I held my breath until he was all the way in, and my next inhalation was so ragged it almost hurt. I rocked forward, and he moaned. His eyes closed, and he rocked with me. I draped both arms around his neck, closed my eyes and rode him. I let him set the pace—slow at first, but gaining speed as friction built.

He drove into me, pinning me to the wall, drawing small sounds from me with each stroke. He rocked me back and forth with a grip on both my hips. I clung to the top of the stall with my left hand and lightly clutched the showerhead with the fingers protruding from my cast. Each breath came faster, each thrust harder. My legs tightened around him as I sought more contact. Greater friction. More heat.

Finally, when I was sure I couldn’t hold back another second, Marc groaned and his strokes became frantic. I let go, and sensation washed over me, scalding compared to the now lukewarm water.

Spent, Marc leaned into me, and his head found my shoulder. His heart raced inches from mine, and I could hear each whoosh of his pulse.

After at least a minute like that, he lowered us until we sat on one corner of the shower floor, water spraying my back. I straddled him and leaned back so I could see his face. He stared at me, but he wasn’t smiling. He looked…scared. Determined.

I started to ask what was wrong, but he spoke before I could.

“Marry me, Faythe.”

I nearly choked on surprise. How many times was that request going to catch me off guard?

“This is the last time I’ll ask. I mean it. Marry me so that when all this is over, we can get a house of our own. A little land. A lot of privacy.”

“Marc…” But I had no idea how to finish that thought.

“We can do it however you want. We can have a ceremony, or stop by the courthouse on our way to Venice. You can wear a white dress, or a red dress, or jeans, or nothing at all. We can get married in the nude. I don’t care. We’ll do whatever you want. Just tell me you’ll marry me, so we can get something good out of all this.” His wide-spread arms took in every disaster the past few months had thrown at us, but his gaze never left mine. “Marry me, Faythe. Please.”

His face broke my heart. His eyes seared my soul.

I wasn’t good enough for him.

“Marc, we have to talk about…something.” I swallowed thickly, and put my good hand over his mouth when he started to protest. “I’m not saying no,” I insisted, and he relaxed visibly, as the spray of water across my back continued to cool. “But I can’t…I can’t do this now. There’s too much going on, and we need to talk first.”

He sat straighter, and I slid a few inches down his legs. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter. If it’s kids, or becoming Alpha, or whatever, it doesn’t matter. We’ll work it out.”