Page 115 of Not Safe for Work

Congrats!

I knew she would!

Does this mean we’re over?

Why doesn’t he ever take off his shirt?

“It’s time for me to ravish you,” he says, bending down and slinging me over his shoulder. I scream in delight as he heads down the hall.

“Where’s your bed?” he asks, opening doors before finding my room. He drops me onto the field of my fluffy duvet and then crawls over me.

“Naked. Now,” he says, pulling at my leggings and shirt.

“You’re so verbose as a villain,” I tease. He snarls as he catches the waistband of my underwear in his teeth.

“Don’t make me tie you up,” he replies, tugging the fabric down my thighs.

“I might be okay with that.”

He scans the room with a distraught expression as if wishing he had brought some rope.

“Next time,” he promises as he drops his weight on me. “When I take you to my actual lair.”

Then we’re kissing as we continue undressing until we’re both bare.

“I’ve missed this so much. I was so scared I’d never get to do this again,” he says, his mouth trailing over every inch of my skin.

“I was too,” I say. “I thought—”

He cuts me off with a bruising kiss. “Never. I told you I’d come for you. I’m sorry it took so long, but it was all so messy. I promise I’ll always come for you. Believe me when I say that.”

“I do,” I say, gasping as we become teeth and nails and searching mouths and frantic fingers digging into muscle and flesh until our breath is ragged and our bodies are flushed.

When we’re finished, Rafe retrieves the lemon tarts from the kitchen, and we share all three in bed. (By share, I mean I eat two and a half.)

“This might be better than sex,” I say, licking my fork and then the entire plate with the flat of my tongue.

He narrows his eyes. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted by that.”

I laugh and then crawl over and straddle his hips. He cups the back of my neck, and we kiss again.

“Either way, I’m keeping you both forever,” I say softly when I pull away.

Then he smiles, and this one is cumulative.

It’s smile upon smile, exponentially growing and expanding with every single one he ever held back.

It’s years of smiles that we both owe one another.

And it’s then I know that this one—this smile is only and forever just for me.

Epilogue

One year later

It’s a blustery winter day when I step into The Dessert Wolf and inhale the scent of sugar and icing. Large windows look out on Michigan Avenue, and crisp rows of shiny white tiles cover the floor and walls. A large glass case runs almost the length of the room, filled with rows and rows of colorful pastries and cakes, each one a work of art.

Rafe stands behind the counter, bent over a sketchbook, wearing a white coat with an asymmetrical line of buttons and a monogrammed W on the breast. After leaving WMC, he used some of the money from his social media accounts to rent and renovate this space to finally follow his dream. It was a ton of work, but he was determined, and now the linen-covered tables are full every day, and a line forms outside the door every morning.