Page 94 of Break Me

Yet it's his whispered words, muffled against my skin, that amplify the moment.

“You’re mine, Raven. All of you. Forever.”

The word forever wraps around us.

“And you’re mine,” I breathe.

As the intensity builds, I feel my release looming. He senses it too. I know he does by the way he slows his pace, stretching the moment, and making me ache for more.

Sam explores me with a reverence that speaks of his desire not just for my body, but for the shared intimacy we’re creating. His hand grips my hip tighter, holding me steady as he devours me. Moans spill from my lips, unbidden and raw, the room filling with the sounds of my ragged breaths and the rhythm of his tongue against my swollen pussy. Each movement drawing me deeper into a haze of ecstasy where nothing exists but us.

As the pleasure builds to an unbearable peak, I reach down, threading my fingers through his hair, urging him closer.

“I need to be inside you,” he says, his voice a low growl.

With a final, lingering kiss, he pulls away just enough to shed his clothes, revealing the hard length of his cock, thick and pulsing with need.

Our eyes meet, and in that shared gaze, I see the same vulnerability and hunger that mirrors my own, a silent promise of complete surrender.

He enters me slowly, inch by inch, filling me with a stretch that borders on exquisite pain. The connection is profound, his thrusts deep and rhythmic, each one syncing with the beat of my heart, our bodies moving in perfect harmony as sweat-slicked skin slides against skin.

I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, the friction of his cock inside me igniting sparks that travel up my spine, while his hands roam to my breasts, thumbs circling my nipples, amplifying the overload of sensations.

The world narrows to the push and pull of our bodies. I kiss him fiercely, tasting the salt of his skin and the unmistakable trace of myself still lingering on his tongue, the intimacy of it sending a fresh wave of emotion crashing through me. Every stroke draws us closer, not just to release, but to something deeper, something unbreakable.

My climax crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body tightening around him in rhythmic pulses. He follows, his body shuddering against mine as he buries his face in the curve of my neck, our shared release binding us in a moment of pure, unfiltered bliss.

The combination of everything between us overwhelms me, and I surrender completely.

To him.

To the life we've built with scarred hands and stubborn hearts. To a love that's survived every version of us and somehow keeps growing stronger. To the quiet certainty that no matter what tomorrow brings, I'll keep choosing him, and he'll keep choosing me.

"I never want to forget this," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Not this feeling. Not the way you look at me. Not us."

His forehead rests against mine, his smile small and impossibly tender.

"Then don't," he murmurs. "This is what forever feels like."

Raven

Sam is still asleep beside me, one arm draped across my waist. His breathing is slow and even. His weight is familiar, anchoring. I lie there longer than I mean to, taking everything in and still trying to believe that this is my life. That despite everything that was against us, I have the life I once only dreamed of.

For the first time in what feels like weeks, my body doesn’t feel braced for impact.

I shift carefully, easing out from under Sam’s arm. He stirs but doesn’t wake, his hand flexing once before falling back to the mattress. I pause, watching his face soften again, the lines between his brows smoothing out.

God, I love him like this. Unaware. Unburdened.

Pulling on one of his shirts, I pad into the kitchen, the floor cool beneath my bare feet. The cottage is quiet, suspended in that fragile space between night and morning, as if it's holding its breath.

This little place has worked its way into my heart in ways I never expected. Not because of what it is, but because every room still feels touched by him. His boots lying by the door. His favorite mug beside the coffee pot. The flannel blanket draped over the couch. They're ordinary things, but together they've become the shape of home.

By now, moving through these rooms feels as natural as breathing. Nothing here is extravagant, yet every corner holds a memory we've made together—a shared meal, stolen kisses, quiet mornings, late-night laughter. Somewhere along the way, this tiny cottage became the place we belonged.

The thought makes my chest ache, just a little. Not sadness. It’s tender like the feeling of being recognized by something that transcends words.

I start the coffee, the rich smell filling the room. Outside the window, a bird hops along the railing, watching me like it expects breakfast on schedule.