Like I’m more than someone he wants at this moment. I’m someone he’s choosing. Again. And again. And again.

Something twists in my chest, tender and breathless. The kind of ache that comes with knowing this is real. This is us. And I’m not scared of it anymore.

I blink up at him, heart pounding, throat tight. “Then I guess I better give you a reason to keep falling.”

His belt comes next, undone with a practiced flick that earns me a raised brow and a soft, amused grunt. “Seems like you’ve done that a time or two.”

“Only for you.”

He leans in, mouth brushing the shell of my ear. “That’s right. Only for me.”

He kisses me like I’m oxygen—like the world might stop spinning if he lets go. My back hits the wall behind us, and his hands roam with purpose, slipping under the hem of my dress, fingertips grazing the bare skin of my thighs as I gasp against his mouth. But just when I think he’ll lose control, he stills.

Then, in one fluid, confident motion, Alex lifts me off the floor.

My breath catches as my legs wrap around his waist, our bodies aligned, tension humming between us. His hands grip me tight, like he can’t bear to let go even for a second.

He carries me through the penthouse with slow, deliberate steps, every movement precise, restrained—but barely. He kicks open the bedroom door and lays me down like I’m something sacred.

I sink into the mattress, my dress bunched around my hips, chest rising and falling fast.

And he just looks at me.

His body hovers over mine, arms braced on either side of my head, eyes devouring every detail.

He doesn’t touch. Doesn’t speak.

Just watches.

I reach for him, fingertips skimming the taut planes of his abs, the trail of ink along his ribs. But he catches my hands, pinning them to the bed beside my head.

“Do you know how many nights I imagined this?”

My chest tightens. “Alex––”

“Not the sex. This––you and me together. No pretending. No countdown. No goodbye.”

The emotion in his voice tugs at something deep inside me, and tears prick my eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming fullness of this. Of us. The weight of everything we lost and everything we somehow clawed our way back to.

I reach up, cradling his face in both hands, and pull his mouth back to mine.

This time, the kiss isn’t desperate—it’s sure. It’s steady. It’s a vow wrapped in love.

His hands slide down my sides, anchoring me as our mouths devour each other in slow, aching sync. His fingers find the hem of my dress, teasing it upward inch by inch.

“You didn’t wear this sexy little thing to dinner, expecting me to behave like a gentleman after.”