CHAPTER 316

CHAPTER 316
WINTER

I couldn’t stop staring at the ring.
It sat on my finger like it had always belonged there—simple platinum band, a single diamond catching every flicker of firelight and throwing tiny rainbows across my skin.

I kept turning my hand slowly, watching the light play over the facets, half expecting it to disappear like a dream I’d wake up from any second.

It didn’t.

The diamond stayed. The ring stayed.

I couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

One minute I was laughing at Claire’s dumb jokes by the fire; the next I was on my knees in the sand, tears streaming, saying yes over and over while Zion looked at me like I was the only miracle he’d ever needed.

"It really is beautiful,” Claire breathed, leaning forward so fast she almost spilled her wine.

“Look at that stone. Must be expensive as hell. Look at the size of that diamond! It’s not even obnoxious—it’s perfect. Elegant. He really thought about it, didn’t he? That sneaky romantic bastard.”

"Yeah… it’s stunning,” Ariel said quietly.

“He picked something that looks like it belongs on you. Not too much, not too little. Just… right.”

I swallowed—throat tight again—and traced the band with my thumb.

“I still can’t believe it,” I admitted.

“One second we’re all laughing about tattoos and the next…he’s on one knee. In the sand. Proposing. I thought my heart was going to explode right there. I couldn’t breathe. I just kept nodding like an idiot—over and over—because the words ‘yes’ wouldn’t come out. They were stuck behind all the tears and the disbelief and the… the relief. Like I’d been holding my breath for years and finally got to exhale.”

Claire squealed—

"I can't believe he just dropped to one knee in the sand like some movie hero, moonlight everywhere, waves crashing, the whole damn thing. I mean, come on. Who proposes like that? It’s unfair. I’m going to need years of therapy to recover from how romantic that was. Actual years.”

I laughed—still a little dazed—twisting the ring on my finger.

It still didn’t feel real.

None of it did.

The snowflake, the RC, the ring.

“It was… a lot,” I admitted, cheeks warm.

“I think I blacked out for a second. I just kept nodding like a bobblehead.”

Claire squealed—again.

“I’m screaming. I’m actually screaming. You’re getting married. To Zion. The broody, overprotective, stupidly-in-love Zion. I need to start planning the bachelorette. Beach? Cabin? Strip club? All three?”

Ariel laughed—soft, a little nervous—but her eyes kept drifting back to my ring, then to her phone on the coffee table, screen dark.

I noticed.

Again.

She’d been doing it all night—little glances, quick unlocks when she thought no one was looking, then immediate lock again like she was waiting for a message that never came.

I tilted my head, voice gentle.

“Ariel… you sure you’re okay?”

She looked up—too fast—smile snapping into place.

“What? Yes. I’m fine. Totally fine.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, fingers lingering there nervously.

“I was just… thinking. About how much Zion loves you. That kind of love? It’s hard to come by. You’re lucky, Winter. Really lucky.”

Claire and I exchanged a look—quick, knowing.

Claire leaned forward, elbows on her knees, grin sly.

“Well… if you look around, maybe you’ll find that kind of love too.”

Ariel blinked—confused.

“Meaning what?”

Claire’s grin widened—wicked, delighted.

“Harry, duh. He’s got a huge crush on you. Like, huge. The man stares at you like you hung the moon and the stars and then personally invented gravity. It’s disgusting. And adorable. Mostly disgusting.”

I laughed —couldn’t help it—

“She’s not wrong. He’s been watching you all night like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks. And the way he offered to drive you home earlier? That wasn’t just polite. That was ‘please don’t leave because I’ll die a little if you do’ energy.”

Her eyes widened to saucers, pupils darting between Claire and me like we’d just accused her of a crime.

“No,” she said,

“That can’t—I mean that's ridiculous. You’ve got it completely wrong.”

She shook her head sharply—once, twice—pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“He’s just being nice. It doesn’t mean anything. He’s not… he’s not looking at me like that. You’re seeing things. Both of you.”

Claire leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice gentle but insistent.

“Ariel, babe,” she sighed,

“He looks at you like you’re the only person in every room. He barely talks to anyone else when you’re around. He offered to drive you home. Harry doesn’t offer to drive anyone anywhere. He barely offers opinions.”

I reached over—squeezed Ariel’s knee gently, careful not to startle her.

“He likes you,” I said softly.

“Really likes you."

Ariel jerked her knee away—small, instinctive—and wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

“Stop it,” she said, sharper now, voice trembling at the edges.

“Both of you… please. Just stop.”

Claire’s mouth opened—then closed. She looked at me, eyes worried.

I felt my own smile slip away completely.

The teasing had landed wrong.

Really wrong.

“Ariel…” I started again.

“We’re not trying to push. We just—”

“No,” Ariel cut in again, sharper this time, almost pleading.

“Please. Just… stop. You’re wrong. He’s not interested. He can’t be. I’m—”

She swallowed hard, eyes fixed on her lap like it held all the answers she needed to avoid ours.

“Just… drop it. Please.”

“Okay,” I said quietly.

Ariel gave a small, tight nod—still staring at her lap, fingers still twisting—but the frantic energy in her shoulders eased just a fraction.

The silence stretched—awkward, heavy—

Claire cleared her throat after a moment, forcing a lighter tone.

“So… wedding planning,” she said, voice deliberately bright.

“We need colors. Themes. Venue ideas. I vote beach. Obviously. Sunset vows, barefoot, waves in the background. Zion in a suit he hates but wears anyway because you asked him to. You in something flowy and ethereal that makes Clark cry on sight.”

Ariel chuckled.

Finally

“Beach sounds perfect,” I said

“But we’ve got time. No rush.”

Claire raised her mug—half-empty now.

“To new ink. To new rings. To new possibilities. To family. And new beginnings.”

I clinked my mug against hers—then Ariel’s—smiling through the lingering ache in my chest.

“To family and new beginnings.” I echoed.

ZION

Outside on the deck, the night air was cold enough to bite, carrying salt and pine and the low, steady crash of waves against the rocks far below.

The fire pit we’d lit earlier had burned down to glowing coals, orange light flickering across the guys’ faces as we sat in a loose circle of Adirondack chairs, beers in hand.

The porch light was off—we’d killed it earlier so the stars felt closer, sharper, like they were watching us celebrate too.

Clark was already three beers deep and holding court like usual, voice loud enough to carry over the surf.

“—I’m telling you, the wedding’s gonna be epic. Beach ceremony at sunset, barefoot, waves in the background. Winter in some flowy white thing that makes Zion lose his mind on sight. Zion in a suit he’ll hate but wear anyway because she asked. Me officiating—ordained online, baby, I’m legal. I’ve got vows ready. ‘In sickness and in health, in basements and beach houses, in therapy and tantrums—’”

Harry snorted into his bottle.

“No one’s letting you officiate.”

Clark clutched his chest.

“Rude. I’d be amazing. Tear-jerking. Poetic. I’d have everyone sobbing. Even Ro. Look at him—he’s already emotional.”

Ro gave one slow blink—his version of fuck off—and took a long pull from his beer without comment.

Clark kept going, undeterred.

“And kids. Oh man, the kids. Little snowflakes running around, tiny versions of Winter with Zion’s scowl. I’m gonna be the fun uncle. Teach ’em how to sneak booze, hot-wire cars, pick locks—useful life skills. Zion’ll be all ‘no, they’re going to college,’ and I’ll be like ‘college is overrated, nephew, let Uncle Clark show you how to live.’”

I forced a laugh—low, distracted—because they were waiting for it.

Because this was what we did: bullshit, drink, celebrate the wins when they came.

And this was a win. Huge.

Winter was safe.

Loved.

Inked.

Engaged.

Wearing my fucking ring.

But my mind wasn’t out here.

It was with Winter.

On the bed.

Naked.

I wanted her stripped bare—slow, deliberate, every layer peeled away like unwrapping something sacred. Hoodie tugged over her head, hair tumbling wild across the pillow. Yoga pants dragged down her thighs, inch by inch, until she was bare and flushed and arching under my hands.

I wanted to kiss every scar—trace the thin silver lines on her wrists where ropes had bitten, the faint pink slash along her ribs where stitches had held her together, the yellowing bruise on her hip that still made my chest ache when I saw it.

I wanted to put my mouth on every fading mark, every place that pain had touched her, and replace it with heat, with worship, with me until she forgot what hurt ever felt like.

I wanted to taste her again—spread her thighs wide, hook her legs over my shoulders, bury my face between them and lick her slow and thorough until she was trembling, fingers knotted in my hair, hips lifting off the mattress, coming hard on my tongue with that broken little sob that always undid me.

Then I wanted to fuck her.

Really fuck her.

Her under me—legs wrapped tight around my waist, nails raking down my back hard enough to leave marks of her own.

My cock buried deep inside her—slow at first, careful, feeling every inch of her clench and flutter around me like she’d been waiting thirty-five days for this too.

Feeling her stretch, hot and tight and perfect, walls gripping me so hard I saw stars.

Then harder. Deeper.

Her body shaking beneath me, thighs trembling around my hips, pussy pulsing, dripping down my shaft, soaking us both.

I wanted to fuck her until she was sobbing—overstimulated, wrecked, still reaching for me, still begging for more even as her body shook.

Until I couldn’t hold back anymore and spilled inside her—deep, hot, thick—marking her from the inside out, filling her until she was dripping with me, until every pulse of my cock claimed her all over again.

I wanted to celebrate.

Not with beer.

Not with jokes.

With her.

Because thirty-five days of waiting had turned into a hunger that wouldn’t be sated with one round. I wanted her all night. Over and over. On the bed, against the wall, in the shower, on the floor.

I shifted in my chair—trying to ease the relentless throb in my jeans. It didn’t help.

My dick was painfully hard, leaking steadily, the wet spot probably visible if anyone looked too close. I didn’t care.

Clark was still talking—something about baby names now,

“Zion Junior’s too serious, we need something fun, like Clark Jr. or Royal the Third”—and the guys were laughing, ribbing him back.

I barely heard it.

My eyes kept drifting to the sliding door, to the warm light spilling from inside where Winter was curled on the couch with Claire and Ariel, laughing, wearing my ring.

I needed her.

Needed to be alone with her.

Needed to feel her pulse around me, hear her moan my name, watch her come undone the way only I could make her.

I drained the last of my beer—cold, sharp, doing nothing to cool the fire in my veins—and stood.

“I’m heading in,” I said, voice rougher than I meant.

Clark paused mid-sentence.

“Already? Dude, it’s early. We’re celebrating!”

I shot him a look—flat, final.

“Celebrating’s over out here.”

Harry’s mouth twitched—he knew.

Ro just gave one slow nod, like he’d been waiting for me to say it.

Clark groaned dramatically.

“Fine. Go get your girl. But if I hear screaming, I’m filming it for blackmail.”

I flipped him off—middle finger high—and headed for the door.

The night was young.

And I was done waiting.

Winter was upstairs.

And tonight… I was finally going to show her exactly how much I’d missed her.

Every desperate, filthy, loving inch.

No more holding back.

Not anymore.