“Come on, Tati,” Cole says, tugging on my hand.

I take another step, stumbling on a fold in the carpet. “Where are we going?”

“You will see,” Mary says from my other side.

“Eventually. Because right now I don’t see a thing.”

The blindfold is scratchy, tickling my cheekbones. There’s an itch on the bridge of my nose, but two very determined kids are holding tightly on my hands, leading me across the living room.

As we approach the door, the fresh morning breeze sends strands of hair over my face, and the scent of flowers and mown grass.

“Am I not allowed a peek? Just a peek?”

“No, Tati,” Cole says patiently, and I supress the urge to giggle at his serious baby voice. “No peek.”

“But how will I go down the steps without seeing?” The three porch steps are pretty steep and breaking my leg would spoil the day.

“Daddy is waiting,” Mary says.

Oh good. No broken legs in today’s plan.

Relieved, I let them tow me outside, onto the porch, feel the sun warm on my skin – on my cheeks, my mouth, my neck, my arms.

I’m a bit shaky, and I hope nobody has noticed. Since my kidnapping by Jeff Adams and the night I spent in the storeroom in the back of the ice cream shop, I have developed a small fear of the dark.

Yeah, I was sedated most of the time I’d been there. But not all the time. And anyway, no idea how brains work. I just know that mine shies away from the darkness these days.

It’s been two weeks since that night, but the fear that I’d die alone without seeing my family or Matt and the kids again keeps resurfacing in my dreams, turning them into nightmares.

Despite the warmth of the sun, the urge to yank off the blindfold is too strong, pressing on my chest. I’m already digging in my heels and tugging myself free of the kids’ hold, when strong hands land on my waist.

“I’ve got you, Tay,” Matt’s deep, growly voice says, instantly calming me, and he lifts me up into his arms. I yelp and throw my arms around him, miraculously managing to snag them around his neck and not punch him in the face by mistake. He swings me off the porch. “Easy now.”

“Matt…”

“Yeah, baby. Right here.”

“The kids? Those steps are steep.”

He kisses my forehead. “Don’t worry,” he says, his voice warm. “Are you ready?”

“For what? What’s going on?”

“You forgot already what I promised you.”

I snuggle into him, inhaling his masculine scent of musk and spice. “You promised me many things.”

“And I always deliver.”

This makes me laugh. So cocky, so relaxed and playful.

So different from the man-beast I first encountered at this very spot. I unwind one hand from his neck to touch his face.

Without seeing, the sensation of his beardless face is even more intense. Powerful. I trace the line of his jaw, the dimple in his cheek that means he’s smiling. I touch his mouth and he kisses my fingertips.

His lips on my fingers send electric shivers down my spine and heat pools in my belly, starting a throb between my legs.

This man is big, big trouble…

The kids giggle and run about us, and Matt’s steady heartbeat slows my fluttery pulse down until I’m limp in his arms, my head resting on his muscular shoulder.

“So where are you taking me?” I whisper, lulled by the rhythm of his steps over the low-cut grass.

“I promised you a picnic. But our plans were interrupted.” His smile slips. I feel it under my fingertips, hear it in his voice.

“Only put off,” I say. “We’re here now.” I huff. “Why am I blindfolded for a picnic?”

“You’ll see,” he says, just like his daughter earlier, and his smile returns, sharp and wicked. I trace it lightly, smiling, too. “Know what? I like this blindfold on you. It’s giving me ideas for later.”

I tense up a little. “I don’t like it.”

“That’s because you haven’t tried it.” He stops moving. “Or is it something else?” He slowly kneels and pulls me on his lap. “The nightmares. Shit. I’m sorry.”

He pulls the blindfold off me, and I blink, unseeing, in the bright light.

“Don’t be.” The world comes back into focus, the garden, the tree, the red blanket on the grass, the kids spreading dishes and packages. “Not your fault.”

“I’d never have used this,” he waves the black cloth, “if I’d known.”

“I know.” I stroke his face, endlessly fascinated by his smooth cheeks. “It’s all right. I’ll get over this. Maybe this is good,” I go on, thinking. “Getting back in the saddle and all that.”

“You should take your time.” He frowns. “No reason to rush anything.”

“But I want to try this with you. Whatever it is you have in mind. I…” I stop him with a finger on his lips when he starts to protest again. “I trust you.”

He hugs me close, groaning against my neck. “You won’t regret it, babe. And you can tell me to stop any time.”

Letting go, he helps the kids spread the picnic as I do my best to gather myself once more. It’s hard. The spread is beautiful, not a simple last minute picnic but a planned and well-thought out affair with spreads and bread rolls and salads and cakes.

I’m touched and happy and aroused and… I don’t know what I want most—to hug all three of them, to fall on the food and stuff myself silly, to cry happy tears, or… yeah, drag Matt off to his bedroom and have him put back the blindfold, make love to me that way.

The thought sends a powerful thrill through me.

Only that will have to wait.

But hey, it’s noon. Surely the kids will need a nap after eating their weight in food, right?

One can only hope.

* * *

It’s all delicious. Matt admitted he didn’t prepare any of it, because he sucks at cooking, but that he asked the help of my mom and sister, and even his own mom sent him a cake for this.

Important picnic, much?

The kids roll on the grass, and maybe they shouldn’t, but I can’t find it in me to care whether their clothes get stains.

They’re laughing and rolling like little puppies, carefree and unafraid, and that’s all that matters. Matt tickles their bared bellies, and they shriek with laughter, then tackle him, too, and they fall over the picnic basket, half-smashing it.

He roars and grabs at them, then kisses their curly hair and snickers.

The sky has cleared. The clouds are gone. I love these kids, and I love their daddy. Love him so frigging much it makes me all teary-eyed even as I smile.

“Hey,” he calls out, turning to me, as if sensing something. “Come here.”

I draw back, but he grabs me and hauls me down on the blanket and tickles me until I beg for mercy.

His eyes darken. “You can beg me again later,” he whispers, and leaves me gasping for breath, sniggering and aroused—more than before, the pressure mounting deep inside me—to turn back to the kids, not to have them feel left out.

God, these kids are adorable, but I want their dad between my legs, torturing me with his mouth and his cock. I want his mouth and his hands everywhere, his weight pressing me down into the mattress and—

“Okay, buddies, back into the house now! You’ll get sunburned. Ice cream, and then quiet time. Let’s gather up everything.”

I send a silent prayer of thanks to any deity listening, and to Matt Hansen. He grins at me and winks, and my face heats up.

Yeah, looks like I’m not the only one impatiently needing some alone time. We’ve barely had any in these past two weeks, with me recovering from the attack, both physically and psychologically, and a therapist seeing the kids to make sure they were dealing okay with what happened to them, too.

They were clingy, not leaving us alone for a moment. And I get that. It’s normal.

But today they help pack everything back into the basket, fold the blanket all docile and unresisting, and return with us to the house. They yawn as we enter, then run into the kitchen and try to reach the ice cream, which has me and Matt running after them before they climb on chairs and hurt themselves.

Ice cream achieved, we sit at the table and eat. Even the sugar rush isn’t enough to wake up the kids enough. It is a warm summer Sunday and they’ve been up since the crack of dawn, so the moment we lead them up to their rooms and nudge them into bed, they roll over and go to sleep.

Quiet settles over the house like a fluffy cloud. I turn toward Matt who’s leaning on the doorjamb, muscular arms folded over his chest, smiling faintly, a dimple showing in his cheek.

I look into those dark eyes that ensnared me from the first moment with their shadow of pain, and they’re only filled with heat and desire.

“So…” I whisper. “You still got that blindfold?”

* * *

He ties up my eyes carefully, his big hands resting on my shoulders after he’s tied off the knot in the cloth behind my head.

His hands slide down my bare arms, his body pressing into my back. He nudges me forward, lifts my hands and places them flat on the wall.

Then he lifts my hair and kisses the back of my neck, bites lightly into the juncture between neck and shoulder, and my whole body lights up.

“Tay…” he whispers my pet name on my skin, painting it with his breath, tracing patterns with his tongue, Shaking me loose and putting me back together, making me ache with arousal. “Feel me.”

He’s right here. I feel him, even if I don’t see him. His hard chest, his hard cock, his powerful legs and muscular arms, his scent winding around me like ivy.

“God, I want you,” he rasps. “I’m so fucking hard for you. Dammit, Tay.”

His voice, deep and low, sinking into me, fucking me. He’s voice-fucking me. I swallow a laugh, and then shudder when he slips a hand down my leg, lifting my dress, inching up to the front of my panties.

His hard cock is rubbing against my back, his breath stuttering on my neck, and his hand unerringly slips between my legs, his fingers parting me, sinking into me.

“Trust me?” he asks, and I nod frantically. “Tell me if you want the blindfold off.”

I nod again, jerking when his fingers thrust inside me.

Truth be told, I love having his body pressing me into the wall. My eyes are closed anyway, the sensations running through my body leaving no room for thought or fear.

It’s just him, touching me, his mouth ghosting over me, his strength shoring me up, his desire anchoring me to the here and now.

No dark storerooms and kidnappers here, despite the dark. There’s only him and me, together, locked in this dance, his voice in my ear, his hand between my legs.

His callused fingers inside me, stroking in and out. Driving me crazy with want.

“Please,” I whisper.

“Hm. Love it when you beg like that,” he says with that deep growl in his voice. “What do you want?”

“I…” I’m not good at talking dirty. At saying what I need. “Please…”

His fingers still inside me and I groan, frustrated. “Tell me, babe. Want me to make you come?”

“Make me come,” I breathe.

“With my fingers? My tongue?” His cock pulses against the small of my back, thick and hard like steel. “Or do you want me to fuck you?”

I swallow hard. “Fuck me, Matt. I want your cock inside me.”

“Jesus fuck,” he whispers reverently, and slips his fingers out of me, making me whimper. “Come here.” He pulls off me, guides me to the bed, but doesn’t help me on it. He has me kneel on the edge, then lifts my dress and spreads my legs. “Goddammit, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

I shiver, nervous and excited, my bare ass in the air, my wet pussy throbbing. In front of me is darkness, and I’m cold.

Just when I think I can’t take it any longer, that I’ll just rip off the blindfold and turn toward him, I hear the crinkle of a condom foil being ripped, and his soft grunt as he puts it on.

Then he’s pressed up against me, rubbing his hard-on against my opening, and I suck in a sharp breath as the head of his cock pushes into me.

I’m squirming, my body unsure if to push back or open up to this invasion, but his hands grab my hips and stop me. Keep me still as he slowly shoves his cock deeper into me, and deeper, until there’s nowhere left to go.

Then his hand reaches around and finds my clit, pressing and massaging until I’m moaning recklessly and my head spins.

Stretching me to my limits, pushing me to the end of my desire. I’m his, and he’s showing me that he knows it. That he’s claiming me.

That he’s mine, too.

He doesn’t move, though, lodged deep inside me, throbbing like a second heartbeat, filling me up until my body trembles.

“Matt…”

“Feel me now?” he growls. “Know who I am?”

“Matt,” I whisper, “Matt. As long as…” I’m panting, my body and mind on overload. “As long as you know who I am, too.”

Silence falls between us, punctuated only by our heavy breathing.

Wow, look at my insecurities surfacing. Picked the time, too.

Only it makes sense. All my barriers are down. I’m wide open and bared to him in every way. And there’s this voice in the back of my mind that keeps asking, How do you compete with a ghost?

I sort of ignored it, mostly, because he said he loves me, but I guess insecurities don’t take a hint and get lost that easily.

And then the worst thing happens.

He pulls out of me.

I’m shaking, blind and cold on all fours on his bed, and to my horror I feel tears slipping down my face from under the dark cloth.

Oh God… The fear and the despair of that night rushes back into me, and I yank off the blindfold with shaking fingers.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “Crap, I…”

His hands are on me, turning me around, pulling me to his chest. “Tay…” His voice softens. “I swear, I only see you. Only you.”

I let him pet me and sooth me. “But Emma…”

Her name hangs between us.

“Only you,” he repeats, his dark eyes grave. “Emma will always be in my heart, but I am here now, with you. You have all of me, babe.”

A sigh escapes me. It feels I’ve been holding my breath ever since I met him, waiting for these words.

And I’m not done with the fears and doubts, it seems, because I open my mouth to ask him to fuck me, and instead I say, “I want to go to college.”

God in heaven, Octavia. Now you want to talk about this? With his hard cock rubbing over your ass and his eyes cloudy with desire? With your pussy dripping wet and aching to feel—

“I thought you would,” he says. “You’re bright. You should.”

I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. “But you…”

“I don’t have to stay here. Nothing ties me here.” One side of his mouth tips up in a quick smile. “Nothing except for you.”

“My family is here.” Great, now I’m arguing with myself.

“We could take them along with us.”

“We,” I whisper, unable to get past the word. My eyes well up.

“Yeah, we. Unless they don’t want to move?”

I think about this. They probably do. I’d have to ask, but why would they want to stay? Mom isn’t in love with Jasper Jones anymore. She stayed here because she was trapped by lack of money more than anything, and I’m pretty sure Gigi and Merc would like a change in scenery after the bullying we went through all these years.

“Listen, Tay…” It’s his turn to frown and pause, as if thinking hard about something. “There’s something I wanted to ask you. I was going to do it in the garden, but then wasn’t sure it was a good time, and…”

I clutch at his shoulders, butterflies bouncing around in my stomach. “What is it?”

Oh God, don’t let it be something bad. I don’t like the way his brow creases as if in worry.

He reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a small cloth bag. He upends it on the bed beside us.

It’s a slender golden ring, nothing fancy, no gems or anything. I stare at it, uncomprehending.

Until he lifts it and looks me in the eye. “I know it’s early to ask you to marry me. I mean, maybe I’m jumping the gun here, and in any case you’re going to college and seeing the world or whatever else it is on your bucket list, but… until then… You said you’d be mine. So… be mine, Octavia Watson?”

Oh my God. I’m crying again. This is ridiculous. I nod, though, and keep nodding, laughing through my tears, and raise my hand for him to put the ring on my finger.

Then he lifts my hand and kisses my palm. His eyes are smiling when he looks up. “My girl. Tell me what you want.”

No hesitation. “I want you inside me, Matt Hansen,” I whisper. “Now.”

“Bossy.” But he’s grinning. “All fire.”

He lays me down on the bed, pushes my legs apart and enters me again, thrusting in all the way. We both moan as he sinks in. He bends my knees, pulls them up to his chest, and thrusts deeper.

I choke on the air in my lungs, lift my hips right off the bed, clenching around his cock. It feels so good. He feels so good, everywhere, on top of me, inside me.

He bends over me, bracing his elbows on the bed on either side of my head, and I lift my hand to shove shiny hair out of his face. Need to see his eyes.

He kisses me and starts thrusting. He fucks me slowly at first, a thoughtful crease between his brows, taking his time, making me incoherent with arousal. My hand is still on his face, tracing its lines, his brows, his eyes, his cheekbones.

“I love you,” I murmur.

A groan rumbles up his chest, and he starts pounding into me in earnest, his hips rocking, his thighs tensing. “God, need you…”

It doesn’t take long to tip me over the edge. I’m clawing at his strong back with my other hand, the pressure in my core unbearable, his cock sending off sparks of brilliance through my body – and the next moment I’m crying out, bursting into pleasure, my body convulsing with the force of it.

He bites back a curse, thrusts erratically into me, fast and hard, and then his powerful body presses into mine, stilling, a shudder running through him. He buries his face in the crook of my neck and moans brokenly.

It takes me a moment to recognize my name, repeated over and over again.

My hand is still in his hair, the gold band on my finger gleaming among the shiny dark strands. I stare at it.

It’s a promise, an oath exchanged between us. No matter comes in the days, and months, and years to come, it’s one I intend to keep.