Tied (Tangled, #4)(69)

I lift up so I can watch. Nothing is more of a turn-on than watching my cock disappear into Kate. If I was going to go blind, that would be the last image I’d want to take into the darkness with me.

“Kiss me, Drew,” she begs.

I lower my head and Kate’s tongue runs across my lips, then plunges into my mouth—tangling with my own. Our hips move together, gaining speed and force. Our moans and whispered words mingle in our mouths and along the skin of our necks and shoulders.

This is more than magnificent screwing.

More than the physical expression of love.

It’s spiritual.

I don’t know if there’s a heaven. I sure as shit don’t know if I’ll ever get there. But if there is . . . it’s got to feel like this. Perfect harmony with another soul, surrounded by warmth and acceptance and rapture without end.

Amen.

Kate’s hips rise to meet mine as I thrust into her again and again. Searing pleasure courses up my legs, threatening to burst, but I hold it off—because there’s no way I’m going alone.

All I can pant out is “With me . . .”

Kate gasps, “Yes . . .”

I push in deep one last time and burst inside her in a forceful pulse. Spots dance behind my closed eyes, and exhilaration floods the motherf*cking marrow of my bones. Kate constricts and throbs around me as her nails bite into my back.

After, neither of us moves for a few minutes. Not sure either of us can.

I finally manage to roll to the side, with my arms still around her—both of us breathing hard and slick with the best kind of sweat.

She brushes the damp hair off my forehead with a smile.

“Holy shit,” I breathe. “That was incredible. We should’ve gotten married years ago.”

“You said it. I think I had a stroke.”

We laugh.

There are a few specific moments in my life that I consider as the greatest. That first night with Kate. The day she believed I loved her and told me she felt the same. The day James was born.

And this . . . this moment right here just made the list.

I pull her close and touch her face. My voice is rough, heavy with emotion, as the words are torn from my lungs. “I love you, Kate. I’m going to love you forever. And whatever comes after forever—I’m going to love you then too.”

My words bring tears to her eyes, She kisses me gently, softly. Then she traces my lips with her finger. “You can bet your ass that I’m going to hold you to that, Drew Evans.”


So that’s it. The epic conclusion.

I think we’ve come a long away, don’t you? From that guy you first met with the “flu,” camped out on his living-room couch?

Boy, was he a f**king mess.

Thanks for sticking around, for not giving up on me. I know that at times you wanted to. But . . . it was great having you along for the ride.

If this were a fairy tale, now would be the time you’d read, “And they lived happily ever after . . .”

But that’s just too boring for us.

So instead, I’ll tell you this:

We lived . . . the same way we loved: with passion, tenderness, and laughter. And every day—every f**king day—to the very fullest.