Emery’s POV
Neither of us moves for a long time.
His arms stay wrapped around me, his heartbeat steady against my spine. I focus on that rhythm. Let it anchor me. Here, in this small circle of warmth, the walls can't touch me. Here, I remember what it feels like to be held instead of hunted.
His thumbs trace slow circles against my ribs. Patient. Asking nothing. The tension drains from my body, and his presence makes space for something I've been too exhausted to feel.
The heat of him. The strength coiled in his arms. When I shift against him, his breath catches.
The air changes.
I turn within his embrace and find his eyes dark with something that isn't comfort anymore.
His mouth finds mine, urgent and consuming, and I answer with equal hunger. This kiss isn't gentle. It's desperate—a claiming, a promise, a declaration of war against everything trying to tear us apart.
"Emery," he breathes against my lips. "I need you."
"Then take me," I whisper back. "Take me somewhere that isn't this room."
We stumble from the nursery into the hallway, my fingers pulling at his shirt, yanking it free from his waistband. His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, and I welcome the pressure—want it, crave it, need the reminder that I'm real, that we're real, that this connection between us is the one thing they can't control.
"Bedroom," I gasp as his teeth graze my neck. "Now."
By the time we reach our room, my dress is half undone, the zipper gaping open down my back. He kicks the door shut with his heel and presses me against it, his mouth trailing fire down my throat.
"God, you're beautiful," he murmurs against my skin. "Every time I look at you, I forget how to breathe."
I gasp his name as he lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. He carries me to the bed and lays me down with reverent roughness—gentle enough to worship, firm enough to possess.
"I've been going crazy," he says, his voice rough as he hovers over me. "Watching you fight for us, watching you become this incredible woman who takes no prisoners. Do you know what that does to me?"
"Show me," I challenge, pulling him down by his collar. "Stop talking and show me."
He undresses me slowly despite the urgency thrumming between us. His lips follow every inch of exposed skin—the curve of my shoulder, the swell of my breast, the soft plane of my stomach. Each kiss feels like a brand, marking me as his.
When he finally removes the last barrier between us, I'm trembling with anticipation. He looks at me like I'm something sacred, something worth fighting for.
"You're everything," he whispers. "Everything I never deserved and everything I can't live without."
"Landon, please—"
"Tell me what you want."
"You." The word comes out broken, desperate. "I want you inside me. I want to forget where we are, what we're facing. I want to feel like I belong somewhere."
His jaw tightens with emotion. "You belong with me. Always."
He positions himself at my entrance, and I feel the blunt pressure of him, hot and thick and ready. When he finally sinks into me, I cry out, my back arching off the sheets. The stretch is exquisite—the fullness of him exactly what I needed.
"Fuck," he groans, his forehead dropping to mine. "You feel incredible. So tight, so wet—"
He moves with deliberate intensity, watching me unravel beneath him. Each thrust is measured, controlled, designed to build the fire in my blood until I'm writhing against the sheets.
"I've wanted you like this for days," he murmurs, his hips rolling into mine. "Wanted to remind you that no matter what happens in this house, this is ours. This is real."
I pull him closer, my nails raking down his back. "Harder."
He complies, his pace increasing, each stroke driving deeper until I'm gasping with every impact. The headboard taps against the wall—a rhythm that matches my racing heart.
"That's it," he encourages, his thumb finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at my center. "Let go for me. I want to feel you come apart."
The pressure builds impossibly, pleasure coiling tight in my core. His fingers circle and press while he moves inside me, and the dual sensation pushes me toward the edge.
"Landon—I'm—"
"I know, baby. I've got you."
I shatter around him, my inner walls clenching as waves of release crash through me. He groans at the sensation, his thrusts becoming erratic as my orgasm pulls him over the edge with me. I feel him pulse deep inside, his body shuddering as he spills himself into me.
For a long moment, we stay tangled together, catching our breath, hearts pounding in sync.
When he finally rolls to his side, he pulls me with him, keeping me pressed against his chest. I trace lazy patterns across his skin, feeling his heartbeat slow beneath my fingertips.
"We should do that more often," I murmur against his shoulder. "The stress relief benefits alone..."
He laughs softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. "I'll clear my schedule."
The humor fades as reality seeps back in—the enormous house surrounding us, the enemies down the hall, the constant surveillance and manipulation waiting beyond this door.
"This house will not destroy us," he says quietly, his lips brushing my hair. "I won't let it."
I want to believe him. I want to wrap myself in his certainty and trust that love is enough to survive what's coming.
But I've lived in this house before. I've seen what it does to people who underestimate its power.
"Promise me something," I whisper.
"Anything."
"Promise me that no matter what happens, no matter what they try, you'll remember this moment. Remember how it feels when it's just us. When the rest of the world disappears."
His arms tighten around me. "I promise."
I close my eyes and pray he's right—that what we've built together is strong enough to withstand the siege that's coming. That the woman I'm becoming won't have to sacrifice the softness that brought us to this moment.
That love, in the end, will be enough.
But somewhere deep in my chest, a voice whispers that prayer alone has never protected anyone from the Remingtons.