Page 45

T he courtroom is behind us.

Lauren is gone. And yet? Grant still feels the weight of it.

The fight is over. The threats, the legal battles. The fear. The exhaustion. It’s all done.

And Olivia?

She’s safe. She’s his.

I walk beside him, quiet. I haven’t let go of his hand. Not once.

And when we reach the parking lot—

I tug.

Just enough to turn him toward me. My green eyes search his face.

Waiting.

Watching.

And then, softly—

“How do you feel?”

Grant exhales.

He should feel lighter. He should feel free. And in a way, I think he does.

But there’s something else, too.

Something he doesn’t know how to explain.

So he just says—

“I don’t know.”

I nod, like I understand.

And then? I step closer. My hands slide up his chest, resting over his heart. And when I speak—it’s not rushed.

Not pushing. Just me.

“I do.”

Grant’s throat tightens. Because he knows what I mean. He sees it in my eyes.

And when I lean in, pressing a kiss to his jaw, whispering against his skin—

“I’m proud of you, Silver Fox.”

Something in him breaks.

And this might be the first time ever that he lets himself lean on someone else.

I don’t rush him. Don’t tell him to snap out of it. Don’t try to fill the silence with empty words. I just stay close. Grounding him. Letting him feel everything. And maybe that’s why, when he finally speaks, it’s honest.

“I didn’t think I’d win.”

My head tilts slightly. My fingers brush over his chest, enjoying the feel of him.

“You never thought you had a chance?”

Grant swallows.

“I thought I’d fight like hell. But Lauren…” He shakes his head. “She’s always found a way to twist things.”

I don’t argue. Because I know. I’ve seen it. I was in that courtroom.

“But you did win,” I say simply.

Grant meets my gaze.

And I know—

I’m not just talking about Olivia.

I’m talking about him.

About this.

He exhales, dragging a hand through his hair.

I watch him carefully. Then—softly, I say—

“What happens now?”

Grant doesn’t hesitate. “Now I make sure Olivia knows she’ll always have me.”

My lips curve, just slightly. “She already does, Grant.”

And somehow, he believes me, this man who came into my life like a hurricane and stayed when he didn’t have to.

And maybe for the first time in his life, the future doesn’t feel uncertain. It just feels… right.

The parking lot is nearly empty now.

The storm—the legal battle, the tension, the weight of it all—is finally over.

But Grant?

He’s still standing here.

I squeeze his hand. A small thing. But it grounds him. Pulls him out of his head. Reminds him that he’s not doing this alone.

I tilt my chin up, watching him like I’m figuring something out. Then, softly, “Come home with me.”

Grant’s chest tightens. Not because he doesn’t want to.

But because…

When was the last time someone asked him to stay?

He exhales, shaking his head.

“You sure you want me there?” His voice is rough, teasing.

I smirk.

“Pretty sure you’ve been living there half the time anyway, Silver Fox.”

A breath of laughter escapes him.

Because I’m right. And we both know it.

I step closer, pressing against him. No walls between us. No second-guessing.

Just me, offering him something real.

“I don’t want you going home to an empty house tonight,” I say, voice softer now. “I want you with me.”

Grant studies me.

The certainty in my expression. The way I’ve already decided.

And he has to know someone isn’t just choosing him in the moment—

I’m choosing him for the long haul.

He brushes a hand along my jaw, his fingers lingering.

Then, just as softly—

“I was already yours, Flight.”

My breath catches.

Then I smile.

And just like that—he’s coming home—with me.

***

I drive.

Grant’s in the passenger seat.

Silent.

Not tense.

Just… absorbing.

Like he’s still trying to believe this is real.

I sneak a glance at him.

His jaw is relaxed.

His hand rests on his thigh, fingers tapping absently.

And I wonder—

When was the last time he wasn’t carrying the weight of something heavy?

I reach over, sliding my fingers over his.

A quiet reminder. A small, unspoken promise. His fingers still. Then, slowly, they curl around mine.

And just like that—

I know.

He’s letting himself have this.

I don’t push him to talk. Don’t fill the silence with words. Just let the moment be.

Sometimes, love is felt more than it’s spoken.

I pull into my driveway, cutting the engine.

The moment the car stills, I feel it—

The weight of everything shifting.

Like the ground beneath us isn’t just solid—

It’s safe.

Grant doesn’t move right away. He sits, staring at my house. Not like he’s hesitant. More like he’s taking it in.

Like he’s realizing—

This is his home now, too.

I don’t rush him. Don’t say a word. Just wait.

Because I know—

This is big for him.

Not just staying the night. Not just crashing after an emotional day.

But belonging.

Finally, he shifts. Unclicks his seatbelt.

Glances over at me.

His gaze is warm. Steady.

And then—

“You coming, Flight?”

My stomach flutters.

Because there’s something in his voice. Something that sounds a hell of a lot like home.

I step inside first.

The house smells like me—warm vanilla and fresh linen. My space.

But tonight? It feels different. Because tonight, Grant is here. Really here.

I take off my shoes, setting my purse down.

Behind me, Grant does the same. No hesitation. No awkward pause. Just him, fitting into my space like he belongs.

And that realization? It does something to my chest. I turn to face him. He’s watching me. Not in a hungry way. Not in a possessive way.

Just… looking.

Like he’s taking me in. Like he’s memorizing this moment. Like he’s letting himself believe it’s real.

I exhale.

“Are you hungry?”

Grant’s lips twitch.

“Are you about to try to feed me again?”

I smirk.

“I’m a great cook, you know.”

He steps closer.

“Debatable.”

My mouth drops open.

“You liked my pancakes.”

“They were decent.”

“Decent?”

Grant’s hand wrap around my waist, pulling me in.

His voice drops, teasing.

“I liked watching you make them.”

Heat flickers low in my stomach.

Because the way he’s looking at me now?

It’s not teasing anymore.

It’s tender.

It’s sure.

It’s a man who has spent years living like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And now?

He’s realizing it won’t.

I slide my arms around his neck.

Press my forehead to his.

And whisper—

“I like having you here, Grant.”

His breath catches.

Then, just as softly—

“I like being here.”

I feel the threads of our connection pull us closer.

The way Grant isn’t just here—he’s staying with me, in my life.

I press closer.

His hands slide down my back, holding me like I’m something he won’t let go of.

And not too long ago that would scare me.

But now It thrills me.

Grant’s breath is warm against my temple.

His fingers flex like he’s grounding himself, too.

Then—soft, gruff, low—

“You okay?”

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze.

And God, he’s looking at me like I’m it.

Like I’m the reason he’s breathing.

Like I’m not something temporary.

My chest tightens.

Because I actually believe it.

I exhale, my fingers brushing the back of his neck.

“I think I finally get it.”

Grant tilts his head. “Get what?”

I swallow, voice quiet but sure. “Why people stay.”

Grant’s throat works, his jaw flexing like I just knocked the air out of him.

Then, slowly—

His fingers slide under my jaw, tilting my face up.

His mouth brushes mine—just barely.

Not impatient.

Just a promise.

A choice.

And when he finally kisses me—

I know.

I’m not running anymore.

And neither is he.

Our mouths find each other like magnets—urgent and messy and real. There’s no hesitation, no careful steps. We’ve already walked through fire together. This is what we get on the other side.

He kisses me like the tension in his body has nowhere else to go.

Like I’m the answer.

And maybe I am.

My back hits the hallway wall with a soft thud, and I gasp as his thigh slips between mine, spreading me just enough for the friction to spark something low and hot in my belly.

I grab the back of his neck, pulling him closer until there’s no space between us—just heat and breath and hands that can’t stop touching. He presses into me, hard and already thick beneath his jeans, and my entire body tightens in anticipation.

“Bedroom,” he murmurs against my lips, but I shake my head.

“Here.”

His eyes go wide. Dark. Dangerous. Like something feral just clicked into place.

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“Yeah.”

We’re half-naked in seconds. His hands tear my dress shirt over my head. My fingers fumble at his belt like I’m unwrapping something that is going to save my life. Clothes scatter. My bra dangles from a doorknob. He rips my panties down and lifts me, pressing my back to the wall again as my legs wrap around his waist.

My skin is on fire. My breath’s coming too fast. And still—it’s not enough.

He kisses me again, biting my lower lip, and then his cock is nudging against me. Thick. Hot. Ready.

“Please,” I whisper. “I need it. I need you .”

Grant groans like I just pulled the pin on a grenade.

And then he thrusts up, sinking into me in one long, breathtaking stroke that punches the air from my lungs.

My head tips back against the wall as my mouth falls open. No words. Just sensation. Just the stretch and the slide and the way I swear I feel him in my throat.

His hands are on my hips, holding me like he never intends to let me go again. He starts to move—slow at first, like he’s savoring every pulse, every gasp. But it doesn’t stay slow. Not with the way I’m gripping him. Not with the way we’re both breaking apart.

“Jesus, Kenz,” he groans. “You feel—fuck.”

“Don’t stop,” I choke out. “Don’t you dare stop.”

He slams into me harder, faster, the sound of skin against skin echoing in the narrow hallway. My body rocks with every thrust, and I’m not sure what’s louder—his breathing or mine. His name spills from my mouth like a prayer. A promise.

My orgasm blindsides me—sharp and fast and impossible to hold back. I cry out, clutching at him, coming so hard my whole body goes weightless.

And he follows—growling against my neck, grinding deep, his body tensing as he pours into me.

We don’t move for a long second. Just breathe. Just exist.

Then he lowers me slowly to the floor, his arms still wrapped around me, his forehead resting against mine.

We’re both shaking.

Laughing, too. Soft and strung out on us.

And I know, in the beautiful mess we’ve made—

This is ours.

Not stolen. Not hidden. Not tentative.

It’s safe.

It’s real.

It’s us.

“I love you,” I breathe, right against his lips.

He chokes on a sound. A breath. Maybe a prayer.

I cling to him, to the heat of his body and the weight of his love, and I realize—I’ve never felt more wanted in my entire life. Not just for my body. But for me.

“Say it again,” he growls.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you, Silver Fox.”