Page 103 of Sweet Sinners

“You’re not so bad yourself, Mr. Mitchell,” I tease softly, brushing my thumb gently along his jaw. My father would never have approved of me taking Connor’s last name—legacy was everything to him. But for me, legacy isn't about blood, or names, or empires. It’s Connor. Always Connor. I want every piece of us to align, to fit perfectly, seamlessly together.

His eyes soften, roaming over my face with a tenderness that still steals my breath. “You okay?”

I nod gently, knowing exactly what he's asking. We carry fewer visible scars now, but some wounds run deeper, lingering just beneath the surface. Connor still wakes sometimes, gasping for breath, reaching for me in the dark after nightmares of blood, sirens, and the night he lost his mother. Anxiety still coils tight in my chest, a constant, quiet reminder of trauma that therapy has eased but never completely erased.

But we manage it, together. Always together. We comfort, soothe, rebuild each other, day after day, breath after breath. It’s never been perfect, but it’s always been ours.

“I’m better than okay,” I promise softly, leaning into him, needing the steady comfort of his warmth. “I’m happy.”

Connor pulls me even closer, his forehead gently resting against mine. “Happy looks good on you, Angel.”

My heart swells until it feels too big for my chest, warmth radiating through every nerve ending, filling every hollow place. I breathe him in, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against mine.

“I never knew what happy felt like,” I whisper, “until you showed me.”

His lips capture mine then, fierce and unrestrained, uncaring who watches. I melt into his arms, surrendering completely as he kisses slowly along my jaw, his lips brushing tenderly up to my ear. His voice dips, rough and achingly sweet.

“You were always too sweet for me, Calliope,” he murmurs softly, his breath warm against my skin, sending goosebumps racing down my spine. His fingertips trail gently over my neck, lingering possessively, like he still can’t quite believe I’m his.

I smile against his mouth, breathing him in, savoring every heartbeat, every soft exhale. “Or maybe,” I whisper gently, pulling back just enough to see the fierce, unguarded love in his eyes, “you were always exactly what I needed.”

Connor tightens his arms around me, holding me like he’ll never let go. I feel the steady, reassuring beat of his heart against my own, anchoring me to him in ways no one else ever could. I’ve survived enough storms to know when I’ve finally found home.

Because this man, this beautifully broken, reckless, incredible man is my home. Always.

And nothing could ever take that away.