The marble foyer of his Miami mansion was cold underfoot, the morning light cutting through the blinds to illuminate a trail of discarded silk and the ghost of last night’s champagne. Robin held April’s hand, his grip tight, as he pushed the heavy door shut with his shoulder. The click of the lock echoed in the vast, silent space. He didn’t let go. He stood there, breathing in the sterile, cleaned air, trying to overwrite the memory of hotel disinfectant and Kristen’s perfume.

April slipped her hand from his and toed off her sandals. The soft slap of her bare feet on the stone was the only sound. She walked into the living room, sunlight catching the gold in her hair, and looked back at him. “We’re home,” she said, her voice quiet, testing the word.

Robin didn’t feel home. He felt the press of Kristen’s fingers into his ass in the hotel lobby, the vicious, knowing squeeze through his jeans as the phone camera flashed. He saw April’s oblivious smile just inches away. The panic had been a cold stone in his throat. Now, in the safety of his own walls, the stone had dissolved into a corrosive, shameful heat that spread through his chest.

“Come here,” he said, his voice rough.

She came to him, her big eyes soft with the quiet happiness of their return. He cupped her face, his thumbs tracing her cheekbones. He studied her—the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the full, unpainted curve of her lips. This was what he had. This was what he was about to defile with his need.

“Promise me something,” Robin whispered, his forehead touching hers. He could smell her shampoo, something like coconuts, and beneath it, the warm, clean scent of her skin.

“Anything.”

“Never leave me.” The words were out, stark and desperate. “No matter what you hear. No matter what happens. No matter what I….” He stopped, swallowing the rest. “Just promise you’ll never leave.”

April pulled back just enough to search his face. The quiet happiness in her eyes flickered, shaded with concern. “Robin, what’s wrong?”

“Promise me, April.” His hands slid from her face to her shoulders, gripping them. “Say it.”

“I promise,” she said, the words a gentle exhale. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He believed her. He believed the earnestness in her young face, and the belief was a knife-twist of guilt. He needed to seal it, to make it real with something she could see and touch. He fumbled in his pocket, his fingers closing around the small velvet box. He hadn’t planned this moment. He’d bought the ring in a frantic, superstitious impulse after the lobby, a charm against his own ruin.

He didn’t get down on one knee. He just opened the box, revealing a slim, elegant band set with a single diamond that caught the slatted light. “Then wear this,” he said. “It’s a promise. From me to you. I will never leave you. I will never let anything hurt you.”

April’s breath caught. Her hand flew to her mouth. She looked from the ring to his face, her eyes shimmering. “Robin…”

“Let me,” he said, and his voice broke. He took her left hand. His own fingers trembled as he slid the cool band onto her finger. It fit perfectly. He brought her knuckles to his lips, kissing them, closing his eyes against the burn behind his lids. “I’m yours,” he whispered against her skin, a vow and a plea.

“And I’m yours,” she whispered back, her voice thick. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss that was soft, then deep, then hungry. He could taste the salt of her happy tears.

He devoured that kiss. He let it drown out every other sensation—the memory of other mouths, other hands. He walked her backward, his hands sliding down to grip the back of her thighs, and lifted her. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her sundress riding up. He carried her like that, mouths locked, through the sun-dappled living room, down the hall to the master bedroom.

He laid her on the vast bed, the white duvet swallowing her. The sunlight poured over her, making her skin glow. He stood at the foot of the bed, just looking. The diamond on her finger winked. She was so beautiful it was a physical ache in his chest, a clean, sharp pain he wanted to lose himself in.

“My beautiful girl,” he murmured, his voice ragged. He crawled onto the bed, over her, bracing himself on his elbows. He kissed her again, slowly now, savoring the soft give of her lips. He kissed her jaw, her throat, the frantic pulse at its base. He hooked his fingers in the thin straps of her dress and pulled them down, exposing her shoulders, then further, until the fabric gathered at her waist.

Her breasts were bare in the sunlight. He lowered his mouth to one peaked nipple, taking it gently between his lips. She arched beneath him, a low moan escaping her. He laved it with his tongue, then drew it deeper into his mouth, sucking slowly, rhythmically. He felt her hands in his hair, clutching, guiding. He moved to the other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, until her breathing was a ragged, sweet sound in his ear.

He kissed down the flat plane of her stomach, his tongue dipping into her navel. He hooked his hands in the bunched fabric of her dress and her panties and pulled them down her legs in one slow, deliberate motion. She was completely bare now, open to the light and his gaze. He settled between her thighs, his hands spreading her.

She was already wet for him, glistening. The sight made his cock throb, painfully hard in his jeans. He didn’t touch himself. He lowered his head.

His first taste of her was an electric jolt of pure, clean arousal. Musk and salt and April. He licked a slow, flat stripe from her opening to her clit. She cried out, her hips lifting off the bed. He did it again, and again, until her thighs were trembling against his ears. Then he focused on her clit, sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue.

He was relentless. He listened to every gasp, every broken syllable of his name, and used it as a map. He slid two fingers inside her, curling them, finding the rough spot that made her back bow. He fucked her slowly with his fingers while his mouth worked her clit, the wet, intimate sounds filling the sunlit room. He felt her body tightening, coiling, the muscles in her thighs going rigid.

“Robin, I’m… I’m gonna…” she choked out.

He didn’t let up. He drove her over the edge, his mouth sealed to her as she came with a sharp, sobbing cry, her body convulsing around his fingers. He gentled his tongue, lapping at her through the waves, drinking every pulse of her climax until she was limp and shuddering.

Only then did he rise up, fumbling with his belt, his jeans. He shoved them down, his cock springing free, thick and flushed and desperate. He needed to be inside her, to feel her heat surround him, to be claimed by it. He positioned himself at her entrance, the broad head nudging against her slickness.

He looked into her eyes, hazy with pleasure. The promise ring glittered on her hand where it lay beside her head. “Mine,” he breathed, a raw declaration.

“Yours,” she gasped.

He pushed into her, one slow, inexorable inch at a time. The stretch, the breathtaking tightness, the hot velvet clutch of her—it burned away everything else. He buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against hers, and stopped, his whole body trembling with the effort of holding still. He was home. Here. Now. In her.

He began to move. A deep, rolling thrust, then a slow retreat. He set a rhythm that was worship, each stroke a desperate prayer for absolution. He kissed her, swallowing her moans. He tangled his fingers with hers, the metal of the ring cool against his skin. He fucked her with a tender, devastating thoroughness, aiming for that deep, sweet spot until she was clenching around him again, her second climax building, pulling his own from the base of his spine.

His release tore through him, a white-hot flood that felt like both annihilation and rebirth. He spilled into her with a broken groan, his hips stuttering, his forehead dropping to her shoulder. He held himself there, buried deep, as the pulses subsided. The only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant cry of gulls outside.

In the quiet, sticky aftermath, with her body soft and pliant beneath his, Robin knew one thing with absolute, chilling clarity. He had to protect this. He had to protect her from the chaos he carried, from the Kristen-shaped threat smirking in the wings, at any cost.