The Boy on the Bridge

“Well…”

My eyes brighten with horrified delight. “Did you?”

“Remember how excited you were when you got your Harvard acceptance letter, but how nervous you were about taking out loans for the tuition since your mom can’t afford it?”

I nod, smiling.

“I figured if this all went bad and you rejected my proposal, I’d offer to pay your tuition and rope you into another exclusivity agreement. A four-year one this time. Surely at the end of five years you would’ve relented. And, hey, if not… maybe it would’ve been time for a baby.”

It’s a rather dastardly thing to find amusing, but I laugh anyway. “You’re the best.”

He smiles up at me, his arm tightening around me. “I’m glad you think so.”

I sigh, leaning down so I can kiss his perfect lips. “I can’t wait to spend my life with you.”

His hand slides up my thigh, catching the fabric of my dress and dragging it up my hip. The warm, early summer air hits my bare butt since I already removed my panties.

“I can’t either,” Hunter says, cupping my ass and squeezing.

Heat spreads through me at his touch. At the gleam of affection in his beautiful eyes.

I know Hunter Maxwell loves me, maybe more than anyone has ever loved another person. His admission hasn’t harmed my ability to trust him; if anything, it has made me trust him that much more.

When his cock sinks inside me, I close my eyes and arch backward. I ride him with abandon, feeling fuller than I’ve ever felt.

And I am.

Full of him.

Full of love.

Full of hope.

My heart, like my body, is full to bursting. When my body explodes with pleasure, my heart does, too.

Breathing hard, boneless and vulnerable, I lie on the bridge next to Hunter. His arm is wrapped around me protectively, his free hand playing with mine as it lays splayed across his toned abdomen.

I can’t get close enough to him even though I’m practically on top of him.

In a way I can’t explain, the whole world feels calmer now.

I didn’t consider our life or our love especially chaotic before, but there’s a stillness now… it feels so strong, so solid. So comforting.

I wonder if he feels it, too.

I tip my head back to look up at him. “What are you thinking?”

His lips curve up wryly. “That I already want to fuck you again.”

I chuckle, burying my face against his chest and kissing his taut skin. “Insatiable.”

He pulls his arm around me a little tighter, snuggling me closer. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

His assurance is nice, but I didn’t really need it.

I know Hunter will love and protect me until the end of time. I hope he knows I’ll do the same for him.

I fell in love with the boy on the bridge a long time ago, but now I know for sure…

I’m his.

He’s mine.

We’ll never let each other go.

Epilogue

Riley

The man in the black suit stands there, holding a case that is handcuffed to his wrist. His face is stoic, his eyes hard. I don’t know if there’s a holster with a gun beneath the expensive fabric of his suit, but everything about him makes me think there is.

“You can sit, you know.”

My gaze gravitates to the sound of Mom’s voice.

She’s sitting on a velour couch in a white floral dress. The couch looks comfy enough, but she’s sitting on the edge. It’s not easy to relax with a man like this standing here all grumpy and imposing, like he’s guarding crown jewels.

Well, I guess he is.

All around us, the bridal shop is bursting with puffy white dresses intent on making the woman in them feel like a princess, but inside that case handcuffed to the guard’s wrist is an actual crown.

Today is my appointment at the bridal salon to pick out my wedding dress. I’ve already picked which crown I’ll wear on our big day, so Hunter’s family sent it so I could try it on with the dress. Don’t want it to clash, after all.

I don’t know how valuable the piece of jewelry actually is, but I know that Hunter’s father flew an armed guard over with the crown just so I could try it on, and tonight he’s flying him back to Italy.

So, it’s clearly very valuable.

The guard’s expression doesn’t change. He seems reluctant to speak at all, but my mom is a hard woman to ignore, so he finally says, “I will stand.”

Mom smiles. I think she just likes hearing his thick Italian accent. “I love listening to Europeans speak,” she tells me. “I should’ve married one. Not a man fluent in English, though. We should never understand anything one another says. Our marriage would be long and happy.”

I crack a smile, stepping forward and running my hand down the length of a satin gown. “Your marriage will be long and happy,” I assure her.