Pet

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The walk back to the house was a blur of sun-warmed skin and salt-kissed lips.

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Marty’s hand never left mine, his thumb tracing circles over my knuckles like he was memorizing the shape of me all over again. The ring felt heavy on my finger—not from the weight of the silver, but from the promise it carried.

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By the time we reached the bedroom, the last of the sunset had bled into twilight, painting the room in soft blues and purples. Marty shut the door behind us with a quiet click, then pressed me against it, his body caging me in. His mouth found mine, slow and deep, like he had all the time in the world.

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“You’re mine now,” he murmured against my lips, his voice rough with something darker than usual—possession, yes, but also reverence. “Officially.”

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I smirked, tilting my head back to give him better access to my throat. “I’ve been yours for a while, Campbell.”

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His teeth grazed my collarbone, just sharp enough to make me gasp. “Not like this.”

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The words sent a shiver down my spine. I loved him like this—when the quiet, steady man who held me through storms let something feral slip through. Not cruel, never that, but hungry. Like he could devour me and still want more.

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I pushed him back just enough to yank his damp shirt over his head, my fingers swept across his chest, seeking out the familiar warmth of his body. “Prove it.”

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His breath hitched. Then his hands were on me, dragging my sundress up and over my head in one smooth motion. The cool air raised goosebumps on my skin, but his mouth was hot as it followed the path his fingers had just taken—over my ribs, the dip of my waist, the swell of my hips.

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“Fuck, Pet,” he groaned, dropping to his knees in front of me. His hands gripped my thighs, fingers digging in just enough to leave marks as he pressed his lips to the inside of my knee. “You’re so goddamn beautiful.”

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I ran my fingers through his damp hair, guiding him higher. “Less talking.”

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He chuckled, the vibration of it making me shudder, before his tongue dragged up the inside of my thigh, slow and deliberate. When he finally reached where I was aching for him, he didn’t rush. He took his time—teasing, tasting, learning me all over again like it was the first time. His fingers joined his mouth, curling inside me in a familiar rhythm that had my knees trembling.

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“Marty—” His name broke on a moan, my hips rocking against his face. He hummed in response, the sound sending another wave of pleasure through me.

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“That’s it,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to speak. “Let me hear you.”

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I came with a cry, my fingers clutching at his shoulders as he worked me through it. Before I could even catch my breath, he was on his feet, lifting me and carrying me to our bed.

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He laid me down like I was something precious, then stripped off the rest of his clothes, his movements urgent now. When he settled between my legs, I wrapped them around his familiar waist, pulling him down to kiss me. I could taste myself on his lips and the filthiness of it sent a thrill through me.

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“Need you,” I whispered.

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He didn’t make me wait. He slid into me in one smooth thrust, both of us groaning at the sensation. For a moment, he just stayed there, forehead pressed to mine, our eyes locked together, time suspended.

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“Love you,” he said, voice rough. “So fucking much.”

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I kissed him, slow and deep, as he began to move.

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There was no rush, no frantic pace—just the steady, perfect rhythm of two people who knew exactly how to fit together. His hands were everywhere, in my hair, gripping my hip, thumb brushing over my nipple—each touch sending shivers through me.

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“Harder,” I gasped and he obeyed, snapping his hips forward in a way that made my vision blur. I clawed at his back, my body coiling tight around him.

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“Come on, love,” he murmured, his lips against my ear. “Come for me again.”

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I did, my back arching off the bed as intense waves of pleasure crashed over me. Marty followed with a shudder and then a loud groan, burying his face in my neck as he surrendered to his own release.

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For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then he rolled to the side, pulling me with him so I was sprawled half on top of him, my head resting over his heart.

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“That,” I said, once I could speak again, “was a hell of a way to celebrate an engagement.”

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He laughed, low and satisfied, his hands stilling on my bare back. “Just wait till the wedding night.”

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I propped myself up on my elbow to look at him, grinning. “Promises, promises.”

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His expression softened, his hand tucking a stray piece of hair behind my ear. “Forever, Pet. That’s the only promise that matters.”

I kissed him, slow and sweet, savouring the taste of salt and sex on his lips.

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Forever sounded perfect.

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The room was quiet save for the sound of the ocean and our breathing. Marty’s fingers hovered on the curve of my spine, his touch light, almost absentminded, like he was memorizing the shape of me. I pressed closer, my leg twisted with his, my head still resting over his heart.

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“Do you think he knew?” I asked softly, my thoughts drifting to the memorial garden, to the stone bearing my father’s name. “About us, I mean. Do you think he would’ve liked you?”

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Marty’s hand stilled for a moment before resuming its slow path up and down my back. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “But I like to think so. I like to think he’d see how much I love you and know that I’d do anything to keep you safe. To make you happy.”

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I swallowed past the sudden tightness in my throat. “He would’ve loved your music,” I said, my voice thick. “He would’ve loved the way you play. The way you feel it.”

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Marty pressed a kiss to my temple. “And he would’ve loved the way you sing. The way you carry his legacy without letting it weigh you down.”

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I closed my eyes, letting the truth of his words sink in. It was something I’d struggled with for so long—the fear that I was only a shadow of my father, that my voice was just an echo of his. But Marty had always seen me as my own person, my own artist. He’d been the one to remind me that I could honour my father without losing myself in the process.

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“What do you think he’d say about the Foundation?” I asked, a small smile tugging at my lips. “About the mentorship program?”

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Marty’s chest rumbled with a quiet laugh. “I think he’d say it’s about damn time.” His fingers traced the shell of my ear, his touch feather-light. “And I think he’d be proud as hell of you for turning all that pain into something good. Into something that’ll help other people.”

I nodded, my throat tight. “I hope so.”

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We lay in silence for a while, listening to the distant waves and the occasional creak of the house settling. 

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“What do you want for the wedding?” Marty asked suddenly, his voice breaking the quiet. “Big? Small? Here, or somewhere else?”

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I thought about it for a moment, imagining the possibilities. A grand affair in Los Angeles, with all the industry connections and media attention? A quiet ceremony on this very beach, with only our closest friends and family? Somewhere in between?

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“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just know I want it to feel like us. Like our music. Like this.” I gestured vaguely to the room, to the ocean beyond the window, to the way our bodies fit together so perfectly.

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Marty’s hand found mine, his fingers intertwining with mine, the ring catching what was left of the early evening light.

 

“Then that’s what we’ll do,” he said simply. “However you want it, Pet. As long as I get to marry you at the end of it, I don’t care about the rest.”

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I turned my head to press a kiss to his shoulder, my lips lingering against his warm skin. “You’re going to make me cry,” I murmured.

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“No crying,” he said, his voice teasing but gentle. “Not tonight. Tonight’s for this.” He shifted slightly, rolling me onto my back and hovering over me, his elbows bracketing my head. His eyes were dark in the dim light, but I could see the warmth in them, the love that never failed to take my breath away. “Tonight’s for us.”

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And then he was kissing me again, slow and deep, his body pressing into mine, the weight of him familiar and perfect. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, losing myself in the feel of him, in the taste of him, in the way he made me feel like I was the only person in the world.

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This was what I wanted forever to feel like. Not just the passion, not just the love, but this—this quiet, this certainty, this sense of coming home.

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Later, when the moon was high and the house was silent, I found myself standing at the window, the curtain pulled back just enough to let in the cool night air. Marty was asleep behind me, his breathing steady and deep, his arm still draped over the space where I usually lay, like even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let me go.

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I looked out at the ocean, the waves a dark, shifting mass under the moonlight. Somewhere out there, my father’s spirit was at peace. I liked to think he was watching over me, over us, that he could see the life Marty and I had built, the love we’d found, the good we were doing in his name.

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“I miss you,” I whispered, my breath fogging the glass slightly. “But I’m happy, Dad. I promise. And I’m going to keep fighting for the things you believed in. I’m going to keep making music that matters. I’m going to keep loving this man who loves me so well.”

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A gust of wind rattled the window and for a moment, I could’ve sworn I felt a touch against my cheek, warm as a memory, but light as a feather. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me, letting myself believe, just for a second, that it was him—my father, my first hero and my greatest loss.

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When I opened my eyes again, the ocean was still there, endless and beautiful and so was Marty, his presence a steady rock I’d anchored my life around.

 

I let the curtain fall back into place and climbed back into bed, slipping under the covers and back into his arms.

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He murmured something in his sleep, his hold tightening slightly and I pressed a kiss to his shoulder, my lips curving into a smile.

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Forever started now.