Page 18

18

T he early morning light filters through the blinds, casting lazy gold stripes across Sterling's sleeping form. Six months in, and I'm still a goner. Totally, hopelessly undone by the simple, devastating way he exists—massive chest rising and falling in deep, steady breaths, the occasional twitch of his ears, the way his hand seeks me out even in sleep like some part of him knows I should always be there.

"Staring again?" Sterling rumbles without opening his eyes, his mouth curving into a sleepy smile that punches straight through my ribs.

"Can't help it," I murmur, dragging my fingers through the thick, silky fur covering his chest. "Six months later and I still wake up half convinced I dreamed you."

Sterling's eyes blink open—molten amber, warm as the sun. "Believe it," he says, tugging me closer with an easy strength that still leaves me breathless. "Though, full disclosure... sometimes I wonder too."

The rhythm of our mornings has settled into something soft and sure—Sterling making coffee while I throw breakfast together, our movements synchronized like some slow, private dance. Us. A domestic life I never even knew how badly I wanted until I had it.

"Expansion meeting's at ten," Sterling reminds me, handing me a mug—his the size of a soup bowl, mine normal-sized but proudly emblazoned with Sterling's Pride across the side.

"The Westside location?" I ask, sliding a plate of eggs and toast across the counter.

He nods, already scrolling through his emails with one hand. "Zoning commission finally approved the request. Dr. Kim's got the equipment budget ready, and you're presenting the operational timeline."

"Which means Helena will pick apart every staffing projection I made," I groan, only half joking.

Sterling reaches across the table and wraps his huge hand around mine, squeezing. "She only tears into the work she respects. You've earned her trust. You've earned everyone's."

The words mean more than they probably should. Maybe because they're true. Maybe because six months ago, I'd been the intern nobody trusted not to screw up a coffee order. And now... I was his Administrative Director. I was his partner in more ways than one.

"Speaking of respect," I say, scrolling through my own messages, "the Chamber of Commerce wants you to speak at next month's leadership conference. Theme is 'Innovative Agricultural Models in Rural Communities.' You've been specifically requested."

Sterling freezes, coffee halfway to his mouth, something like pride and disbelief flickering across his face. "They specified me? Not just someone from the company?"

"You specifically," I confirm, grinning. "And yes, they know you're a minotaur. They even mention your 'unique perspective' as an asset."

It's a small thing, maybe. But it feels enormous. After everything—after Blackwood's blackmail attempts, after months of cautious visibility—it feels like winning something we hadn't dared name out loud.

Sterling's still processing when he glances at the clock and grimaces. "We should get moving. Helena will start passive-aggressively texting in about five minutes."

I stand to clear the plates, but Sterling grabs me by the waist with a low, rumbling growl, yanking me between his massive thighs like he owns me.

"Though," he murmurs, voice dropping into that wreck-me register that makes my spine melt, "we do have thirty minutes before we actually need to leave..."

"Cutting it close," I tease—but I'm already leaning into him, already feeling the fire catch low in my gut.

"I've gotten very efficient," he says, slipping his hands up under my shirt, palms rough and sure, dragging heat across my skin.

Six months has taught us exactly how to break each other apart and still make it to meetings on time. Barely.

I straddle his lap without hesitation, mindful of the chair's reinforced frame, and Sterling kisses me like he plans to keep me here all fucking day. His mouth is heat and filth and hunger, grinding me down slow and filthy against the thick, hot line of his cock.

"Bedroom?" he growls against my mouth.

"No time," I pant, already yanking at his belt with shaking fingers. "Here."

His eyes flash molten gold, and the low, possessive sound he makes vibrates straight through my bones. A second later, we're tearing at each other—clothes shoved out of the way, pants in a puddle on the floor, cocks flushed and leaking between us.

Sterling grabs the lube from the kitchen drawer like we've done a hundred times before, slicking his hand fast and filthy. Before I can move, he flips me—strong hands grabbing my hips, spinning me around so my back presses to his chest.

"Hands on my knees," he orders, voice low and wrecked. "Now."

I brace myself against his legs as he spreads my thighs wide, hauling my ass back against him like he's claiming territory. I feel the blunt, slick head of his cock press against my entrance—hot, heavy, demanding—and then he shoves in with a brutal, perfect stretch that knocks the air right out of my lungs.

"Fuck, baby," Sterling groans, his massive hands locking around my hips, yanking me back hard. "Always so fucking ready for me. So fucking tight."

He starts working me open with rough, relentless thrusts. One heavy hand pushes me down until my cock slides between his thick, hard thighs—until I'm desperately fucking him while he splits me open on his cock. I can feel his muscles flexing around me, trapping my cock between them, squeezing every desperate, leaking twitch of it like he's milking me already.

"That's it," he growls, biting at my shoulder, rutting into me. "Use me. Fuck my thighs while I stuff you full."

The slap of skin-on-skin is obscene, wet and messy, echoing off the kitchen walls. I can barely breathe, grinding helplessly between his legs, feeling the rough drag of his muscles against my cock every time he shoves deeper into my ass.

"Close," I choke out, shuddering. "Sterling, fuck—I'm close?—"

"Good," he snarls, driving his hips up harder, his knot already starting to swell, locking me down onto him even tighter. "Come for me. I want to feel your cum dripping down my fucking legs while I fill you up."

The filth of it—his voice, the grinding heat, the thick, brutal stretch—shatters something inside me. I come with a broken, wrecked cry, cock jerking helplessly between the rough vise of his thighs, painting his skin with hot, sticky spurts. My whole body clenches down around him, locking him in even deeper.

Sterling lets out a savage roar and slams into me one last time, knot locking brutally thick, stretching me wide open as he empties inside me—hot, endless pulses of cum spilling so deep I swear I can feel it in my guts.

I sob against his thigh, overwhelmed, ruined, shaking with the aftershocks. Sterling holds me crushed against him, locked to the hilt, every frantic twitch of his cock sending aftershocks through my broken, oversensitized body.

"That's it," he pants, voice raw and broken. "Gonna have my cum leaking out of this sweet little ass all fucking day. So full of me everyone'll know you're mine just from the way you smell."

I whimper, clenching around him instinctively, grinding weakly against his legs, wringing every last drop out of him.

He pulls me up, arms wrapping around my chest, caging me against him like a trophy, both of us panting, shuddering, still fused together, still twitching with overstimulation and wrecked, brutal pleasure.

Sterling presses his forehead to the back of my neck and growls low and possessive. "Next time," he promises, voice shaking, "next time I'm not gonna stop until you're dripping so much you can't even fucking walk."

* * *

An hour later, freshly showered and dressed in clothes that still feel too tight over skin aching for more, we slip into the expansion meeting like nothing happened. Helena shoots us a look—sharp, knowing—but just hands out the agenda without a word. Thank God. Because if she said one thing, one thing, I would crack wide open and spill every filthy thing Sterling did to me in the kitchen.

The meeting hums along, voices droning in a rhythm that almost lulls me into forgetting how raw I still feel. Dr. Kim rattles off her budget proposals with her usual scalpel-precision. Helena bulldozes through staffing needs like a woman on a mission. Marina clicks through scheduling updates like her fingers are powered by rage and caffeine.

When it's my turn, I push off the table, palms sweaty, and somehow deliver the operational timeline like I can't still feel Sterling's cum dripping out of me. The questions come quick—focused, respectful—but my head's swimming, every brush of Sterling's knee against mine sending fresh heat spiraling low in my gut.

"Nicely done," Sterling murmurs when I drop back into the seat beside him. His voice curls inside me like a fist, wrecking my composure. His knee presses into mine, steady, deliberate, and no one notices, but I notice. Oh, I notice. I want to crawl into his lap and stay there. Preferably naked.

The meeting adjourns, the room a sudden, blessed release, but Marcus cuts us off before we can bolt.

"Almost forgot," he says, thrusting an envelope into Sterling's hand. "Annual Minotaur Cultural Association dinner. You're both invited."

Sterling stiffens, catching the significance faster than I do. "Both of us?"

"By name," Marcus confirms, his mouth twitching like he's fighting a grin. "First time they've ever extended a formal invite to a human."

The weight of that lands like a hammer between us—heavy, monumental. Sterling and me. Together. Not hidden. Not half-recognized. Seen. And not just seen—celebrated.

"You don't have to come," Sterling says as we walk to his office, voice low enough to scrape along my spine. "I know those events can be... difficult."

I close the door behind us with a snick that feels way too loud. "Are you serious?" I step into him, chest to chest. "Of course I'm going."

Something fractures in his expression—this rough, vulnerable tenderness he never shows anyone else. He moves to the window, arms folding across his massive chest like he's trying to hold himself together.

"When I started this place," he says, voice thick, "all I wanted was to offer dignity. I never thought it would become... this." He gestures helplessly—toward the blueprints on the wall, the buzz of construction outside, me.

I cross to him, slide my arm around his waist, feel the way he leans into me without hesitation. "You built more than a business, Sterling," I say quietly. "You built a life. Our life."

He turns, slow and deliberate, and my heart hammers so hard it hurts.

"Move in with me," he says.

I blink. "What?"

He cups my face like I'm breakable and he's terrified of losing me. "Make it official. No more bouncing between your place and mine. No more half-measures. Life's too short, and I want all of you." He pauses, and when he speaks again, it's a rasp dragged from somewhere raw. "I need all of you."

For half a second, I just stare, stunned by the naked want in his voice. Then I'm laughing, half-choked with emotion. "God, when did you get so good at this?"

"I can do even better," Sterling says, already reaching into his desk drawer. And then he's kneeling—this huge, powerful man sinking to one knee with absolute, fearless devotion—and holding out a simple gold band.

I forget how to breathe.

"I had a whole thing planned," he says, voice steady, rough. "But you deserve the truth, not some performance. I love you, Hank Honeyworth. Will you marry me?"

The world stops spinning. Time snaps into a tight, electric knot between us. I see everything—every kiss, every whispered confession, every stubborn, feral act of love he's shown me—and I know, I know, there's only one answer.

"Yes," I say. My voice breaks, but I don't care. "God, yes."

He slides the ring onto my shaking hand, and when he stands, I'm already surging into him, clutching his shirt, desperate to anchor myself to him before I float right off the damn earth.

He kisses me hard then pulls back just enough to growl, "Home. Now."

I try to remember the meetings we have. I really do. But then he grinds against me, letting me feel exactly how hard he is, and my brain surrenders in a rush of heat.

"Cancel the meetings," I gasp against his throat. "Cancel everything."

He's already texting Helena by the time I stumble toward the door, my legs jelly. "Administrative privilege," he rumbles smugly.

I grab his tie, yanking him down to my level. "Celebration privilege," I correct, kissing him hard enough to bruise.

The ride home is a blur. Sterling drives like a man possessed, one hand on the wheel, the other gripping my thigh with bruising force. Every red light is a new form of torture. Every brush of his fingers a silent promise: Soon. Soon. Soon.

The second we tumble through the door, all pretense is gone. Sterling lifts me like I weigh nothing, slams me against the wall, and devours my mouth with a groan that vibrates through my whole body.

"My fiancé," he pants between kisses, hands everywhere. "Mine. Always."

"Yours," I rasp, clawing at his belt, dizzy with need. "Now, Sterling. Now."

He doesn't make it to the bedroom. Neither do I.

Clothes shred. Buttons pop. There's nothing careful about it—just raw, filthy need, the kind that turns you inside out and leaves you begging for more.

When he finally drives into me with one hard, relentless thrust, my entire world explodes. I swear I black out for a second, clinging to him like my life depends on it.

And when he growls my name into the crook of my neck as he comes, trembling, wrecked, his huge body shuddering around mine—I know with absolute certainty: This is home. This is forever. And this is just the beginning.