the lean muscles of his abdomen.

I want to worship him, to erase the memory of Byron's fists with the touch of my lips, to communicate without words everything I'm still learning to say aloud.

Without much effort, his cock springs out of his boxers. He throws his head back, panting when I wrap my hand around it. His morning wood deserves a little taste test, so I run my tongue from the bottom and lick all the way to his tip.

"Saylor," he whispers.

I don't want to stop, even with the cut on my lip starting to split. I take him as deep as I can. His hands pull my hair out of my face, watching as I slide my mouth around him.

"Baby," he moans. "Fuck, Say. That’s so fucking good."

I take him to the back of my throat again, and his head falls onto the pillow.

"I need you," he murmurs. "Saylor."

I look up at him, pulling my mouth away. "You need what?"

He grabs me in one swift motion. I fall onto my back, giggling. He pulls off my pajama shorts and throws them on the ground.

"I love you, Saylor," he says, staring at me.

I sit up to pull off my shirt, wanting him to be turned on at the sight of me.

"I love you, too, Cade." I kiss him sweetly, gently on his lips.

I lean back so that he can take in the full view of my naked body. When he tries to kiss me again, I put my finger to his lips. "Ah, ah," I tease.

He waits patiently for a second.

Then I sit up to my knees, twirling my hair over my shoulder, hoping I whip him in the face with my ends. Then I bend over while looking over my shoulder at him.

His eyes rake over my body, making me ten times wetter. I rest on my forearms, sticking my ass in front of him. His dick points straight at me.

"Saylor," he moans, rubbing my back, gripping my waist. He squeezes my ass cheeks, eyeing my pussy.

I can't explain the feeling in my chest, but the way he makes me feel is just––

Oh.

He licks my pussy and all the way up my ass crack. It feels so fucking good that I let it happen. He grabs my ass again, this time aiming his dick for me.

He pushes to enter, my body tensing from the feel of his skin on mine. I glance back, reveling that he's enjoying his view. He pumps a few times until he's completely inside of me.

"Baby," he moans softly. "We're official now, aren't we?"

My pussy aches when he stops moving to lean down. He moves my hair back over my shoulders and says, "If you want to be my girlfriend, Saylor, I will make love to you however you'd like."

I moan, suddenly realizing that he's pressing himself into me as far as he can. He's really fucking deep, and it feels so good.

He grabs my neck softly, reaching for my chin. I move my hips against him.

"Tell me that you're mine," he groans as I gently bite his thumb. "And I'll give you what you want."

"I'm yours, Cade. Now show me how much you love me."

He releases his hold and pulls back, glancing down at our connection. He catches me watching him. "You're getting wetter, baby."

He holds my waist as he slowly starts to move. "Oh, fucking hell, Saylor. You love being my girlfriend, don't you? Don't worry, I'll always make sure you're taken care of."

His fingers find my clit as he thrusts in and out of me.

Oh, fuck!

He doesn't stop, just keeps his rhythm. And the consistency is what builds me up into an explosive orgasmic release. My face plunges into the pillow to muffle my song. The sound of him saying he's coming sends my vagina into another frenzy. He fills me with his semen and immediately grabs the towel to catch it before it leaks all over my bed.

I keep my ass in the air as he cleans me.

"That was––" he whispers.

"Ask me again," I mutter, unable to help my romantic side. Is being asked to his girlfriend officially while having sex romantic? I don't think so.

"Cade."

He throws the towel to the side and brings my face to his, kissing me. "Baby?"

I search his eyes, trying to hide my blush but failing.

He says, "I want you in every way possible, Saylor. Will you be my girlfriend?"

I nod, smiling, as he kisses me. "I. Love. You."

Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.

"Thank you," he says, searching my eyes. "I love you, too."