Page 151 of Broken Blades

She laughed—breathless and beautiful. "Probably."

"Your father's going to lose his mind."

Her eyes darkened with something that looked like satisfaction. "Good."

That single word sent heat coursing through me. Because she wasn't backing down. Wasn't choosing him over this. Over us.

She was choosing me.

Despite everything.

I kissed her again, slower this time. Thorough. Claiming every inch of her mouth like I could make her forget everything except this moment.

When I pulled back, her eyes were hazy, lips swollen.

"Take me to bed, Wyatt."

Not a question.

A demand.

I carried her there without another word.

I laid her on the bed with a reverence that contradicted every dark thought I'd had tonight. Her dress wrinkled beneath her, hair fanning across the pillow—my pillow in some impersonal hotel room that suddenly felt like the most important place in the world.

She reached for me, and I caught her wrists gently, pinning them above her head.

"Let me," I said quietly.

Her breath hitched, but she nodded.

I released one wrist to slide my hand down her body, finding the zipper at her side. The same kind of zipper that had started everything between us in that garden. My fingers traced the path slowly, deliberately, watching her face as I pulled it down.

The fabric parted, revealing skin I'd memorized but would never stop wanting to discover again.

I peeled the dress away from her shoulders, her waist, her hips—unhurried despite the desperate need clawing at my chest. She lifted slightly to help me remove it completely, and I tossed it aside without care for where it landed.

She lay beneath me in nothing but black lace that made my hands shake.

"You're staring," she whispered.

"I'm memorizing."

Because after tonight—after she'd driven hours to confront me, after she'd chosen me over her father, after she'd said she loved me—I needed to remember every detail. The curve of her hip. The way her chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. The flush spreading across her skin.

I stripped quickly, never taking my eyes off her. When I settled between her thighs, she wrapped her legs around me instinctively, pulling me closer.

"Wyatt—"

I kissed her before she could finish the thought. Deep and consuming, swallowing whatever words she'd been about to say. My hands slid beneath her, unhooking the lace and removing the last barriers between us.

When I finally pressed inside her, we both groaned.

She was perfect. Warm and tight and exactly where I needed to be. I buried my face in her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume mixed with something uniquely her.

"Mine," I growled against her throat.

Her fingers dug into my shoulders. "Yours."