I feel her arms, they wrap around me, the strength of them comforting. And I relax in her embrace and let the tears, and the guilt, flow.

Stewart never came back to the hospital. Every time the door opened, or I heard a voice in the hall, I expected it to be him. But he never returned.

They release me three days later, when I had reached a point of bitchiness, trying to rip the IV from my arm and biting the heads off anyone but Paul or Dana.

Dana. I finally realized where I knew her from, her face turning bright red when I brought it up. It was then, over hospital Jello and shit coffee, that she told me. How she watched me. Suspected me of some master plan, one that would destroy her brothers. How she hated me from afar. She apologized, though none was needed, and we hugged. And she paid me the nicest compliment I have ever gotten.

“I see why they love you. It is hard, while in your presence—not to love you.”

I blushed, taking a sip of coffee to disguise the reaction, and thought about how vile I had been since waking up chained to this bed. How she was able to see any redeeming qualities was a shock.

Then, finally, they put me in a wheelchair and take me out, Paul’s Jeep parked at the curb. The wheelchair is unnecessary; I could have cartwheeled out of there. But some hospital policy requires it, and I am only too happy to oblige. Anything to speed my exit. Anything to get me out of the sterile environment and back into beach air and sun.

Paul lifts me from the chair despite my protests, taking advantage of the act and brushing his lips over mine, his eyes examining me, filled with emotion. “I love you, Maddy.”

I grin at him. “I love you, too.”

“I’m so happy you are coming home.”

I don’t know if he is referring to my near-death experience, or the fact that I am now fully his, without a second man hovering over our relationship. But either way, I am happy, too. More than happy, I am anxious, ready, for our new life together. And yet, there it is. Guilt. Leaning onto my shoulder, whispering in my ear. Every smile, every burst of happiness accompanied by a twinge of guilt. I am coming home to Paul; I am making a life with him. And Stewart will be alone. Twinge.

Paul sets me into the front seat and buckles the belt around me, his normal scent—one of ocean and sunscreen—gone. Replaced by hand sanitizer and ivory soap. I’m suddenly anxious for us to swim. To wash away all of the last four days and literally dive back into our old world.

“Paul,” I say softly, his head turning quickly at the words.

“Yes, baby? What is it, are you in pain?” his eyes are concerned, and I smile to appease his worry.

“No. When we get home... I want to go in the water. Just for a quick swim.”

He studies my face, leaning forward and giving me another kiss. “If that’s what you want, baby. I’ll do anything you want.”

Anything. It is true. The last two years have taught me that. Anything. It is a heavy word when used correctly. It is a word that can hold unknown possibilities.

VENICE BEACH, CA

It is good to be back. To step from the jeep and walk, my weight gingerly, then confidently, held by my legs. I stretch in our carport before turning to Paul, seeing him round the jeep, his eyes on me, intent, looking for some sign of physical weakness. I grin, shooting him a look he knows, a look that leads to ditched clothes and feverous hands. He returns the smile, relief crossing his features, and reaches for me.

I dip around his hands, dropping my bag on the concrete, and dart into the sunshine outside our garage, surprising him with my speed. “Uh-uh,” I click my tongue at him. “Ocean—now.”

“I want you, now,” he growls, stepping out of the darkness, his hand catching my sundress and tugging on the fabric until I am against him. “Seeing as you seem to be back to normal.”

I push against him, breaking free and move, grabbing his hand and tugging him along the alley. “First the water.”

He wraps an arm around my neck, pulling me against him and pressing soft kisses on my head as we walked down a broken sidewalk we have traveled countless times before. A block from the water, when we round a corner and see the glint of afternoon sun reflecting of the waves, he bends, catching me off guard, and swoops me into his arms, smiling down at me as he moves.

“It’s cold out,” he warns. “Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Don’t chicken out on me now,” I warn, the sentence causing him to laugh. That beautiful sound, that huge smile I have missed; the closer we step to the water, the less intensity his eyes carry. He pulls me to him for a kiss, then throws me over his shoulder and breaks into a run. I bounce, holding on tightly, and laugh, feeling the change in his stride when his feet reach the sand. I brace for the water.

Freezing, shockthebreathoutofyou cold. Paul hits it first, gasping, then moves in deeper and unceremoniously dumps me into the ocean. His hands pull me to him, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and squeezing, seeking the warmth of his body as I move closer.

“Told ya,” he whispers, his hands on my skin, rubbing it, warming it slightly as he gathers me against his chest and takes us deeper, the water now at our shoulders, waves rocking us every few moments.

“It is pretty cold,” I agree, the click of my chattering teeth causing us to laugh.

He kisses me into silence, sliding his hands under my floating dress, pulling my h*ps hard into him. “What do you say you let me take you inside? Let the shower warm us up?”

“Or something else.” I whisper against his mouth.

“Or something else.” He grins, and I squeeze with my legs.

VENICE BEACH, CA

My wet dress feels like an ice pack by the time we stumble, shivering, up the steps to our home. The house is just as I remember it, and I feel a burst of shock at how much has changed since I last walked through these doors.

“Come here,” he whispers, adjusting the thermostat, leading me into our bedroom and pulling me close, rubbing his hands over my arms, stealing a quick kiss as he yanks at his shorts and drops them to the floor.

Wow. Anyone who thinks water causes shrinkage has never met this man. At least, not this man at this moment in time. He is, despite the smile he shoots me, raring to go, and I am suddenly warm, my skin tingling, the heat between us erasing anything else.

“Turn around, baby.” His words are soft, but I hear their directive and meet his eyes, a curl of pleasure shooting through me at the look in them. Raw need. A fire burning behind his cocky smile. This is the Paul I know, the one who expresses love best through touch, and who can barely contain his emotions in this moment.

I turn, hearing him blow into his hands, feeling the warmth of his skin as he pulls at my dress, his hands gently lifting the wet material off, his fingers lingering on me as they trail down my arm, as if they want every bit of me they can get. A hand tugs at my zipper, pulling it slowly down, his hot breath on my neck as he exhales against my skin, planting a soft wet kiss there, my panties the next victims to his sure and unhurried movement.

He stays close to me, a hand unclasping my bra, his hands sliding down my back and then curving around my sides, slipping under my limp bra and cupping my cold breasts, squeezing them, pulling my body back against his chest, the hot line of his arousal hitting the top of my ass, hot to cold, my body greedy for more contact against his skin. He kisses my neck from behind, whispering my name as his hands explore my front, running over the lines of my stomach, the curve of my breasts, the hard tips of my nipples. I am suddenly needy for him in ways I have never been, needing to know that this is real, that he is mine, and we have made it through this experience intact, the proof of it hard against my backside, and I want it, him, now, in every way that I can have him. His hands slide lower and I moan, pushing my ass back against him as his hands gently cup me, his mouth taking a delicious line across the hollows of my neck.

“Madd, I never...you have no idea how much I love you,” he groans, grinding against me, his hands holding me in place as he pushes the hard ridge of himself antagonizing close to where I need it.

“Please,” I whisper. “Paul, I need to feel it. I need you inside of me.”

“In a minute, baby.” Instead, I feel his fingers, their gentle exploration over and across my sex, and I push against him, groaning when they finally move inside, slowly sliding in and out, their maddening length and width not enough for what I need.

I moan, my legs weakening from the delicious touch. “Please,” I beg.

He rasps, his voice thick, at the nape of my neck, his arm wrapping around and hugging me to his chest. “Tell me, Madd. Tell me that you need my cock.”

“I do,” I pant. “I do. Please. Give it to me.” My legs buckle as he crooks his fingers, brushing them back and forth over my pleasure spot.

“Only me.” He says firmly, brushing his digits in a way that makes me moan. “Come to the thought of my cock,” he whispers. “Then I’ll show you exactly what it can do.”

I do. I push every lingering thought of Stewart out of my head, physically feel as they leave my body, and focus on Paul—my love—focus on the stiff head of him that is sliding between my legs, inches from where I need it most, so hard that it is sticking straight out. I close my eyes and think about every time he has made me moan, how his face looks when he loses control, the fire in his eyes when he watches me come. The images takes me ...

over the edge

back arching

stars forming

pleasure ripping tingling paths through my body

Paul’s fingers keep up the rhythm, the perfect pressure and tickle across my g-spot, every swipe bringing new life into my orgasm, until I finally sink, held up only by his hands, and look over my shoulder, into his eyes, my drugged vision putting him in a haze, a haze of gorgeous blue eyes and five o’clock shadows.

“Fuck me,” I croak, and his eyes darken, a devious smile of carnal possibilities sweeping across his gorgeous face.

“Yes ma’am.”

He pulls me to my feet, making sure I am steady before releasing me. I start to turn, to face him, but he stops my movement. “Face forward. Grab the foot of the bed.”

I obey, placing my hands on the footer and arching my back, pushing my ass out and waiting, the heater blowing warm air against my skin, my ni**les hardening, my legs clenching. He runs a finger over my sex, dipping inside and then continuing up, until he reached the tight pucker of my ass, and circling the spot. Tight, hard circles, pressing against the hole until I moan, the spot resisting, too tight to allow him entrance. “Please Paul... I need you.”

His finger moves, sliding back down, taking the temperature of my sex once again, hot wetness confirming my arousal, dragging that liquid higher, soaking my asshole, his thumb replacing the finger, a bigger, harder push, not yet inside, but enough to make my breath catch in my throat.

“Tell me,” he says softly, each word feathery gruff, his thumb pushing harder, breaking the seal and entering my darkest place. “Tell me how you want it.”

“Hard,” I whisper, my senses on full alert, wanting , waiting for what is coming, all of my arousal knotting and expanding from the intrusion in my ass. He pushes harder, deeper inside of me—a gasp, followed by a moan, spilling out of my mouth. I grip the footboard tightly, feeling the collection and drip of moisture in my pussy.

“Are you mine?” His voice is tight, guttural, and I smile despite myself, waiting, tense and excited, and coming apart when I feel the width of him, pressing against me, teasing the opening of my body.

“Answer me,” his hoarse voice demands, and I hear the raw edge of desperation, his need for confirmation as great as the throbbing in my core. His thumb moves slightly, pushing and then pulling, the hard sting of his hand taking me closer and closer as his finger continues its wet exploration, heat building in my ass, my mind becoming delirious from the sensation.

“All yours, Paul. There is no one else. I—oh God—love you.” The words tear from my mouth, my pu**y clenching as my ass contracts, every muscle on high alert, loving the feel of his hand as he squeezes and grips my ass.

“God, you are beautiful,” he bites out, sliding his fingers into me, dipping them in and out, giving me two, then three fingers, my cores tightening around his fingers, prompting a groan to leave his mouth. “Are you ready for me, Madd?”

“Now,” I blurt out, the orgasm close, pleasure rolling toward the waterfall edge that will be my flight, “God, I need you.” It is coming, a giant black hole of pleasure and his thumb pushes deeper, the dirty feel of him there so wretchedly hot, pleasure sensors go off around every inch of his thumb, his wet erection hard against my skin, his fingers sliding further, deeper and deeper, slight pain mixing with pleasure, dominance with love. I tilt back my head, can’t hold it any longer, any coherent thought dropping off as I dive off the edge, into my orgasm, into a perfect black sea that grips my entire body and explodes it into a thousand shards of pleasure.

It is then, while my world caves in, while I am mindlessly oblivious to anything but my own ecstasy, which he shoves fully inside of me.

Fullness. The long hard ridge of him inside me, branding me as his own, his need as desperate as mine. One hand still on my ass, his thumb making the tight fit of his c**k even tighter, his other hand gripping my waist, holding me firm and letting loose on my body with his cock. He doesn’t ease into the rhythm, doesn’t give either of us time to react. He just dominates me: hard, firm f**ks that bury inside with every stroke, a furious rhythm of domination, his breath fast and loud, my name ripping from his lips as he takes me as his own.

We are one combined machine, pistons pumping, lubed and swift, perfectly fitting as it should, no pause in our movements, no hitch in our step. He works his thumb in my ass, pushing and pulling, the tight fit glorious in its intensity. I am going to come again, the shaking of my body, the feel of two holes filled, the animalistic fever that is Paul, a man unleashed, the level of his possession so f**king hot in its need.