Page 59 of Shattered by Grace (The Locke Empire Duet #1)

Chapter Forty-Nine

T he ride back had been silent, but it wasn’t the tense kind Victoria had once feared.

It was thick with unspoken words, the weight of Tristan’s confession still pressing against her chest. Love.

He hadn’t said it simply, he had said it with the weight of a promise, a vow not said out loud but undeniable.

He would go against his father for her. His fingers were laced with hers, his thumbs tracing slow, rhythmic circles over her knuckles, sending warmth that she didn’t quite know how to name.

And now, standing at her apartment door, key in hand, she realized how much had changed.

She glanced up at him as she turned the lock, her heart stuttering at how he watched her, like he could see the shift happening within her, the walls crumbling, the battle she had fought so long finally surrendering. It scared her how right that felt.

The door clicked open, and Tristan stepped in first, scanning the space with that ever-present protectiveness of his. She rolled her eyes but let him, because that was who he was. And maybe she didn’t mind it as much as she used to.

She pushed the door closed and clicked the lock. Leaning against the door, she watched him closely as he made his rounds. She noticed Clawdia watching him just as intently from the arm of the couch. Pushing off the door, she went to pet her cat on the head.

When he finally turned back to her, his expression softened, his stormy eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that sent warmth curling through her stomach. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, rough around the edges.

Victoria exhaled, stepping forward until there was barely space between them. “Yeah,” she admitted, her fingers twitching at her sides. “I just…” She swallowed hard, the words so much bigger than her voice. “I think I’ve been fighting this for so long that I didn’t realize I lost.”

Tristan’s jaw ticked, his hands finding her hips, thumbs brushing slow circles that made her pulse jump. “Lost?” he echoed, his voice dipping. “Or finally won?”

A breathless laugh escaped her, and she shook her head. “You always have to win, don’t you?”

He smirked, but it was softer than usual. “Not always. But I wasn’t going to lose you.”

Something inside her cracked wide open. He meant every word, every touch, every time he stood by her even when she pushed him away. And now, she couldn’t push anymore. Didn’t want to.

Slowly, she reached up, fingers trailing over his jaw before she pulled him down, her lips brushing against his in the softest whisper of a kiss.

He inhaled sharply, like he hadn’t expected it, but then he was there, pressing forward, claiming the space between them with reverence, and it made her knees weak.

This wasn’t desperate or frantic. It was slow, deep, and earth-shattering in its own way. A promise. A surrender. A beginning.

When she pulled away, her gaze locked onto his. Without a word, she took his hand, fingers threading through his, and gently tugged him toward her room. No words were needed.

Tristan followed without hesitation, his grip tightening as if to tell her he was right there with her in this, whatever this was.

The moment they crossed the threshold, the air shifted, charged and electric with unsaid emotions.

She barely had time to turn before he was there, hands framing her face, mouth capturing hers with a hunger that sent a shiver down her spine.

This wasn’t just desire,it was raw and unfiltered devotion. His hands traced the shape of her, memorizing, worshiping, like she was something sacred. And maybe to him, she was.

Victoria pressed closer, her fingers threading into his hair, anchoring herself as his lips left a trail of fire along her jaw and down the column of her throat.

Her breaths came faster, her heart a wild rhythm against his own.

Every touch, every whispered breath between them felt like something irrevocable, something they could never take back, and neither of them wanted to.

He pulled back just enough to search her eyes, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough, strained with restraint.

She shook her head, a soft smile playing on her lips as she pulled him back to her. “Not a chance.”

Tristan held up a finger, just like earlier, making a slow spinning gesture.

She followed his silent command, turning for him, and as she did, his fingertip brushed her hair to one side.

A shiver ran through her as he pushed the thin strap of her dress off her shoulder, his lips following in its wake, pressing slow, reverent kisses from her neck to the curve of her shoulder.

Then he repeated the motion on the other side, letting the fabric slip lower until it pooled at her feet.

“Turn around and let me look at you.”

Her breath hitched. She had never felt this exposed before, this seen. It was intimate in a way that went far beyond the physical. But the way he looked at her, like she was something to be worshiped, had warmth spreading through her chest. She didn’t feel small or vulnerable. She felt powerful.

Tristan’s gaze dragged over her, dark and slow, taking in every inch of bare skin with a quiet kind of reverence. Then, he dropped to his knees, looking up at her through thick lashes, a wicked smirk curving his lips.

“Hold on,” he murmured.

She gripped his shoulders as he slid one heel off, then the other, his hands warm against her skin. His hands traced a slow path up her calves, his touch unhurried, fingertips skimming higher until they found the outer curve of her thighs.

Slowly, he rose, dragging his hands with him, mapping every inch until he reached her hips.

“You have a fantastic ass.” His voice was thick with appreciation, and a slow smile tugged at her lips in response.

His grip on her hips tightened, and before she could catch her breath, he lifted her effortlessly. A gasp left her lips, but instinct took over and her legs wrapped around his waist, holding on as his arm slid beneath her, supporting her weight with ease.

The other hand tangled in her hair, tilting her head back as he claimed her mouth in a kiss that sent fire racing through her veins. He carried her with steady, controlled steps, the muscles in his arms flexing beneath her palms.

By the time her back met the bed, the kiss had deepened, slow and intoxicating. His body followed, never breaking contact, as if letting her go wasn’t an option.

Her hands found the hem of his shirt, fingers slipping beneath the fabric, tracing over hard muscle before tugging it upward. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head and toss it aside.

With his chest bare before her, she ran her hands over his warm skin, palms smoothing over the firm ridges of his torso. “Mine,” she whispered, a quiet claim against the silence between them.

“Yours,” he murmured. He bent down, capturing her lips again, the kiss deepening, more consuming.

Victoria’s legs remained locked around his waist, and with a push of her elbows, she shifted, flipping their positions in a controlled roll until she was straddling him. His breath hitched, a smirk ghosting over his lips, but he didn’t stop her.

“All mine,” she murmured, leaning down to press slow, lingering kisses down his chest, nipping at his skin as she moved lower.

As Victoria slid lower, her fingers made quick work of the button on his pants, the soft rasp of the zipper cutting through the thick silence between them.

She glanced up, her breath catching at the way Tristan watched her,his jaw tight, his dark eyes locked onto hers like he was barely holding himself together.

His fingers threaded into her hair, the grip firm but not forceful, like he needed to touch her, to feel her. “Fuck, Vic,” he murmured as she pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his navel, her nails dragging lightly along his hips.

She smirked at the way his muscles tensed under her touch, at the sharp inhale when she teased the waistband of his pants lower, her fingers skimming over his hip bones, deliberate and slow.

His patience snapped.

With one swift motion, he hauled her back up, his grip firm on her thighs as he turned them, pressing her against the bed. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t give her a second to tease him further before his mouth was on hers, hot and claiming, his hands pushing her thighs apart as he settled between them.

His lips moved down her throat, trailing lower, his stubble scraping against her sensitive skin as his mouth closed over a peaked nipple, his tongue flicking, sucking just hard enough to make her back arch.

“Tristan…” Her breath hitched, hands fisting in his hair, nails scratching down his scalp.

“I got you, love,” he rasped, voice thick with promise as his mouth continued its slow, devastating path down her body.

His fingers followed, tracing the inside of her thigh, teasing, testing—drawing out every shiver, every hitched breath.

“Please,” she gasped, her hips tilting toward him.

That single word snapped his restraint.

He worshiped her with his mouth, his tongue, and his fingers, taking his time, drawing sounds from her she hadn’t realized she could make. He worked her up until she was trembling beneath him, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body bowing off the bed.

And just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he moved back up, his lips capturing hers as he slid inside her in one slow, deep stroke.

The breath punched from her lungs.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his voice ragged.

Her gaze met his, and for a moment, everything else faded.

It was just them. Bodies tangled, breaths mingling, moving in sync like they’d done this a thousand times before, like this was exactly where they were always meant to be.

He moved with purpose, each thrust hitting deep, controlled but desperate, his grip tight on her hips as he held her right where he wanted her.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he groaned, his forehead pressing against hers.

Her nails raked down his back, her body meeting his perfectly, every push and pull winding them tighter, sending them spiraling.

“Tristan…” His name was a broken gasp, her body tightening around him.

“I know,” he rasped, thrusting deeper, harder, losing himself in her.

Her body trembled beneath him, her breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as the last waves of pleasure rolled through her. Tristan didn’t stop moving, didn’t let her come down fully. His hands skimmed up her sides, his lips tracing the curve of her jaw.

And then, in a single fluid motion, he flipped them, his hands gripping her hips as he pulled her on top of him.

Victoria gasped, her palms landing against his chest, her hair spilling around them in a wild mess. She barely had time to adjust before his hands moved again to grip her thighs, guiding her, urging her to take what she wanted.

His eyes burned into hers, dark and reckless, his control fraying at the edges. “Ride me, love.”

Her breath caught, heat pooling in her stomach at the command in his voice, the sheer need in his expression. He wasn’t asking,he was giving her everything.

A slow, teasing roll of her hips had his head falling back, a guttural groan tearing from his throat. His fingers dug into her skin, but he let her set the pace, let her take him as deep as she wanted, let her ruin him.

And she did.

She leaned forward, her lips brushing his, a wicked smile playing on her lips. “All mine,” she whispered, before sinking down fully, taking him to the hilt.

“Fuck, Vic.” His hands shot to her back, pulling her down until there was no space left between them.

She found a rhythm that had them both unraveling, her body moving against his like they were made for this, like this moment had been written for them long before either of them realized it.

Tristan sat up, his mouth catching hers in a bruising kiss, his arms banding around her as he thrust up into her, stealing the breath from her lungs.

Her nails dragged down his back, a broken moan slipping from her lips as his name tumbled from her mouth over and over again.

The desperation between them reached a fever pitch, the pleasure coiling so tight it was unbearable, their bodies locked together in something far more than just this moment.

Tristan tore his mouth from hers, his forehead pressing against hers, their breaths ragged, his voice rough and raw. “Look at me.”

She did.

And everything in her shattered.

Because this wasn’t just heat, or desire, or pleasure.

This was surrender.

This was a man who had given up everything for her.

Her release slammed into her, dragging him with her as they tumbled over the edge together.

Neither of them let go.

Tristan held her through every shudder, every aftershock, his arms locked around her like letting go wasn’t an option.

She slumped against him, her body spent, her forehead resting against his as their heartbeats thundered against each other.

Tristan’s lips brushed her temple, then lower, over her jaw, her throat, like he still wasn’t done memorizing every inch of her.

“Mine,” he murmured against her skin.

She smiled, a soft, breathless sound escaping her as she curled deeper into him. “Yours.”

His arms tightened around her, and in that moment, she knew there was no going back.