🔥 Exclusive Bonus: The Last Notebook 🔥

A bonus chapter for Grounded

⚠️ CONTENT WARNING

This bonus chapter contains extremely explicit sexual content including: detailed intimate scenes, praise kink, light dominance, worship, multiple rounds, and deep emotional vulnerability. This scene is significantly more explicit than the main book. For mature readers only.

Thank You for Reading! 💚

You made it to the bonus content—which means you’ve experienced Sloane and Vance’s journey from shattered strangers to forever. This scene takes place on their wedding night at the Foundation house, after everyone has finally gone home and the fairy lights are the only witnesses left.

The Last Notebook

Wedding Night • The Foundation House

The house was finally quiet.

The last champagne toast had been made hours ago. Daphne had cried her way through three toasts of her own before Briggs finally carried her to bed. Willa had slipped away without fanfare, but not before pressing a small wrapped gift into Sloane’s hands with a cryptic smile. The fairy lights still glowed in the garden below, casting their warm light through the window of what was now, officially, their room.

Sloane stood at the window in her silk robe, watching the last of the starlight fade into dawn. Her new ring caught the light—the diamond flanked by sapphires, the visible symbol of everything they’d built together.

“You’re still awake.”

Vance’s voice came from behind her, and she felt his warmth a moment before his arms wrapped around her waist. He’d changed out of his wedding suit into sleep pants and nothing else, and the heat of his bare chest against her back made her breath catch.

“Too wired to sleep,” she admitted. “Still processing.”

“What specifically?” His lips brushed against her neck, just below her ear. “The vows? The dancing? The fact that Briggs’s toast somehow involved a raccoon?”

She laughed softly. “All of it. The fact that this is real. That we’re actually married.”

“We are.” He turned her in his arms, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. In the dim light, his gray eyes were silver. “Does that feel strange?”

“It feels impossible.” She traced her fingers along his jaw, marveling at the fact that she was allowed to do this now—forever. “Two years ago, I was barely surviving. I never imagined I’d have this. Have you.”

“You’ve always had me.” His voice dropped, rough with emotion. “Since before you knew I existed. Since the first time I saw you helping a new resident carry boxes up the stairs, even though you were clearly exhausted. Since I started the first notebook.”

“The famous notebook.” She smiled. “The one you gave me as a wedding gift.”

“That was the first one.” He stepped back, moved to the nightstand, and pulled out another leather-bound book—this one newer, the spine less worn. “This is the last one.”

Sloane’s breath caught. “There’s another one?”

“There’s always been another one.” He held it out to her, something vulnerable in his expression. “The others were about observation. Evidence. Building the case. This one is different.”

She took it carefully, opening it to the first page.

Day 1 of loving her openly: She said yes. She actually said yes. I’ve run the calculations a thousand times and the probability still seems impossible. But she’s wearing my ring and looking at me like I’m worth keeping, and I think this is what happiness feels like.

She turned the page, heart pounding.

Day 47: She laughed today—that full, unguarded laugh that I’ve been cataloging since the beginning. But this time she laughed while tangled in my sheets, still flushed from what we’d done, and the sound rewired something in my chest. I don’t have the technical vocabulary for what she does to me.

And another.

Day 89: She cried tonight. Not the broken tears from before—these were different. She said she didn’t know it was possible to feel this safe. I held her for 47 minutes and didn’t say anything, because sometimes data isn’t what people need. Sometimes they just need to be held.

“Vance…” Her voice was thick.

“Keep reading.” He moved closer. “There’s more.”

She flipped to a page near the end.

Day 312: I’m going to marry her. The ring is ready. The plan is ready. I’ve been carrying it for three weeks, waiting for the optimal moment. But every moment with her feels optimal. Every second I spend loving her feels like the most important data point of my life.

And the last entry, dated today:

Wedding day: She’s my wife now. I’ve spent two years collecting data on what it means to love Sloane Winters. Tonight, I’m going to spend the rest of my life showing her what all that data adds up to.

Sloane closed the notebook, tears streaming down her face. “You’re going to make me cry again.”

“That wasn’t the intended outcome.” He took the notebook from her hands, set it aside. “I had other plans for tonight.”

“Plans?” She wiped her eyes, laughing through the tears. “Did you make a spreadsheet for our wedding night?”

“A mental one.” His hands found the tie of her robe. “Want to know what’s on it?”

“Tell me.”

“First.” He tugged the tie loose, letting the silk fall open. “I’m going to unwrap you like the gift you are.”

The robe slid off her shoulders, pooling at her feet. Underneath, she wore nothing but candlelight and the ring on her finger.

Vance’s breath caught. “You’re so beautiful it breaks my analytical capacity.”

“That might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

“Wait.” His hands traced down her sides, reverent and hungry at once. “I’m just getting started.”

He walked her backward toward the bed, each step deliberate, until her knees hit the edge and she sat down on the mattress. He didn’t follow—instead, he knelt in front of her, placing himself between her thighs, looking up at her with an intensity that made her core clench.

“Second,” he said, voice dropping low, “I’m going to worship every inch of you until you forget your own name.”

“That’s ambitious.”

“I’m thorough.” His hands slid up her thighs, pushing them apart. “You know that about me.”

She did know. She knew exactly how thorough Vance Mercer could be.

His mouth found the inside of her knee, pressing a soft kiss there before trailing higher. Each press of his lips was deliberate, unhurried—a man who had all the time in the world and intended to use every second.

“You know what I recorded in that notebook?” His breath was warm against her inner thigh. “The first time I made you come. The sounds you made. The way your body arched. I’ve replayed that data a thousand times.”

“That’s—” She gasped as his tongue traced a path higher. “That’s incredibly hot.”

“I’m a scientist.” He nipped at her thigh, just hard enough to make her whimper. “I believe in reproducible results.”

Then his mouth was on her, and all coherent thought dissolved.

He ate her like he did everything else—methodically, thoroughly, with complete attention to detail. His tongue traced patterns against her clit while his fingers slid inside, curling to find the spot that made her see stars. He noted every gasp, adjusted to every response, built her pleasure with the precision of someone who’d been studying her body for months.

“Vance—” She fisted her hands in his hair. “I’m going to—”

“Already?” He didn’t sound surprised. He sounded satisfied. “I had at least three more techniques planned.”

“Later—oh god, later—”

The orgasm crashed through her like a wave, and he didn’t stop—kept working her through it, drawing out every aftershock until she was trembling and breathless and pulling at his shoulders.

“Get up here,” she managed. “Now.”

He rose, shedding his sleep pants in one fluid motion. The sight of him—hard and wanting, his eyes dark with hunger—made her mouth water.

“Third step?” she asked, reaching for him.

“I make love to my wife.” He covered her body with his, settling between her thighs. “As many times as she can handle.”

“That sounds like a lot.”

“I have the stamina documented.” He positioned himself at her entrance, pausing there, trembling with restraint. “Wedding nights are supposed to be memorable.”

“This is already—” She broke off as he pushed inside, the stretch making her gasp. “Oh—already memorable—”

He bottomed out with a groan, holding still for a moment that felt like eternity. “You feel like home.”

“You are home.” She wrapped her legs around his waist. “Now move.”

He moved.

Slow at first, savoring—each thrust deliberate and deep, his eyes locked on hers like he was memorizing every expression. Then faster, harder, as the need built between them. She met him stroke for stroke, her nails raking down his back, her moans mixing with his groans in a symphony of want.

“Tell me,” he gasped against her neck. “Tell me what you need.”

“More. Harder. Everything.”

He gave her everything.

His hand slid between them, finding her clit, circling in time with his thrusts. His mouth found that spot below her ear that always made her unravel. And his voice—that low, rough voice—started cataloging all the things he loved about her.

“I love the way you gasp when I hit this spot.” He angled his hips, making her cry out. “I love the way you say my name when you’re close. I love the way your whole body tenses right before you come—”

“Vance—”

“Just like that.” His rhythm turned relentless. “Come for me, wife. Let me feel you.”

She shattered with his name on her lips, her body clenching around him so hard that he followed immediately—groaning into her shoulder as he spilled inside her, his whole body trembling with release.

They stayed tangled together as the waves subsided, breathing hard, hearts pounding in sync.

“That was…” Sloane couldn’t finish the sentence. Didn’t have words.

“Statistically excellent.” Vance pressed a lazy kiss to her shoulder. “Among our top five encounters, based on duration and intensity markers.”

“You’re ranking our sex life?”

“I’m documenting it.” He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her with tender amusement. “For quality assurance purposes.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m thorough.” He kissed her forehead. “There’s a difference.”

She laughed—that full, unguarded laugh he loved—and pulled him back down for a proper kiss. When they finally broke apart, the first hints of true dawn were painting the sky gold.

“We should sleep,” she murmured.

“We should.” He didn’t move. “But I believe I mentioned multiple rounds.”

“That was not a complaint.”

“Good.” He rolled, pulling her on top of him. “Because I have at least three more techniques to document.”

She sat up, straddling him, feeling him already hardening again beneath her. “Is that so?”

“Extensive research is required.” His hands found her hips. “I take my work very seriously.”

“Then by all means.” She sank down onto him, both of them groaning at the sensation. “Show me your methodology.”

He showed her. Twice more before they finally collapsed into exhausted sleep, tangled together in sheets that smelled like them, like home, like forever.

And on the nightstand, beside the notebook that held two years of observations, the new ring on her finger caught the morning light.

Grounded. Connected. Permanently wired.

Just like they were always meant to be.

~ The End ~