“Yours,” he lifts his head to whisper his command. “Say, Fitz, I’m yours.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours,” I pant, my head falling back when he returns his face to between my legs, his lips finding my clit again while a finger teases my slit.

Fitz groans against my center. “Louder, Parker.”

“God, I’m yours.”

He bunches my dress, lifting it higher and removing his mouth once more. I fling my head forward, finding Fitz’s eyes darker, masked in desire as they focus on me.

“Say you’re my wife,” he snarls, and before I even process, he stalls the movement of his fingers.

“I’m—” I pause to whimper. “I’m your wife.”

Fitz hums. “Good girl.” His fingers resume their movement. “Keep saying it.”

I’m your wife.

I’m your wife.

I’m your…

I become incoherent as I peak, clenching my thighs against the sides of Fitz’s face, and it’s only his name I call when I come, convulsing into his mouth and around his fingers as I collapse fully on the table. The scruff of Fitz’s face rubs against my thigh as he lays his cheek there.

“Say you’ll be mine—be my wife—forever.” It’s impossible to ignore the longing in his voice.

But it’s too much. I lean to the side. I can’t look at him.

It’s one long painful moment of silence before the wheels of the stool Fitz sits on squeaks as he glides back, tugging my dress down. He lifts my hips to slide my underwear back into place.

I push up onto both elbows, finding Fitz raising his shoulders before dropping them in defeat, my desire still glossing his lips. He stands, waiting for me to move, to come to him, to be his.

My legs tremble. The weight of the week, of uncovered, heartbreaking truths, keeps me in place. Because now his feelings are unconditional, when he thinks the narrative only involves personal revenge. But now, it involves so much more and I’m terrified it will be too much. I’m terrified I will be too much and all that love? He’ll take it away.

It’s all so much it nearly breaks me. And still, I don’t go to him. I don’t say a word, but my silence draws more from him.

“I want nothing from you, Parker,” Fitz whispers backing away toward the door. “Just for you to believe my heart has always been yours.”

* * *

My hands shake as I do my best to put myself back together. It’s not an easy task. I dampen and fold a rough paper towel, carefully wiping the mascara that’s run below my eyes, and refold it to clear off around my mouth where my lipstick has smudged. But nothing will wash the unshed heartbreak from my eyes.