Chapter 265 SEQUEL

Chapter 265 SEQUEL
SEQUEL

I felt his cock before I was even fully awake.

My ass was pressed right up against him, warm skin on warm skin under the sheets. He was already half-hard, and the second I shifted, it thickened against me. Not intentionally. Or maybe it was. With Zane, the line between half-asleep and doing shit on purpose had blurred into nothing a long time ago.

I pushed back against him slowly, deliberately, letting his cock nestle between my cheeks. He made this low, rough sound in his throat that went straight between my legs.

I did it again, grinding a little harder.

"Olive." His voice was gravelly, still thick with sleep, but there was that edge to it I knew too well.

"Mm."

"Don't start something you're too sore to finish."

"I’m just a little sore."

"Same thing."

"It's really not."

I pushed back again, slower this time, rolling my hips so I could feel every inch of him sliding along my ass. His breath hitched. His hand found my hip, gripping hard enough to leave marks. It was supposed to be a warning. It wasn't.

"You want to get fucked again," he said, mouth pressed to the back of my neck, teeth grazing my skin.

"I didn't say that."

"Your ass is saying it for you."

I laughed despite myself, the sound muffled by the pillow, and then his hand was moving. Sliding down, fingers dipping between my thighs, finding me already wet.

“And you are wet…” He groaned, two thick fingers pushed inside my pussy without warning, stretching me open. I moaned loud, hips jerking back onto his hand.

He started fucking me with them, slow and deep, curling just right to hit that spot that made my toes curl.

The wet sounds of his fingers working in and out of me filled the room. I pressed my face harder into the pillow, trying not to sound like I was falling apart, but it wasn't working.

"Zane— fuck—"

"Marry me."

Everything stopped. My brain short-circuited.

His fingers didn't. They kept pumping into me, steady and relentless, thumb brushing my clit on every thrust.

"What?" I managed, voice shaky.

"Marry me, Olive."

"You're asking me this right now."

"I am." He added a third finger, stretching me fuller, and I gasped. "Your pussy's clenching around my fingers like it already knows the answer. Yes or no."

I reached down, grabbed his wrist and yanked his hand away even though my body screamed at me not to. Then I turned over fast, facing him. He looked completely unbothered — hair a mess, that healing cut along his jaw, eyes dark and patient like he already knew exactly how this was ending.

"Is this seriously how you're asking me to marry you?" I said, still breathing hard, my thighs slick. "With your fingers inside me?"

"How did you want me to ask?"

"I don't know. Like a normal person. Ring, knee, some bullshit speech."

"Do you want the hockey arena? Big Jumbotron moment?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then this is what you get." He was so fucking unrepentant it made me want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

I stared at him. He stared back. I shoved his shoulder, pushing him flat onto his back. He let me do it, hands settling on my waist as I straddled him. I looked down at this man, this ex-military, retired hockey player, billionaire pain in my ass who had wrecked my life and then put it back together, and felt something huge swell in my chest. Too big to name. So I didn't.

I leaned down and traced my mouth along his jaw, slow and teasing. Down his throat, feeling his pulse jump under my lips. Further. Over his chest, his abs tightening under my tongue. His breath caught when I wrapped my hand around his thick cock, stroking him once, twice.

I rested my chin on his stomach and looked up at him, lips inches from the head.

"Yes," I said.

"Yes what." His voice was barely there.

"Yes, I'll marry you."

The sound he made was pure relief and hunger mixed together. I took him into my mouth, sliding down as far as I could, sucking him deep. His hand found my hair, not pushing, just holding on like I was the only thing anchoring him. When I looked up, his eyes were locked on mine, that intense stare that always unraveled me.

I pulled back just enough to hear him speak. "Say it again."

He groaned. "Yes. Fuck — yes."

I took him deeper, working him with my mouth and hand until his hips were bucking and he was cursing my name, saying yes over and over like a broken record. Loud. Raw. Mine.

\~~~~~

We got married in Italy.

It was his idea, and I pretended to be surprised, but of course it was Italy. The place where everything had started for Nikolai and Serena long before we existed. Zane didn't say it out loud, but I knew he wanted to close that circle in the same country it opened.

Nobody knew. That was non-negotiable.

"My mother is going to actually kill me," I whispered, standing in front of the small official in a sunlit room filled with fresh flowers. Zane's hand was warm and steady in mine. I wore a simple white dress we'd grabbed that morning. He was in a crisp shirt and dark pants. Nothing fancy. Perfect.

"She can be angry at the second wedding."

"There's going to be a second wedding?"

"Whatever you want."

"Zane."

"Within reason."

"Within whose reason?"

He almost smiled, that rare twitch at the corner of his mouth. "Yours."

The official waited patiently. We signed the papers. Short vows. No big declarations. Just us promising the only thing that mattered anymore.

We were married.

Outside, a low, sleek sports car waited. Black, fast, expensive as hell. Zane slid behind the wheel and drove like the road was his to command, smooth, controlled, but with that underlying edge of danger that was pure him. We left the city, winding through quiet countryside roads lined with ancient olive trees, golden light filtering through the leaves. No traffic. Just us.

Somewhere on a deserted stretch, I climbed over the console into his lap.

He didn't even twitch about the legality of it. One hand stayed locked on the wheel, the other gripping my thigh as I shoved my dress up and sank down onto his cock. I was still wet from earlier. He stretched me open in one long, deep slide, filling me completely. I moaned, forehead pressed to his.

"Fuck, Olive," he growled, voice low. The car stayed steady as he thrust up into me, hips rolling perfectly while he kept us on the road.

I rode him hard, one hand braced on the dashboard, the other on his shoulder. Every thrust hit deep, the angle perfect, the risk making everything hotter. The engine purred under us, wind rushing through the cracked windows, his cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside me. I came fast and hard, clenching around him, crying out his name.

He followed right after, burying himself to the hilt and groaning against my neck as he filled me.

We stayed like that for miles, my back against his chest, his arm wrapped around me, hand occasionally drifting between my legs to lazily play with me while he drove.

"Paloma called," I said after a while, voice still a little wrecked.

"I know."

"She's leaving. Going somewhere new. Wanted to say goodbye properly and apologize for everything."

"Good for her."

I waited, but there was no bitterness. Just quiet acceptance.

"She said she was sorry. Really sorry."

"She should be." A beat. "Good."

I leaned back against him, watching the olive groves and rolling hills pass by. I thought about Brenda, enormous and excited, blowing up my phone about nursery colors and baby names. My mom, who was going to sob and then immediately start planning a massive wedding whether I wanted one or not.

Hunter texting me this morning about scoring Grand Prix tickets through Zane.

Klaus, and the whole messy, violent road that had brought us here, kidnappings, betrayals, explosions, blood. None of it had gone the way anyone planned. But it led here. To this.

"Zane," I said softly.

"Mm."

"I love you."

His hand left the wheel just long enough to find mine. He laced our fingers together and held on tight. No words. No big romantic speech. Just that steady grip.

It was the Zane Mercer version of saying everything.

And it was enough.

It had always been enough.

A Note From Your Author 🖤

And just like that... we've reached the end.

This has been a long journey, longer than I ever imagined when I first started writing Olive and Zane's story, but you made it the most beautiful and sweetest journey I could have ever asked for. I didn't have to ride this road alone, and that means everything to me.

I want to apologize for the delays. I want to apologize for the imperfections in my writing. And I want to apologize for making you crave more with every single chapter…but then again, that's exactly what this story was always about. Craving a love as dangerous, complicated, and consuming as Olive and Zane's.

You made this story perfect. Not me. You.

Now, before you go, this is not the end.

I will be releasing a new story very soon, and a character from this new story has already made an appearance in the final chapters of His Dangerous Love on Ice. I need you to guess who it is. Drop your answers in the comment section…I am reading every single one.

Also, come find me. Follow me on Face---book under my official name, Quinn Sullivan…yes, that's me, your writer 😄 — and feel free to send me a message. I am always available and I always respond.

Thank you. For every read, every comment, every message, every moment you chose to stay.

Until the next one. 🖤

— Quinn Sullivan