are a blur of rehab sessions—excruciating and relentless. Cole is my rock through it all, his unwavering strength leaving me in awe. I attempt to mask the pain, to spare him from shared suffering, but he sees through me. His attunement to my every grimace, every tense muscle, is nothing short of humbling. At the slightest sign of discomfort, he’s there—soothing me with kisses, gentle caresses, and murmurs of comfort.
We’ve slipped into a rhythm, me and him, without a single word. Despite the nights when nerve stimulation therapy leaves me irritable and unable to sleep, we haven’t spent a single one apart. “For better or for worse,” he whispers against my ear, his embrace a sanctuary from the pain.
How could I not love this man? He’s an unstoppable force at both his best and his worst, and that’s precisely the heart of my dilemma. It’s why I lie awake in his bed, eyeing the black velvet ring box on his dresser, yet never opening it. Our pact hangs in the air—if I open it, I must wear the ring, and wearing it means no turning back, no divorce.
Waking up next to him at dawn, the madness of our situation hits me once more. We’re so young, just nineteen and twenty, and already married. We jumped straight from conflict into matrimony, skipping all the traditional steps.
In the quiet morning, I notice the ring on his finger – a sleek platinum band with black diamonds. It’s not just any ring; it’s his promise, a symbol of his commitment. ‘I may not be yours in the world’s eyes,’ he had said, slipping it on, ‘but I am yours, and that’s what counts.’
That ring, every time I see it, stirs something deep inside me – a sense of pride and ownership. It’s more than jewelry; it’s a testament to his love, his decision to be with me against all odds. The way he looks at me, those silent promises in his eyes, and the ring proudly worn, all shout his dedication to our unexpected, intense union.
Lying there, feeling the warmth of his body next to mine, I’m overwhelmed by the reality of it all. Cole Westbrook, with his strength and unwavering love, belongs to me. It’s a thrilling, almost unbelievable thought, filling me with a profound sense of gratitude and awe. In these quiet moments, it’s just us against the world, and that feels like more than enough.
I turn to him in the bed, watching him sleep, his blond hair veiling his face. Gently, I brush the strands aside, and his eyes flutter open.
“Morning, Angel. Is everything okay?” His voice is husky with sleep, but he’s instantly alert, his lips tenderly meeting the new raw, red scar on my hand. There’s no hint of revulsion in his gaze—only love, pure and unwavering. He’s been there through it all, kissing the wound, massaging salve into the cramping flesh, and now, looking at me with nothing but adoration.
“I do love you, Cole, more than I’ll ever love anyone; I know that,” I confess, and the words hang in the air between us. He looks at me, his expression unreadable, as my hand rests on his chest. Beneath my fingers, his heart races, yet his face remains calm. He’s waiting for more, but it’s all I can give right now.
He breaks the silence with a playful smirk. “Now be a good little wife and let your husband give you an orgasm.”
A laugh slips out, a sound that is both relieved and filled with love. “And does my husband get to come too?”
His eyes glint with desire as his hand trails up my leg under my nightgown, finding me bare and already getting wet. He slips one of his long fingers inside of me, and I let out a moan. “Nothing makes me come faster than hearing your little moans of pleasure as you unravel beneath me,” he murmurs, biting on my neck.
Spreading my legs wider, he slips another finger inside of me.
I feel his smile against my skin. “Good little wife,” he whispers as he increases his pace, pressing his thumb against my clit, and I come shamefully fast.
He removes his fingers and puts them into his mouth. “Ummm, delicious.”
I blush as his big body settles on top of me, the crown of his hard cock already brushing against my entrance.
“My turn,” he says, entering me in a long, sharp thrust.
I gasp, arching my back at the invasion. I love it when he does that. I love the duality in my man… my husband. Sometimes he makes love to me, sometimes he fucks me, and I can see with the light in his eyes and the way his hand finds its way around my neck that we’re in for a good morning fuck, and I’m here for it.
Resting my feet on his muscled ass, I spread my legs even more.
He growls. “Good little wife,” he repeats, thrusting hard, and it feels like calling me wife makes him even more possessive, more animalistic, and I love it.
Wrapping my arms around him, I can’t help but tease, “Fuck me like a good little husband.”
He jerks his head back, looking at me with surprise, and I realize it’s the first time I’ve called him that. I see the beast unleash in front of my eyes, and he thrusts harder, biting, sucking, licking every piece of exposed skin.
“You’re mine. You belong to me.”
Raking my blunt nails down his back, I tighten my walls around him with my second orgasm. He throws his head back and comes, calling my name before falling heavily on top of me.
After the intense moment of passion, I find myself lingering in the warmth of our embrace, but the reminder of reality soon pulls me back. I can feel a dull throb in my hand, the pain creeping in as a result of my intense grip. But I don’t want Cole to see that. I don’t want him to see me as fragile. I love when he’s this passionate, this unrestrained with me. It’s a part of our relationship I cherish deeply.
“I need to go to class,” he murmurs into my neck, his voice muffled and sleepy.
“Go get ready. I’ll make breakfast,” I reply, giving him a gentle push.
He protests playfully, “After the pleasure you gave me, shouldn’t I be the one cooking for you?”
Feeling the lightness of the moment, I laugh. “Trust me, it was mutual.”
Heading downstairs, I start to prepare breakfast despite the discomfort in my hand. Each movement causes a small wince, but I’m determined not to let it show. Cole can’t see it; he can’t know.
As he comes downstairs, freshly showered and ready for his day, I barely manage to hide my grimace. He’s sharp, observant, and I know I can’t let my guard down.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Nothing,” I reply a bit too quickly. I can feel his eyes on me, analyzing, searching for the truth.
He doesn’t push further; instead, he sits down at the table. There’s a brief silence before he speaks up again.
“Say it again,” he asks, an expectant look in his eyes.
I play along, feigning ignorance. “Say what?”
He leans forward, his gaze intense. “What you called me. Please, say it again.”
A small, tender smile forms on my lips as I look at him, my heart swelling with affection and a newfound sense of belonging. “Husband,” I say softly.
He lets out a contented sigh, a dreamy smile spreading across his face. “I love hearing you say that.” His voice is sincere, filled with an emotion that resonates deep inside me.
At that moment, I realize the weight and the beauty of the word. Husband. It’s not just a title; it’s a promise, a commitment, a bond that we’re still navigating and shaping into our own. And as I watch him enjoying the breakfast I’ve prepared, despite the pain in my hand, I know that this journey, however unconventional, is ours. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Wow, Angel, this is really good,” Cole says, taking another bite. His eyes meet mine across the table, filled with admiration and affection. “I could really get used to this.”
His praise sends a wave of warmth through me, and I can’t help but smile back at him. Despite the pain, his enjoyment of the meal makes it all feel worthwhile.
As we continue eating, a comfortable silence envelops us, rich with unspoken understandings and exchanged glances. I realize it’s these small, shared moments that truly build the fabric of our relationship, each one adding another layer to our deepening connection.
As we finish, Cole checks his watch and lets out a regretful sigh. He stands up and walks over to me, his gaze soft and tender. He leans down, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead. “I wish I could stay,” he murmurs, his voice low and warm.
I reach up, touching his cheek briefly. “I know, but you have classes. I’ll be here. Don’t worry about me. I’ve still got my poetry project to work on.”
The house feels empty as soon as he leaves. With Ethan at Poppy’s and Liam in England, the space is quiet, yet it still radiates a warmth from the love and memories we’re sharing. I take my time in the shower, letting the hot water cascade over me, washing away the remnants of our passionate morning.
As I dress, my mind drifts to my poetry project, the words and emotions I want to capture. This project is important to me; it’s an outlet for the whirlwind of feelings inside.
Finally, I apply some cream to my hand, massaging the tender skin. The pain is a constant reminder of the journey I’m on, both physically and emotionally. It’s a battle scar, in a way—a symbol of resilience, of fighting for something more, something better.
As I sit down with my laptop and notes, I try to channel my focus into my work. Poetry has always been a refuge for me, a way to navigate the complexities of my emotions. Today, it feels even more significant, a way to process everything that’s happened, everything I’m feeling.
The words start to flow, some lines capturing the tumultuous journey Cole and I have been on, others reflecting the quieter, more tender moments. Each word, each line, is a piece of my heart, a fragment of my soul laid bare.
As the afternoon light begins to fade, I realize how engrossed I’ve become in my work. There’s a sense of accomplishment, a feeling of creating something meaningful, something true. And through it all, Cole’s presence stays in my mind—a muse, a partner, a constant in my ever-changing world.
When the doorbell rings, I half expect Cole, perhaps having forgotten his key. When I open the door, I’m taken aback to find Max standing there. Without missing a beat, he steps forward and wraps me in a warm, reassuring hug. It’s a familiar gesture, one that I never get tired of. As he pulls back, he plants a gentle kiss on my forehead, a brotherly gesture that eases some of the tension I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Your husband thinks he’s jealous of me,” Max says with a low drawl, stepping back but maintaining that playful glint in his eyes.
“He thinks?” I arch an eyebrow, leaning back against the cool counter.
He grins, a flash of white in the soft lighting. “Well, obviously, he should be because I’m hot, strong, and I have an amazing personality,” he quips.
“Obviously,” I interject, rolling my eyes. My tone is deadpan, but a reluctant smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
But then his smile fades, and the atmosphere shifts. “No, he hates that I was there on the worst day of your life, and he wasn’t. He hates how helpless he feels when thinking about you on that bridge.” His voice is softer now, and the humor has vanished from his eyes. “He hates the idea that you and I share a special bond because of that.”
Cocking my head to the side, my fingers trace the rim of my coffee mug, the ceramic cool and smooth. “We do, though,” I trail off, thinking of the bond that tragedy can forge, as strange and unwelcome as it is.
He nods, the motion sharp, decisive. He snatches an apple from the fruit bowl and tosses it into the air, catching it without a glance, the act so fluid and precise it could only come from the military discipline etched into his bones.
“We do, but just imagine how hard it must have been for him to pick up the phone and call me. Admitting he might not be everything you need, asking me to ensure you open up about things you might not want to share with him — that couldn’t have been easy. He must have died inside, and that’s exactly when I knew.”
My heart hammers in my chest, a rapid drumbeat that feels loud in the quiet room. “Knew what?”
Max’s gaze locks onto mine, steady and unflinching. “That he will give you the kind of love that you deserve. He’s more worried about your well-being than his tender feelings. He wants you to be well even if he’s probably now on that soccer field, kicking the ball like a maniac.” His smile is back, but it’s different—smaller, more genuine.
I swallow, the weight of Max’s words settling like a stone in my stomach. I glance away, my gaze catching on the window where the dimming light spills through, casting long shadows across the tiled floor.
“I’m not an expert in love. I’m more of a hand-to-hand combat guy, but I am good at assessing an opponent, very good.” He takes a bite of the apple, the crunch loud in the momentary silence. “And what I can say is, you two are loving each other so much it’s nauseating.”
The laughter that bubbles up from my chest is unexpected, a release of tension that I didn’t realize I was holding. Max is grinning now, his eyes crinkling at the edges, and I can’t help but grin back.
“Nauseating, huh?” I tease, feeling a little more like myself than I have in days.
“Yeah,” he confirms, tossing the apple core into the trash with an effortless flick of his wrist. “But it’s the good kind of nauseating. The kind that might just heal all the wounds, old and new.”
As Max’s words linger in the air, there’s a palpable sense of sincerity in them, a rare glimpse into the depth he often masks with humor. His blunt observation resonates with me, strikes a chord within me. It’s a reminder of the complexities of human emotions, of the bonds formed through shared experiences, both beautiful and harrowing.
I lean against the counter, folding my arms. “It’s weird, isn’t it? How life throws people together in the strangest of ways.”
Max nods, his eyes meeting mine. “Yeah, life’s a crazy journey. But sometimes, those unexpected turns lead to the best destinations.”
“So, what brings you here, really?” I ask, curious about the real reason behind his visit.
He shrugs. A casual gesture that doesn’t quite hide the intent in his eyes. “Cole asked me to check on you, make sure you’re doing okay. He’s worried, you know.”
A mix of exasperation and affection swirls inside me, and I sigh. “He doesn’t need to worry. I’m managing.”
“But that’s it,” Max says, leaning against the doorway, his posture relaxed but his gaze intense. “He doesn’t just want you to manage. He wants you to thrive, to be happy.”
I pause, considering his words. It’s a strange feeling, being cared for so deeply, not just by Cole, but by those around him too. “I appreciate it. And Cole,” I add, a warm feeling spreading through me. “Cole is all I need.”
Max pushes off from the doorway, a grin spreading across his face. “Well, if you ever need a break from Mr. Perfect, you know where to find me.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Thanks, but I think I’m good.”
As Max heads for the door, he turns back, his expression serious for a moment. “Take care. And remember, sometimes the hardest battles lead to the greatest victories.”
With that, he’s gone, leaving me in the quiet of my kitchen, pondering his words. There’s a truth to them, a resonance that echoes long after the door has closed behind him. Feeling a surge of determination spurred by Max’s visit, I decide it’s time to fully embrace my life with Cole and the depth of our connection. I approach the dresser and open the black velvet box.
Inside, nestled against the soft lining, lies a stunning platinum ring. Its vintage design and intricate detailing symbolize timeless elegance. The large, brilliant-cut diamond at the center, flanked by vivid green emeralds, sparkles magnificently. The ring is a breathtaking symbol of our relationship’s strength and beauty.
My fingers tremble as I slide the ring onto my finger. It feels right, like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. With the ring now adorning my hand, I pick up my phone and call Jade, asking for the recipe for his favorite meal. I want to make this evening special, a celebration of our commitment and the journey ahead.
As I put the final touches on the dinner, the door opens and he walks in. His gaze immediately goes to my hand, and he freezes, his eyes shimmering with emotion.
“Angel?” His voice is a whisper, filled with hope and disbelief.
A smile appears on my lips as warmth spreads through my chest. “I’m your wife, Cole Westbrook,” I declare, my voice steady and sure.
His reaction is immediate and intense. A cry of joy escapes him as he strides across the room and pulls me into his arms, kissing me with a passion that leaves me breathless. The ring on my finger sparkles in the light, a tangible symbol of our love.
The romantic dinner unfolds in a cozy, intimate atmosphere, the room lit by the soft glow of candles. Cole sits across from me, his eyes lingering on the ring on my finger, a mix of awe and tenderness in his gaze.
“This is incredible, Angel,” he says, his voice filled with emotion. He looks at the spread of food I’ve prepared, his favorite dishes laid out meticulously. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
I smile, feeling a surge of happiness. “I wanted to do something special for you. To show you how much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
He reaches across the table, taking my hand. “You wearing that ring… it means everything to me. Thank you for trusting me, for giving us this chance.”
Squeezing his hand, my heart is full. “Thank you for charging into my life like a bull, for not giving up on us, even when things seemed impossible.”
Cole’s eyes soften further, a hint of moisture glistening in them. “I couldn’t give up on us. You’re my everything.”
We eat, talk and laugh, the conversation flowing easily. Every so often, his gaze drifts back to my hand, his smile widening each time he sees the ring.
“I never thought I’d see you wearing that,” he admits, his voice low. “I’ve imagined it, hoped for it, but seeing it… it’s more than I ever dreamed.”
I look down at the ring, its diamonds catching the candlelight. “It’s beautiful, just like us. We’re not perfect, but we’re real. And that’s what makes this so special.”
He nods, his eyes never leaving mine. “Real and worth every moment, every challenge. I love you. More than I can say.”
Dinner unfolds with laughter and thoughtful moments. We swap stories, reminisce, and share our dreams for the future. The evening turns into a celebration of our bond – a reaffirmation of its depth and strength.
Later, as we clear the dishes in a comfortable silence, I’m struck by how much we’ve endured and grown together. This night is more than just a dinner; it’s a testament to our extraordinary love.
Later, as we make our way to the bedroom, the connection between us deepens. We make love, a sweet and tender expression of our renewed commitment, each touch and kiss a reaffirmation of the promises we’ve made to each other.
In the quiet afterglow, wrapped in our love’s warmth, I realize my heart committed to this path long ago. The ring on my finger, symbolizing our journey, is a tangible promise. It reminds me that we’re more than just husband and wife – we’re a team, ready for the future. With Cole beside me, uncertainties feel smaller, and every moment is treasured. Our future, once filled with unknowns, now gleams with the promise of adventures and endless possibilities together.
