Marla’s POV
The internet lost its mind. Within an hour of the press conference, we were trending. #MercerGate, #PRromance, #PowerCoupleOrPRStunt, you name it, they spun it. Some people congratulated us, some called us liars, a few ran Twitter polls on how long we’d last.
And for the first time ever I didn’t care, the truth was out. There was no more hiding, no fake headlines to follow, no press release to approve. It was just us. So when I walked back into the townhouse, our townhouse now, everything felt different. The same furniture, the same scent of his overpriced candles, but it felt lived in. Like something sacred had cracked open and let the real in.
I dropped my duffel by the stairs and stretched. “Where do you want me?”
Ives raised an eyebrow from across the room. “That a real question or a setup?”
I tossed a pillow at him. “Focus. Do I unpack here or do I get the guest room?”
He stepped forward, slow and smug. “The guest room hasn’t existed for me since the night you snuck out of my bed.”
I smirked. “I didn’t sneak. I stormed.”
“You cried first. Then stormed.”
I scoffed. “Wow, way to ruin a moment.” But I was smiling, and so was he. We carried boxes upstairs, well, I carried one, he carried everything else like the show-off he is, and settled in. My stuff mixed with his now. No more corners. No more space between While folding a stack of sweaters, I caught him watching me.
“What?” I asked.
He shrugged, lips twitching. “You look weirdly hot when you organize.” I threw a sock at him which he swiftly dodged, then stepped closer.
“You’re not helping,” I said, pushing at his chest with the back of my hand.
“I’m not trying to help,” he said, leaning in.
I rolled my eyes. “That line is so recycled.”
“Still worked.”
And damn it, it did. His hand slid to my hip, fingers curling like they knew the blueprint of my body already. My breath caught. I looked up, and just like that, everything slowed down. No suits, no heels, no press breathing down our necks. Just him and I.
His thumb brushed along my jaw, eyes locked on mine. “You’re really here.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “For real this time.”
Then he kissed me. Not careful, not staged, but hungrily. Months of pretending crashing all at once I melted into it. Clutched the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. He groaned against my lips and lifted me like I weighed nothing, and stumbled us back toward the hallway.
I laughed into his mouth. “Watch the wall-” We hit the wall.
He kissed my neck. “Didn’t come with warnings, Marla.”
We barely made it to the bedroom. Shirts half-off, shoes abandoned, his fingers fumbled at the button of my jeans as I yanked his belt loose. It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t slow, it was desperate, real, and finally honest. His mouth was everywhere. My name was a prayer on his lips.
“God, I missed you,” he breathed as his hands ran down my thighs, pulling me under him.
“Ives,” I gasped. “I-” He stopped. Just for a second. Forehead pressed to mine.
“Say it,” he whispered. My throat burned.
“I love you.”
He kissed me like he’d been waiting for that exact sentence to unlock him. “I love you too.”
Then everything exploded. His hands grabbed my hips hard, lifting me onto the bed without breaking eye contact. His mouth crushed mine again, rough and demanding. I clawed at his back as he ripped my jeans off, one leg at a time. His hands roamed over every inch of my skin, like he was memorizing me all over again. His tongue slid down my neck, biting, sucking. I moaned, arching into him. His fingers found the waistband of my underwear, slipping inside with no warning. He teased, flicking my clit with two fingers, hard and fast. I was already soaked, begging without words.
“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he growled. He pushed my underwear aside, his fingers plunging deep inside me while his thumb rubbed circles on my clit. I gasped, hips grinding against his hand.
“Say my name,” he demanded.
“Ives,” I moaned, voice shaky, needy.
He didn’t stop. He moved faster, curling his fingers inside me, hitting exactly right. My walls clenched, trembling. Then he pulled back, slipping off his own clothes in one swift motion. His cock was hard and thick, glistening. He grabbed me by the waist and shoved himself inside without hesitation. No slow build, just raw and deep. I screamed his name, gripping his shoulders as he slammed into me again and again. His hands tangled in my hair, holding me down. His breath was ragged in my ear.
“God, your pussy’s so tight. So fucking perfect.” He pounded harder, hips snapping, every thrust pushing me closer to the edge. I was lost in him, moaning loud, begging for more.
“Please,” I begged, voice breaking. “I need you. Don’t stop.” He growled, deeper and darker, like I owned him now.
“Say it again.”
“Ives, please! Fuck me harder!” He didn’t hold back. His dick slammed in and out mercilessly, each thrust shaking the bed. My nails dug into his back, breath catching, heart racing out of control.
The world shrank to just skin, heat, and the sound of us breaking apart and coming together all at once. His grip on my waist tightened as he buried his face in my neck, groaning loud and low. I was screaming, crying out, shaking under him as my body convulsed around his cock.
“Fuck, yes!” he shouted. “You’re mine.”
We came hard together, loud, messy, and raw. When it finally ended, he collapsed beside me, still inside me, holding me tight. I couldn’t catch my breath. I couldn’t believe it was real. I just knew one thing. I wanted him again, and again.