CHAPTER 121: I LOVE YOU

Aiden’s POV

Her lips tasted like sin and salvation. Sweet, soft, trembling under mine—but the hunger behind her kiss told me everything I needed to know. She wanted this. Needed it. And god, so did I.

I held her like she might disappear, kissed her like I was starved, and touched her like I was trying to memorize her with my fingertips. I needed every inch of her—needed her surrender, her softness, her fire. I needed to ruin her for anyone else.

Her body melted into mine as if it had always belonged there, and the moment her hands clutched at my back, her nails dragging down with quiet desperation, something primal in me snapped.

She wasn’t just a woman I wanted. She was the one I couldn’t let go of. The one who’d gotten under my skin, driven me insane, and kept me awake at night thinking about the way she looked when she glared at me... when she smirked... and now—when she moaned.

The moment my lips touched her skin—her collarbone, her breasts—I felt the tension leave her in waves. Her body trembled beneath my mouth, and I knew then: she trusted me. Maybe not with her secrets, not yet. But with this. With her pleasure. And I’d be damned if I didn’t give her every bit of it.

I kissed her slowly, deliberately, memorizing the texture of her skin, the tiny sounds she made, the way her legs shifted under me. She arched into my mouth, her breath catching when my tongue circled her nipple, her hips tilting ever so slightly. She wanted more. And I was more than ready to give it.

She was so damn responsive—every sigh, every twitch of her muscles driving me harder, deeper into a need I could barely contain. My name fell from her lips in a soft, trembling whisper, and it undid me. I kissed lower, my hands mapping her body as I made my way down. She was already trembling before I even reached the place she was aching for me.

Her thighs parted like a promise.

I kissed them first—slow, reverent, giving her time to feel it. To anticipate it. I felt the tension spike in her muscles as I moved closer. Her scent was already driving me insane, her skin fever-hot. And when I finally tasted her—fuck—my brain short-circuited.

She was sweet, wet, completely undone beneath my tongue. I savored her slowly, taking my time, letting my tongue tease and coax and claim. I knew exactly how to read her—the slight arch of her hips, the sharp inhale when I flicked a certain way. I wanted to push her, wanted to make her fall apart for me. And she did, beautifully.

Her moans were music. Her hands buried in my hair, tugging, trembling. I gave her more, fingers sliding inside her in rhythm with my tongue. She clenched around me like a vice, and I groaned against her, the sound vibrating through her.

She was close. I could feel it—her body shaking, her breath catching, every muscle drawn tight like a bowstring. I didn’t let up. I wanted her to come undone in my mouth, to scream my name like it was the only one she knew.

And when she shattered—when she arched and cried out and lost herself completely—I felt a fierce, possessive pride rise up in me.

That was mine. That sound. That look in her eyes. That shudder in her body.

But I wasn’t finished.

I kissed my way back up her trembling frame, licking her release from my lips as I stared into her eyes. Her pupils were blown wide, lips parted, cheeks flushed. She looked like a goddess—ruined and radiant.

I hovered over her, pausing, giving her a breath, a choice.

But she didn’t pull away.

Her hands found my shoulders, fingers digging in, urging me closer. I guided myself to her entrance, and when I slid in—slow and deep—every muscle in my body locked up at the sheer tightness, the warmth, the feeling of being completely enveloped by her.

"Fuck," I growled, gritting my teeth. "You feel too good..."

She whimpered, her legs wrapping around my waist, pulling me deeper.

I moved slowly at first, savoring the stretch, the way her body clung to me like it didn’t want to let go. I kissed her, hard, desperate, pouring everything into it—every pent-up thought, every unsaid word, every line we were about to obliterate.

I rocked into her, my rhythm building as her moans rose around me. Her hands gripped my back, her nails biting into my skin, and I wanted to feel it—wanted her to mark me, to leave something behind so I’d know this wasn’t a dream.

She cried out my name again when I shifted her leg over my shoulder, and I felt her walls tighten around me like a fucking vice. I couldn’t hold back the groan that tore from my throat. I was close to the edge already, and I hadn’t even begun to give her everything.

But she was taking it.

Every thrust. Every grind of my hips. Every curse I muttered in her ear.

She felt too damn good.

I flipped her over without a word, dragging her hips up and slamming back into her in one smooth motion. Her gasp nearly undid me. I gripped her ass, pulled her flush against me, and drove into her like I needed to reach the very center of her soul.

The sounds—the slick slide of her body, the slap of skin on skin, her cries—they were burned into my memory.

I was losing it.

And when she looked back at me—eyes wide, mouth parted, cheeks flushed—I fucking knew I was gone.

This wasn’t just sex.

This was her letting me in, breaking herself open for me. This was raw, unfiltered connection. And it scared the hell out of me.

Because I wanted it all.

I slowed down—just for a moment—and leaned forward, my hand wrapping around her throat, not to choke, but to hold. To anchor. I kissed the back of her neck, whispered her name like a vow.

"You’re mine," I breathed. "Say it."

She gasped, her voice a broken whisper. "I’m yours."

And that was it.

I turned her onto her back again, my mouth covering hers, and began to move—deep, slow strokes meant to drag out every last moan, every breathless cry. I wanted her to feel every second of it. To know that I wasn’t just fucking her—I was claiming her.

Her hands cupped my face, her legs wrapped tight around me. Her eyes locked with mine and didn’t look away. She wasn’t just surrendering her body. She was surrendering all of it—fear, desire, control.

And god help me, I was doing the same.

I felt her body tense again, felt the orgasm building in her, saw it in the way her eyes fluttered shut, her mouth fell open. I reached down, rubbed circles over her clit, and her back arched off the bed like she’d been struck by lightning.

She screamed—loud, unrestrained, beautiful.

And I let go too.

My hips stuttered, my body seized, and I buried myself as deep as I could go, spilling inside her with a groan that came from somewhere ancient and wild. My vision blurred. My heart raced. I couldn’t tell where I ended and she began.

We lay there, tangled and panting, soaked in sweat and something far more dangerous—something intimate, terrifying, and utterly right.

I brushed the hair from her face, kissed her forehead, and didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She was quiet, but she didn’t let go of me. Her hand stayed on my chest, fingers curled, anchoring me in place.

And in the quiet aftermath, I realized something that should have scared me more than it did.

This wasn’t a one-time thing.

This was everything.

Her breathing slowed, soft and steady against my chest. I kept my arms around her, fingers drawing idle patterns along her back, grounding myself in the feel of her.

The room was quiet now, the heat between us replaced by something warmer—something still, almost sacred. I stared at the ceiling, my mind a riot of thoughts, unable to speak, unable to move, afraid that if I shifted, I’d break whatever fragile, perfect moment we’d stumbled into.

Then I felt her lips brush my skin, the faintest whisper against my chest.

"I love you," she murmured, so soft I almost thought I imagined it.

But I didn’t.

I froze.

Her words echoed in my ears like gunfire—gentle, but devastating. For a second, my brain stalled, refusing to process what I’d just heard. I blinked, heart pounding, breath caught in my throat. She hadn’t said it before. Not once. Not even when I thought she felt it. I’d convinced myself she wouldn’t—couldn’t.

And yet, here she was, wrapped around me, heart still racing from what we’d just shared, and whispering that.

I tilted my head down to look at her, but she was already drifting into sleep. Her lashes rested on flushed cheeks, her lips parted slightly, utterly unguarded in the way only sleep could allow.

She meant it.

And it hit me like a punch to the chest.

Relief flooded through me, followed by something rawer, brighter—joy. She loved me. She loved me. I grinned like an idiot in the dark, brushing her hair back from her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that," I whispered.

And with her body curled around mine, I finally allowed myself to believe that maybe—just maybe—I could have it all.