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To my surprise, though, once I’d started talking, a torrent of words had tumbled out. About our family business. About my father’s years-long push to grow Harmon Construction—supposedly formysake—while ignoring my ideas and suggestions and then my increasingly angry objections and warnings. About how selling our grandfather’s house hadn’t been my father’s only betrayal, just the worst… and the last.

Hayes had truly listened. He’d understood. And then we’d ended the night watchingWicked.

But when it came time to sack out on their sofa, I’d changed my mind. I’d missed Delaney. Missed his laughter and his kisses and the soft weight of him beside me as he drifted into sleep. I hadn’t even cared when Hayes teased me for wanting to “get back to Hot Delaney.”

I simply hadn’t been able to stay away.

At the base of the stairs, I met Teeny coming down—had Delaney actually let her sleep with him? The thought made warmth bloom in my chest—and I let her outside briefly. I voiced no objection when she curled up by the radiator in the living room as I made my way upstairs.

I stood in the doorway of Delaney’s bedroom, watching moonlight spill through the curtains and land in silver puddles on his sleeping form. His dark hair was tousled against the pillow, his face relaxed and peaceful, but one of his arms was stretched out across the empty space beside him as if searching for something.

As if searching forme.

I undressed quietly and slid between the cool sheets, trying not to wake him, but when the mattress dipped, Delaney stirred and turned instinctively toward me.

“Brew?” he murmured, opening his eyes a fraction. His sleepy smile sent heat rushing through my body. “Thought y’were at Hayes’s.”

“I was. But I needed to come home.”

Home. The word settled over us like a thick blanket.

When had Delaney become that for me? Sometime between our wine-drunk confessions and our Jam Cupboard Mystery revelations, between apology croissants and accidental dog biscuits, between learning how much he cared about making the world fair and right… and watching him try to make things rightfor me.

I brushed that lock of hair off Delaney’s forehead, and his breath caught. Our eyes met in the darkness. Without a word, he slid closer and rested his hand over my thundering heart.

From one beat to the next, our lips crashed against each other, desire and tenderness tangled together. Delaney’s mouth opened beneath mine, and I groaned, tasting minty toothpaste and desire.

“Need you,” I growled, my hand sliding down to find Delaney’s cock, which was already half-hard beneath his sexy, silky shorts.

Delaney arched against me, gasping. “Fuck, Brew?—”

Our clothes vanished between more desperate kisses. My mouth blazed a trail down Delaney’s neck, chest, and his lean stomach. Then I took him in my mouth, swallowing him deep and relishing the cry that tore from his throat.

Delaney’s fingers twisted in my hair, pulling me up for a bruising kiss. “Inside me. Please.”

Our bodies aligned with practiced ease. I could count on two hands the number of times we’d done this—fuck, the number ofdayswe’d been doing this—but it already felt familiar and perfect. When I pushed inside, Delaney’s eyelashes fluttered, but his eyes stayed locked on mine, vulnerable and burning with an emotion I was scared to label out loud.

It looked like adoration. Liketrust. Finally.

We moved together in perfect rhythm, pleasure building between us like a gathering storm. The way I felt for him was beyond lust, beyond need.

I pulled back out almost all the way and held there for a breath before pushing back in. Delaney’s head twisted, his neck arching as his mouth opened on a silent scream.

“Look at me,” I commanded, voice wrecked. “Be with me. Stay with me.”

“With you.” With his eyes on mine, those words thrummed with power. Like a promise. Like a vow. “Brewer.”

His legs wrapped tighter around my waist, pulling me deeper.

When we came—when the storm finally broke—we came together, my hand wrapped around Delaney’s cock and the rhythmic pulsing of his channel pulling me headfirst into my own orgasm.

After, when we lay tangled in sweat-dampened sheets with Delaney’s head on my chest, too tired and sated to move for the moment, words hovered on my lips, begging to be spoken.

Words about falling. About staying. About fitting together like dovetail joints in a way that couldn’t be pulled apart.

I wanted to give them all to him.

But already Delaney was yawning, his body going lax and heavy against mine in sleep, so I decided they’d keep until the morning.