He turned back to me then, a resigned smile. “It’s okay. I’m not telling you this so you feel sorry for me. Just explaining why I’ve let this place sit. A big, empty house filled with those kinds of memories was the last thing I wanted.”
“I understand,” I said softly. “But why are we here now?”
Foster brushed his knuckle along my cheek, watching me, studying. Debating. He frowned. “You asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for Christmas, and I told you nothing, that I had everything I wanted.”
I leaned into his touch, giving him a small smile.
“But I lied,” he said, lowering his hand.
That gave me pause, a little pinch of worry, I tucked the blanket more tightly around myself. “Oh?”
“Yes. I know we promised to be completely honest with each other.”
I nodded.
“But I’ve
been failing you on that these last few months. Because what I’ve really been wanting is something more than I’ve asked for.”
I wet my lips, my stomach dipping a bit at where his words could be leading. “Okay.”
I could hear him take a long, deep breath, as if he needed extra oxygen to say what he needed to say. “I promised myself I wouldn’t put pressure on you, wanted to give you time to explore this kind of relationship because you were so new to everything. I told myself it was to protect you, but really, it was to protect me.”
I frowned, not understanding.
“I think part of me was always still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to fall apart again. For you to change your mind and move on.”
The insecurity in his words tugged at me. “Foster . . .”
“But I can’t help how I feel, how you make me feel. And I’m done being chickenshit about it. What I really want for Christmas is to have you by my side every night . . .”
My brows knitted. “I’m at your place almost every night, or you’re at mine.”
He looked down at our linked hands, brushing a thumb over my knuckles, then raised his face to me. “I don’t want to just date you. I know we haven’t been together that long, but I also know what’s in my heart. And what I think I see in yours. I want more with you. I want everything, Cela.”
I blinked at him in the muted firelight. His expression was as stripped bare as I’d ever seen it. Vulnerable. Nervous. The sight made it hard for me to draw breath. I was so used to seeing the confident and collected Foster that this side was a revelation. He’d left his armor at the door tonight.
Then his request finally registered. I want everything. My voice shook a little when I managed to get words out. “What are you asking?”
“Exactly what you think I’m asking. But I’m not going to get on one knee yet. Know that I will, and I’d marry you tomorrow if you’d have me, but that’s definitely a decision I’m not going to lay on you yet. We’ve got time for a ring. But as a start, I’m asking you to live with me, angel—here. I’ve had everything remodeled and updated. I want to build a life here with you. And I want you to wear my mark of ownership.”
I stared at him, struck speechless by the requests. Live with me. Wear my mark. One day wear my ring. My heart knocked hard against my ribs. He was asking me to move in, to be his—forever, putting himself out there in a way I knew had to be punching old fear buttons for him.
So many things zipped through my mind—the sheer gravity of the decision, the implications, the permanence. For all these months, we’d spent so much time together, but we’d still kept some space. We would sleep over at each other’s place, but not every night. And though I wore a collar when we made trips to The Ranch, it was only on during scenes. It was as if we were both playing with parachutes, always anticipating that one of us might jump off the plane.
If I said yes, I knew this would transform, deepen to a level I couldn’t even fathom. I knew what Foster craved from me—a craving I’d felt blooming within myself with each passing week we were together. Owned. When I came home after work, I’d become his, my submission a daily gift. Even though I had let myself imagine it, fantasize about it, it was a lot to process. But as I closed my eyes and pictured what that life would look like—Foster and me sharing a home, the two of us facing the world together, intense nights of being under his command mixed in with days of being surrounded by his laughter and love—well, I couldn’t quite access any fear over that.
Instead, like water rising in a well, an overwhelming surge of happiness spread within me, filling every nook, and threatening to burst through my pores. I knew all too well the sense of loss I felt when he unlatched my collar at The Ranch or when we had to part for the night.
In the beginning, the idea of true submission to Foster had scared me, had made me worry about putting myself in another suffocating situation like the one I’d grown up with. But my parents had controlled me through guilt and shame, and had used my natural urge to make those around me proud and happy against me. They’d let their love and overprotectiveness of me overshadow what may have been right for me.
But in my heart, I knew Foster would never take advantage of my desire to please that way. He’d been the one cheering me on these last few months while I went through my tough ER position. The one who’d held me when I lost my first patient in surgery. He wanted me on my own two feet in the world—strong, capable, successful. But behind closed doors, he wanted me under his care.
And I could think of no place I’d rather be.
“Foster,” I whispered.
He leaned over to the coffee table to grab something, then squared himself toward me on the couch. In his hands, he held a small, flat box. I stared down at it, my breath quickening as he flipped it open. Inside lay a delicate choker-style necklace with a silver pendant in the shape of . . . a wing.