I glance at the letter I’ve just finished writing for my woman. It’s filled with emotion, with my love for her. I’ve allowed my heart to pour the words onto the page. And it is only for her.

My life has passed by in a dark cloud of guilt, anger, and vengeance. There was never a time I believed it would change. There are moments in life when I wished for death. When I prayed a stray bullet would finally take me from this life and deliver me to the girl I lost. My heart wasn’t my own, she had taken it with her when she died.

At least . . . that’s that I believed.

I spent years indulging in everything to dull the ache of the space in my chest where my heart used to be. Each time I found another woman, I’d ensure she looked nothing like the one I lost. I made sure I was safe. From what? I don’t know. I knew I couldn’t fall in love again, so when I think about it now, I wonder what it is that I was hiding from.

Myself perhaps.

I drank, I fucked, and I killed.

I enjoyed it. I reveled in it.

Then I stumbled upon the blonde beauty who’s currently lounging in my office on the sofa. Her legs are crossed, and on them is a MacBook Pro where she’s currently doing the accounts for Seven Sins. Mason and I gave her a full-time job handling the details mainly because I can’t deal with the accountants and taxes, and he is more interested in hiring and firing the staff.

Peyton slammed into my life like a goddamn wrecking ball, and she knocked every wall I built to the ground. And in that rubble, she found me. She discovered my pain and healed it. She found my heart, and instead of giving it back to me, she kept it in her hands. Those delicate hands that can tempt me to give her anything she wants as long as she teases me just right. However, that’s after I’ve spanked her pretty ass.

“Are you going to stare at me all day?” she quips from the opposite side of the room, flicking her long, blonde waves over her shoulder. Her perfume, the scent of orchids, filters over to me, and I inhale her. She’s more than perfect. She has taken to this lifestyle like a fish to water, and when she submitted to me, I was in awe of how much love I could hold for someone.

Yes, I did love Aurora, there’s no doubt about that, but deep down, I now realize she was only a chapter in my story. She showed me this life didn’t have to be lonely. I could commit to a woman and give her the love she deserved. And that’s what I’m about to offer Peyton.

“I’ve been thinking,” I tell her. Rising from my chair, I head over to the bar. Grabbing the chilled champagne from the cooler, I pop the cork with a loud echo. I proceed to fill two glasses, both with a strawberry dipped in chocolate floating just below the rim.

“You have? And what pray tell have you been thinking?” she taunts me, using a fake English accent to tease me. I know she loves my voice. She tells me all the time, but she does love to attempt the accent, which is done so badly I cringe.

“Well,” I start, settling beside her on the sofa, handing her a flute. With one hand, I grip the laptop, setting it on the floor before turning back to her. “There’s this girl,” I tell her. “She’s beautiful, perfect in every way, and there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask her.”

Her mouth falls open, then shuts. Her green eyes that remind me of new spring leaves shimmer and widen as she watches me. “Carrick—”

“Six months ago, I offered her a contract,” I speak, clearly, confidently, but my heart rattles in my chest. “I gave her something I never thought I could give again.” When I meet her gaze, she’s blinked, and there’s a lone tear falling down her cheek I’m tempted to lick away. “In return, she gave me something I didn’t expect.” Lifting the glass, I gesture for her to do the same. “Now, I want to offer her another contract. This one however . . .”

I allow my words to taper into nothing as she gapes at me.

“This one is far longer than just a four-week trial.” I smirk when she blinks once more and the salty emotion trickles down her now flushed cheeks. Dropping to one knee, I take her delicate hand in mine and press a kiss to her knuckles. “Peyton Moore, will you do me the honor of accepting my ring, my collar, and ultimately, my heart?”

Her body trembles as I gulp the champagne, my eyes on her. She doesn’t respond, sipping her drink slowly, but when she gets to the strawberry something just below it glitters.

“Oh god!” She gasps in shock, pulling the pink fruit from the glass. Attached to it is a five-carat diamond ring set with smaller pink diamonds surrounding it. She holds it between her thumb and forefinger, staring at it as if it’s about to attack her.

I take it, pulling a napkin from my pocket and wiping it until it’s dried and shiny. Holding it toward her, I take her left hand in mine. “So? Are you ready to be Mrs. Peyton O’Leary?” She nods, while tears stream down her beautiful face. “Words, Kitten. I need words.”

“Yes, yes, of course yes,” she mumbles while her trembling hand grips mine as if I’m her lifeline, and I plan to be. She is mine. Always has been.

I slip the ring on her finger with a smile on my face.

“Come here, wife.” I pull her onto me, letting her straddle my lap. “You’re so beautiful when you cry,” I tell her, my hands trailing down to her ass. I squeeze, tugging her closer until her heat is right at my crotch. I’m hard. Rock fucking solid.

“I have to work.” She glances back at the abandoned laptop.

“Fuck work,” I bite back. Reaching for her blouse, I rip it open, buttons popping in all directions. “I’m about to make love to my wife.” I lie her down. Shoving her skirt up toward her hips, I spread her thighs, finding a tiny scrap of material covering her pussy. With one harsh tug, it’s on the floor, and I’m leaning in to inhale my beautiful woman’s cunt.

Her slick entrance is temptation, and I’m about to indulge. My tongue darts out. Tentatively, I lick at her entrance, causing her hips to buck up toward my face. With both thumbs, I open her smooth lips and push my tongue into her. Warm, sweet juices drip from her onto my tongue, and I glance up at her big green eyes from between her thighs.

“Carrick,” she utters my name, pleads, begs, tangles her fingers in my hair as I devour her sweetness. She’s mine. So fucking beautifully mine. My cock is throbbing to be inside her, to just show her with my body how much I love her. I want her to come on my tongue, but I can’t hold back anymore. I need to be inside her.

My slacks and boxers are around my ankles in seconds, and I’m hovering over her. My hips between her splayed thighs. “I love you, Peyton,” I murmur as my cock teases her entrance. My hips roll, and I slip inside.

“I love you too, Sir,” she coos, and that’s all I need to drive into her body. I’m balls-deep inside the woman I’m going to marry. Leisurely, I move, sliding out and in, feeling each warm pulse of her body around my shaft.

Her fingers claw for more. She loves me being rough, fucking her, but this is not the time nor place. I need her to feel me. To feel my love. My mouth finds hers, our lips fusing with electric currents shooting through me. With each soft lick of her tongue, I offer mine in return, tasting her as she is me.

Our bodies move in sync, fitting together like two beautiful broken pieces of the same shattered glass. We don’t need anything else. No toys. No whips and cuffs. This right here is heaven. It’s perfect. It’s my love for Peyton, and hers for me.