By the time I move back up her body, she’s gasping, dazed, lost in me.

“Atlas,” she whispers, pulling me closer, pulling me home. “I love you.”

Those three words undo me. I kiss her, deep and consuming, letting her taste herself on my lips as I surrender my heart to her.

Then, I line up against her, brushing against slick, desperate heat.

“Say it again,” I rasp, pressing into her inch by inch.

She gasps, shuddering. “I love you.”

I sink inside her with a groan so deep it feels like it comes from my soul.

And then I move.

It’s not rushed. Not frantic. Just deep, claiming, perfect.

Her nails scrape down my back. “Harder,” she gasps.

I grip her thigh, tilting her hips up, thrusting deeper.

She cries out, moaning my name like a fucking prayer.

I lose myself in her.

Every movement, every kiss, is a promise.

I will love her.

I will protect her.

I will spend my life giving her everything.

She’s mine.

I’m hers.

And when she comes again, gasping my name, clenching around me, I lose it.

I fall with her.

It hits me hard, ripping through every muscle, every nerve, every part of me that belongs to her. My body locks, pleasure surging up my spine as I spill deep inside her, groaning against her throat.

It’s not just release—it’s surrender.

I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in, whispering her name like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to this world.

“I love you.” The words come rough, raw, dragging from my chest like they’ve been waiting too long to be spoken. “I love you so fucking much.”

Her fingers slide into my hair, holding me close, like she already knows, like she feels it just as much as I do.

“I’d die for you,” I murmur against her skin. “Kill for you. Live for you. Whatever you need, baby, it’s yours. Always.”

She exhales, soft and shaky, wrapping herself around me.

And I don’t pull away.

I just hold her.

Her arms are warm around me, grounding me, keeping me here when everything else feels too big, too much.

For the first time in so fucking long, I feel like I can breathe.

Like I can finally—finally—rest.

Chapter Forty-Three

Atlas

Two days.

We spend two whole days in our place . . . bonding. That’s how Blythe likes to describe it.

Me? I called it fucking like rabbits.

She didn’t love that phrasing.

Can she blame me, though? I’ve been holding back since the first time I wanted to kiss her, touch her, make her mine.

And now?

Now, I can’t get enough.

But right now, she’s out with her friends, and I’m at the shop.

We’ve got plans for the parlor, and—yeah. This isn’t a two-year challenge anymore.