Page 83 of Vance

A ragged, ugly sob escapes my lips as the knife suddenly feels impossibly heavy. My fingers go slack, and the blade clatters to the marble floor, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the silence. The dam breaks, and tears stream down my cheeks, hot and relentless, blurring his face into a watercolor of pain and desperation.

Vance moves slowly, the calloused pads of his thumbs tenderly wiping away my tears as though I am made of glass. “I’m not letting you go again, Sophia. Not now. Not ever.”

He lowers himself to the floor—a man who has never bowed to anyone—and kneels in front of me. This man who runs a city with control and intimidation stares up at me as though I am the one with all the power.

“I’m not asking you to forget who I am,” he pleads, the words rough as gravel. “I’m not asking you to pretend we started as something beautiful. I’m asking for something I don’t deserve.” His hands rise, settling around my wrists before bringing my hands to his lips. “I just want the chance to love you properly. The way I should have from the start.”

His blue eyes burn into mine, stripped bare and left with nothing but the terrifying honesty of a man who has finally lowering the walls of his defenses. He looks shattered. Undone. Completely at my mercy.

“I’m scared.” The confession bubbles over my lips. “I’m so scared of you breaking my heart again.”

His expression fractures long enough for me to see how the thought of causing me pain guts him. “I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life holding those pieces together,” he vows. “Proving to you that your heart is safe in my hands.”

I close my eyes as he stands, and his lips find mine. It’s not the kiss of a man who takes what he wants, but one of a man who finally understands that love isn’t a conquest—it’s surrender. His mouth is soft and questioning as we both taste the salt of my tears.

My hands find his chest, pressing against the steady thundering of his heart. When my fingers brush the damp spot where the blade kissed his skin, I shudder at how close this came to an ending neither of us would have survived. I melt into him, into the heat and solidity of his body, and his arms that close around me. The last of my resistance crumbles, not with a crash, but with a sigh and the simple inevitability of our love.

I kiss him back with every bruised and battered feeling I’ve been carrying, the love that never stopped burning—no matter how hard I tried to extinguish it—and the truth I’ve been running from since the day I walked away.

I love him.

Vance pulls me closer, his hand cradling the back of my head, his forehead dropping to rest on mine. His breath ghosts across my lips, shaky and unguarded, and I know with a certainty that both terrifies and comforts me, that I am finally, truly, home.

Her lips are soft and yielding, tasting of salt and surrender. The kiss is a revelation, a fragile new thing born from the ashes of our ruin. For weeks, I’ve been fueled by a rage so cold and sharp it felt like part of me. But now, holding her in my arms, feeling the soft tremor of her body, that rage is gone. It’s been incinerated by a fire so much more powerful, by a love so profound it terrifies me.

I deepen the kiss, not with force, but with a desperate need to show her everything I can’t put into words. I pour every ounce of my regret, every moment of agony I spent searching for her, and every ounce of my devotion into the slow, sweeping glide of my tongue against hers. Her hands slide over the firm plane of my chest, clutching at the fabric of my shirt with a grip so tight it’s as if she’s afraid I might disappear.

But I’m not going anywhere. Ever. The devil himself couldn’t drag me away.

Breaking the kiss enough to speak, I rest my forehead against hers. “I’ve missed you,” I whisper, the words vibrating between our lips. “God, sweetheart, I’ve missed you so much.”

Her eyes flutter open, and the raw emotion swimming in their depths nearly brings me to my knees once more. She takes in a stuttered breath and exhales, “Vance…”

My name, trembling over her lips, is the only invitation I need. I sweep her into my arms, and she lets out a small, surprised gasp as her hands instinctively go to my neck. I catch her mouth with mine again, kissing her as I carry her through the sprawling penthouse.

As I walk, my lips stay on hers, slowing only when she pulls herself into me, her fingers tightening at the nape of my neck. Our tongues entangled, her body warm against mine, and my arms locked securely around her, I carry her down the hall toward our bedroom.

Entering the master bedroom, I pass the king-sized bed that has felt like a frozen wasteland without her and go to the adjoining seating area. When we reach the plush chaise lounge tucked beside the windows, I lower her gently. Her hair fans out against the cream-colored velvet as I finally pull my lips from hers.

I kneel beside the chaise, my gaze roaming over her face, memorizing every line and every curve, from the tear tracks on her cheeks to the slight swell of her lips from my kisses. Her lower lip trembles slightly as I reach out to brush a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“You’re so beautiful,” I murmur, my voice thick with an awe I’ve never allowed myself to show before. “You’ve always been so fucking beautiful.”

Her eyes glisten with fresh tears, but these are different. They’re not tears of pain or anger. They’re tears of release and acceptance. “Vance…”

“Shhh,” I soothe, leaning over to press a soft kiss to her temple. “Let me show you. Let me show you how much I love you. Let me show you the man I should have been all along.”

My lips move from hers to the curve of her jaw, then down the soft column of her throat. Her skin is warm, impossibly soft. When I kiss the sensitive spot beneath her jaw, her fingers tighten against my shoulders as her pulse jumps against my lips. I feel every frantic beat as I hear the tiny hitch in her breathing and feel the shiver that moves through her body.

She smells like heaven, her lavender perfume mingling with the faint unique sweetness of her skin. I breathe her in without thinking, my mouth brushing over her throat again as I let myself take her in, relishing the quiet sounds she makes when my lips press to her flesh.

My hands find the hem of her dress, my fingertips grazing the soft fabric before sliding beneath it. Dragging my palms over the heat of her skin, the sensation sends a sharp pulse of want through me. I want to feel every inch of my wife beneath my hands as I memorize the way she feels beneath me.

I lift my head, my eyes locking with hers as I slowly, deliberately, draw the dress over her hips, her waist, and then her ribs. She raises her arms, allowing me to pull it over her head and toss it aside. She’s left in a simple lace bra and panties, a delicate scrap of ivory that does little to hide her arousal.

My gaze drops to her stomach, still flat and firm, but holding the secret of our future. I lean down, pressing my lips against the soft skin below her navel. A choked sob escapes her, and her fingers thread through my hair, her nails gently scraping against my scalp. The gesture is one of permission and surrender, igniting a fire deep in my soul.

I travel down her body, my lips tracing the curve of her ribs before my tongue dips into the hollow of her navel. Goosebumps rise on her skin as I dust my lips over every inch of her, listening to the soft sighs and wanting whimpers escaping her. This isn’t about taking. It’s about giving. I want to give her pleasure so intense it erases every bad memory and moment of doubt. I don’t just want her to feel cherished and adored; I want her to know she is loved and worshipped.