Chapter 99 Apology
"I'm sorry, Terrence. I'm so sorry."
The dam broke. Bianca buried her face against his knee and sobbed, her shoulders shaking.
"Don't." Terrence's hand settled on her head, broad and warm. His throat worked. The whites of his eyes were threaded with red. "I know you've been pulled in a hundred directions. I just—" His voice cracked. "I'm terrified you'll get tired of me."
He stopped. Looked away. His lashes swept down, hiding whatever was churning behind them.
From the moment he'd fallen for her, the possessiveness had been vicious. He didn't want anyone else seeing her smile, her softness, the way she looked when she was happy. He'd fantasized about locking her away somewhere beautiful and safe, where nothing could touch her and no one could take her from him.
But that was the sickness talking.
A bird in a cage withers. He wanted her alive, not hollowed out. So he choked down the darkness, wrestled the urge to keep her under lock and key, and reminded himself that loving someone meant letting them breathe.
He'd never blamed her. Not once.
What he felt was hurt. Fear. The ache of being forgotten, the terror of being left behind.
Everything else—the anger, the bitterness—he turned inward.
"I won't!" Bianca's voice broke. She threw her arms around his waist and pressed her face into his stomach, tears soaking through his shirt. "I swear I'll only ever love you. I'll never regret it. Never."
Before she could finish, Terrence grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her.
It was rough. Desperate. All the frustration he'd been swallowing for hours poured into it, along with the wild relief of being chosen. He bit her bottom lip hard enough to make her gasp, then gentled immediately, licking over the sting like an apology.
Her tears mixed into the kiss, salt on his tongue. It broke something in him. He pulled back just enough to wipe her face with his thumbs, pressing his forehead to hers. Their breath tangled together.
Terrence reached for the velvet box on the coffee table. His hands were shaking as he opened it and pulled out the ring. He fumbled getting it on her finger, clumsy in a way he never was.
"I picked it myself. If you don't like it, or if it doesn't fit, we can—"
Bianca held out her hand. The ring slid on perfectly. She stared at it, then at him, eyes wide.
The style was exactly what she would've chosen. But the size—God, the size was flawless. Like it had been made for her.
Her throat tightened. How many times had he measured her finger with his eyes when she wasn't looking?
The shadows lifted from Terrence's face. He looked at her like she'd hung the moon.
"Do you like it?"
Instead of answering, Bianca launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing hard. She pressed her lips to his ear. "I love it."
His smile was small, but it reached his eyes. He held her back just as tightly.
The bathroom was thick with steam, the heat just shy of scalding.
Terrence pushed the door open. His ears were pink.
Bianca's face lit up. She slid off the bed and crossed to him in three quick steps.
Inside, the fog blurred everything soft—faces, edges, intentions—but it sharpened the lines of the body. Every curve, every angle stood out in high relief.
She let her robe fall. Her hands found his waist, fingertips skating over his skin. She traced the ridge of his hip, the small of his back, the hard plane of his stomach.
Water poured over them. Terrence's hair flattened against his skull, dark and sleek. Droplets ran down his neck, over his chest, onto her wandering hands.
She dragged her palm across his nipple. He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched her with that unreadable intensity, jaw tight, eyes tracking every motion.
She was bare in front of him. Breasts high and full. Ass round and firm. Skin gleaming under the spray. Every inch of her designed to wreck him.
Bianca slipped two fingers into his mouth. He let her. She hooked his tongue, played with it, pulled it forward. Then she leaned in and closed her lips around his nipple, sucking hard. She bit down. Licked. Teased.
When she pulled her fingers free, they were slick with spit. She trailed them down his throat, circling his Adam's apple over and over.
Terrence tipped his head back. His eyes were black with want. His throat moved under her touch. His skin flushed pink from the heat—or maybe from her.
The water didn't cool him down. It made it worse.
Her tongue left his chest and traveled south, slow and deliberate, until she was kneeling in front of his cock.
His breath hitched. His dick twitched, thick and hard, and smacked her lightly under the chin.
Bianca laughed, low and pleased. She wrapped her hand around him.
It wasn't like being inside her. That was tight, wet, all-consuming. This was clumsy. Unpracticed. Her grip was uneven, her rhythm off. She squeezed too hard in some places, too soft in others. She was figuring it out as she went, treating him like a toy she'd just discovered.
And somehow that made it better.
Terrence's hand found the back of her head. His fingers threaded through her hair, gripping tight like he needed the anchor. He wanted to kiss her. Wanted to drag her up and devour her. Wanted to lose himself completely.
"Wait," she said.
He froze. His hand flexed in her hair, but he didn't pull. Just breathed hard and let her take the lead.
Bianca leaned in. His cock was right there, flushed and heavy, demanding her attention. She touched it lightly, experimentally. Listened to the way his breathing changed.
Her breath ghosted over the head. He couldn't tell if it was the water or her mouth. The not-knowing made his composure crack.
Then she took him in.
Wet. Hot. Soft. Her tongue moved, and he leaked pre-cum immediately. She licked it away without hesitation.
It didn't taste like anything. No salt, no sweetness. Just… nothing. Easier than she'd expected