“Fuck,” I mutter against her lips, pulling back just enough to look at her, to see the wild spark in her eyes. “You’ll ruin me.”
She smirks, breathless, and whispers, “Maybe that’s the point.”
The challenge twists into something primal, and I answer the only way I can. My body shifts over hers, slow and deliberate, caging her beneath me. I never break the kiss as I crawl over her, every inch forward claiming more of her space, more of her air, until there’s nothing left between us but heat and the promise of destruction and devotion tangled into one.
Her fingers curl in my hair, anchoring me, and I know she means for me to stay. The vow she gave me isn’t just a promise—it’s a brand I’ll wear forever.
Her body arches into mine the second I press her down into the mattress, the heat between us sparking like a fuse already burning toward something we can’t stop. My mouth moves over hers, hard and hungry, until I’m breathing her in like oxygen. Her nails drag over my shoulders, down my back, digging just deep enough to remind me she’s flesh and fury wrapped in one.
“Ronan,” she whispers against my lips, the sound half a moan, half a vow. “I promised I wouldn’t run. Not from you. Not from them either.”
Her words still me for a heartbeat. I pull back just enough to see her face, her eyes glassy but fierce. “You’re saying it, baby, but do you mean it?”
“I swear it,” she breathes, chest rising and falling. “I love you. I love them too—Rowan, Emerson. You all have me. I’ll close the distance. I’ll give us another chance. No more walls. No more lies.” Her hand cups my cheek, trembling but sure. “I’m yours. All of yours.”
The admission cracks something open inside me. I press my forehead to hers, my voice breaking low. “You don’t know what that does to me. To hear it. To feel it. You’re our world, Berk. You always were.”
Then I take her mouth again, deeper this time, as if I can seal those words into her bones. Our bodies move in a desperate rhythm, each thrust and grind pulling moans from both of us, a storm of need and devotion. She clings to me, her whispers tangled with mine, a litany of love and promises spoken into the heat of our skin.
When release finally tears through us, it’s not quiet—it’s shattering, a breaking point that rebuilds us in the same breath. She cries my name like it’s both curse and prayer, and I hold her like I’ll never let her go.
After we collapse together, slick with sweat, our hearts racing in tandem. My arm stays wrapped around her, her head tucked under my chin, her breath softening against my chest until sleep claims her. I kiss the crown of her head and close my eyes, letting the moment brand itself into me.
Tomorrow, the world burns again. Tomorrow, revenge and justice will lead our steps. But tonight—just for tonight—we have this. Her promise. My vow. And the fragile, unbreakable truth that love and war can live in the same heartbeat.
Chapter Twelve
Emerson
“Ouch! Fuck!” The curse rips out of me before I can stop it as I jerk my hand back from the skillet. Pain sears across my fingers as I shove them under the faucet, twisting the handle until cold water gushes over my skin. It hisses and stings, and I grit my teeth against the ache.
From the kitchen bar, Kimber’s giggle rings out, light and unbothered, like she’s been waiting for me to screw this up. She kicks her heels against the stool, chin propped in her hands as if she has a front row seat at a comedy show.
“You’re supposed to feed me, not the fire, Em,” she teases.
I shoot her a mock glare, shaking the water from my hand. “Don’t get smart with me, kid. You’re lucky I even crawled out of bed after the night I had.”
Her brows lift in curiosity, but she doesn’t ask. Probably for the best. If she knew half of what I heard—or tried not to hear—through the walls last night, I’d never live it down. Rowan and I had spent half the night staring at Berkley’s setup, combing through her monitors and files, trying to piece together the puzzle she’s been living in. And the other half? That was spent pretending I didn’t hear Ronan and Berk fucking like the world was ending. By the time sleep finally dragged me under, it was morning, and Kimber was knocking on my door, wide-eyed and asking for breakfast.
I’m about to try my luck with the pan again when movement catches my eye. I turn, and my breath falters.
Berkley stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame like she belongs there, like she always has. Her hair is messy from sleep, her eyes softer than I’ve seen since her return, and there’s a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips. For a second, the whole room stills.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I hear myself say, the words slipping out before I can catch them. My chest tightens immediately. Too much. Too familiar. Shit.
Then she laughs—not sharp or mocking, but warm. The sound slips under my ribs and tightens something there. She walks toward me like it’s easy, like the years, the blood, and the distance between us haven’t turned into a battlefield.
Without hesitation, she plucks the pan from the burner and sets it aside before I can ruin breakfast completely. Then she leans in and presses a kiss against my cheek. My body locks, every muscle going taut, and for a second, I can’t breathe.
She glances at my hand, the one I burned, and her brow furrows. “You’re useless,” she mutters, but there’s no bite in it. She pats my chest, presses a cool cloth into my palm, and nudges me toward the bar. “Sit down—before you go and burn down another house,” she says over her shoulder, that teasing smirk still playing at her lips.
Kimber claps her hands like it’s the best show she’s ever seen. “Go, Berk!” she cheers, grinning from ear to ear.
Berkley’s smirk follows her as she moves around the kitchen; her ease there is a quiet reminder of how little I deserve it. Kimber watches her with wide eyes, clearly remembering pieces of the girl she used to know, even if the details are blurry.
“You’re no better a cook than I remember,” Berk calls over her shoulder, a playful jab that makes Kimber laugh harder.
I find myself smiling despite the sting in my hand, despite the weight of everything pressing down on us. Watching her like this—moving through the kitchen, alive and sharp and ours—it feels like something I thought we’d never get back. Something worth bleeding for.