Page 43 of Trade It All

"You’re mine," I rasp, my vision blurring as the pressure in my blood reaches the breaking point. "You hear me, Maddie? Fromthis second on, you don't breathe without my permission. You don't look at another man without remembering exactly how I'm filling you up right now."

She’s sobbing now, a high, needy sound that has my heart hammering against my ribs. Her release hits her like a wave, her internal muscles pulsing around me in a frantic, rhythmic squeeze that has me seeing red.

"That's it, Baby," the "Baby" sounding like a vow as I surge into her one last time. "Give it all to me. Give me forever."

I collapse into her, my head buried in the crook of her neck, my chest heaving as I try to find my oxygen. I’m spent. I’m leveled. And as I feel her small hands—finally free of the belt—come up to cradle my head, I realize I’ve finally won the only game that ever mattered.

Chapter 19

Maddie

Everythingfeels…quiet.Notthe room. Not the world outside the walls.

Me.

Like something that’s been wound too tight for too long finally loosened all at once, leaving behind this strange, floating calm I don’t quite know what to do with. I don’t move at first. I don’t want to.

Because I’m still wrapped up in him, still half draped across his chest, his hand moving slowly along my back in a steady rhythm that feels grounding in a way I didn’t know I needed. There’s no urgency in it now. No heat. Just… presence.

Just him.

And the longer I stay there, the more it settles into something deeper than the moment we just came out of.

Safe.

The word comes quietly, almost like I don’t want to disturb it.

Wanted.

That one follows right behind it, heavier, fuller, sitting in my chest in a way I can actually feel instead of question.

I shift slightly, and his arm tightens around me instantly, not restrictive, just enough to remind me I’m still there, still with him, like he’s checking without asking.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, softer than anything I’ve heard from him before.

And I believe him. Completely. Before I can say anything back, before I can even process how easily that trust settles into place, he moves. One arm slides beneath me, the other bracing at my back, and then I’m lifted like I weigh nothing, like it doesn’t take any effort at all to bring me with him as he stands. A small sound slips out of me, half surprise, half something softer, and his hand tightens slightly in response.

“Easy,” he says, not correcting me, not teasing—just steadying.

He carries me into the bathroom without setting me down, the cool air brushing against my skin in a way that makes me instinctively lean closer into him. The lights flick on, softer than I expect, and he sets me carefully on the counter for a second while he turns on the shower.

The sound of water fills the space, warm steam starting to rise almost immediately, and I watch him as he moves—focused, deliberate, like this matters just as much as everything that came before it. Maybe more. My wrists ache faintly, the reminder of it still there, and before I can even think about it, he’s already reaching for something, his touch gentle as he takes my hands, turning them slightly to check. His brow tightens just a fraction.

“Hold still,” he murmurs.

The words aren’t sharp. They’re careful. He reaches for a small bottle, working a cream between his fingers before smoothing it over my skin, slow, deliberate, his touch light but thorough, like he’s making sure nothing is missed, like he’s undoing any mark left behind. It doesn’t hurt. It soothes. More than that—it settles something deeper, something I didn’t realize was still tense. His thumb brushes over the inside of my wrist once more before he lets go, his gaze lifting to mine like he’s checking, like he needs to see that I’m okay before moving on.

“I’m okay,” I say softly.

He nods once, like he needed that. The shower is ready by the time he turns back, steam curling through the air, and when he reaches for me again, it’s just as steady, just as sure as before. He helps me in, careful with every movement, his hands never rushing, never assuming. The warmth wraps around me instantly, sinking into my skin, into my muscles, into everything that still feels a little too aware.

I tilt my head slightly, looking back at him through the steam. “Are you joining me?”

There’s a small smile at the corner of his mouth, something softer than I’ve seen from him before, something that feels like it belongs only here. “Of course.”

He steps in behind me a second later, the space shifting again, not crowded, just… full. His hands find me without hesitation, one at my waist, the other reaching for the shampoo, his movements slow, unhurried as he works it through my hair. His fingers are careful against my scalp, massaging gently, taking his time in a way that makes it impossible not to relax into it. I close my eyes. Let it happen. Let him take care of me in a way no one ever has before.

He rinses it out just as slowly, his hand steady at the back of my neck, guiding me without pressure, and when he moves to wash the rest of me, it’s the same—careful, deliberate, like he’s aware of every place he touches and what it might mean.