I wanted him. I wanted him inside me. I wanted him for all eternity.
His breath came out in a shudder as our rhythm picked up, going from teasing to committed.
His mouth locked on mine again. One hand in my hair and the other on my chin, his lips taught mine a violent dance. His tongue thrust into my mouth at the same tempo as his cock plunged into my pussy.
My teeth sank into his lower lip as I arched into his hold. I was pinned by him. Held hostage by sex while he waited for an answer to his unconventional marriage proposal.
“You said yes to the fake one,” he growled, thrusting faster. “Say yes to a real one.”
I drank air like liquid. “I never said yes to the first one. I remember saying no multiple times.”
He flattened me into the bed. “I didn’t let you say no then. And I won’t let you say no now.” His passion overflowed. His fist landed in my hair, tugging hard enough to remind me I was completely at his mercy.
I slept with him in utmost trust that he’d never use his strength to hurt me.
“You can’t make me say yes by fucking me, Penn.”
“I can’t?” He surged into me, making the familiar fireworks grab a lighter and hold a flame to their fuses.
I glued my lips together, holding back my moan as my body prepared to spindle and shoot into euphoric abandon.
“Do you trust me?” he whispered, his tongue tracing my ear.
Even swept away, so close to coming, I nodded, grabbing his shoulders with my nails. “Unequivocally.”
“In that case. Say yes.”
His gaze searched mine, his features turning brittle and sharp with his desire to come. “You put me through hell because I love you so fucking much, and I put you through hell because I come with baggage. But I’m willing to fight together, Elle. Are you?”
His hands found my hair again, holding me in place as he undid me with desperate kisses. “Marry me. Goddammit, Elle.”
He thrust into me, switching the spark for annihilation.
I threw my head back and screamed as my body waked around his. My pussy fisted his cock, and every orgasm bubble popped down my legs.
His black chuckle brought me back to earth where he chased me off the cliff.
His fingertips brushed across my cheek. “Fuck, I love watching you come.” He drove deeper into me. “It makes me so hard.” Thrust. “I can’t fucking control myself.” Plunge. “Christ, Elle.” His wickedly sexy mouth brushed over mine, feeding me his growl as the splashes of his cum filled me.
His eyes snapped closed as his body jerked.
Holding him while he came down from his high, keeping him safe, threading our lives into one, I murmured, “Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Nameless.”
Epilogue
Penn
SIX MONTHS OF fucking heaven.
Six months of waking up with Elle in my arms.
Six months of being hissed at by Sage for crowding Elle on the couch at night after a long day at work.
Six months of working out of an office at Belle Elle, running my charity, and trading the penny stocks I’d become so fond of.
Six wonderfully happy months where Elle’s father welcomed me wholeheartedly into the family, Larry finalized the adoption on Stewie, and life settled into a full, joyful world rather than an empty, lonely one.
A few months ago, I’d taken Elle to Fishkill to see Gio.
At the start, she’d been cold and standoffish—which I understood seeing as the last time she’d seen him he’d been yelling abuse and physically hurting her.
But just like Larry always said, ‘Thieves can become saints. Saints can become thieves. Most of us deserve a second chance.’ Gio had changed. We’d celebrated with him over the phone when Stewie’s adoption finally came through and he no longer carried hate caused by being in Sean’s pocket.
He’d started a building course in prison, and in four years’ time—when he was due to be released—he’d be a fully-fledged carpenter ready to trade a skill for money.
We’d already arranged he’d work for me building shelters and renovating apartments for those in need. He’d never be homeless again and had a readymade family who knew how to forgive and help rather than judge and ridicule.
The reporters never fully went away.
Arnold Twig ensured their tattletales and slander were given new details. Larry fought for me in another trial—this one with only judges presiding, not a jury. The evidence had three overseers, not just one.
I had the opportunity to stand and reveal everything that I’d endured. I looked Arnold Twig in the eye and buried him under details, evidence, and the long years I’d served incorrectly.
I was no longer a kid and afraid of him.
He was afraid of me.
And despite Arnold’s rebuttal and lies, even marching Sean in front of the public as the perfect role model, the newspapers actually did a good turn for once and uncovered Sean’s old juvie record for deliberately maiming a local dog.
That scrap of juicy detail encouraged more reporters to dig into the not-so-innocent world of Sean Twig.
Slowly, women came forward to issue statements that they’d been touched inappropriately at school and been sworn to secrecy by him. Even a female teacher swore under oath that Sean had raped her on the last day of senior year.
She hadn’t reported it because she was afraid she’d be the one prosecuted for a teacher sleeping with a student.
The day Sean was officially arrested for more crimes than I could ever have done, Arnold Twig lost his position as chief of police and was detained, just like his son. His bail was set high enough that it would’ve hurt him in the wallet as well as his livelihood.