Chapter 11
As he made his way downstairs, the cool air of the house seemed to clear his mind. He entered the kitchen, the warm light casting a comforting glow over the familiar space. He quickly gathered the ingredients for the tea and started boiling water, the soothing aroma of chamomile and mint rising in the air.
While waiting for the water to boil, he began preparing a simple soup. He chopped vegetables with practiced ease, his thoughts wandering back to her. The worry in her eyes, the fatigue in her voice – it all tugged at something deep within him. He found himself hurrying, eager to return to her side.
Once the soup was simmering on the stove, he carefully poured the hot water over the tea leaves, watching as the liquid turned a delicate golden color. He set the tray with the tea and soup and made his way back upstairs.
When he entered the room, she looked up, her eyes a little brighter despite the weariness etched on her face.
“You’re back,” she said, her voice soft with relief.
“Of course I am,” he replied, placing the tray on the bedside table, “I promised you tea and soup, didn’t I?”
She managed to smile a small smile as he handed her the cup of tea. She sipped it slowly, closing her eyes as the warmth spread through her.
“It’s perfect,” she murmured.
“Good,” he said, settling beside her on the bed, “now, try some soup. It will help.”
She took a few spoonful, her expression easing as she ate.
“Still dying?” He asked teasingly as he removed his clothing.
“You don’t know what I’m going through.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He started to laugh and stopped abruptly at the look on her beautiful face. His heart quickened and he could swear his blood had turned syrupy. She was not looking sexy or at least, he was certain she had not put much effort into the way she dressed.
The worn t-shirt had seen better days, and her hair was all over the place, but she was the most potently sexy woman he had ever seen and the look she was giving him was making him weak as a damn kitten.
“You cannot possibly…” His voice trailed off as she slowly put the cup away and tugged the shirt over her head. She was completely naked, her nipples already puckered. And he was as hard as the proverbial rock. “You’re sick.” He had the fleeting thought that he was more trying to convince himself than her.
“I feel much better. The tea and soup combination was an excellent idea.” She glanced pointedly at his obvious arousal.
“Sherrian, I am not a goddamned monster.” He growled as he tried to fight the heat raging through his body.
“This is a sure-fire way to sweat out the sickness.”
“Is that your medical opinion?” He dragged off his underwear and knew when he was defeated.
“Of course.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously as he climbed in next to her.
He leaned down, capturing her lips with a fervent kiss. Her hands roamed over his back, igniting a trail of fire wherever they touched. The world outside ceased to exist; all that mattered was the two of them, wrapped in a fervent embrace.
Their movements were slow, almost reverent, as if each touch, each kiss, was a sacred act. He was careful, mindful of her recent illness, but the passion between them was undeniable, a force neither could resist.
He lifted his mouth from hers, reluctantly ending the kiss. She tasted of herbal tea and sexiness, of love and desire and heaven. And even though he was bursting at the seams, he still had to ask her once more.
“Are you sure?”
“Stop talking.”
His fingers trailed down her arms, sending shivers along her skin. Her breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her lips as he explored her body with gentle curiosity. Each touch was a promise, a testament to the depth of their connection.
She arched into him, her own hands finding their way to the contours of his body, tracing the lines of muscle with a tender urgency. The room was filled with the sound of their mingled breaths, the soft rustle of sheets, and the symphony of their hearts beating in unison.
Every movement, every caress, spoke of the unspoken words that lay between them. It was a dance of souls, a merging of two hearts that found solace and strength in each other. As they moved together, their bodies became the canvas upon which their love painted its masterpiece.
In that moment, nothing else mattered. The world outside was a distant memory, an echo of a life that seemed so far away.
Love for her overwhelmed him so much that he felt his throat thickening, his body surging towards hers.
His heart pounded in his chest, a tumultuous rhythm that echoed the intensity of his emotions. He cradled her face between his hands, his thumbs brushing away the stray strands of hair that clung to her damp forehead. Her eyes, half-lidded with passion, gazed up at him with a mixture of vulnerability and strength that took his breath away.
“Please,” she whispered, her voice a mere breath against his lips. “Don’t hold back.”
With a shuddering breath, he gave in to the storm within him. Their lips met again, this time with a fervor that spoke of longing and need. Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, each kiss a promise of forever.
The night stretched on, a tapestry woven with moments of tenderness and passion. They lost themselves in each other, finding refuge and sanctuary in the warmth of their embrace.
He wanted to prolong the moment, draw it all out, savor every inch of her delectable body.
He pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder, his hands wandering with a languid grace as if committing each curve and hollow of her body to memory. Her skin was soft and warm beneath his touch, a testament to the life and love that pulsed through her veins.
As he moved lower, his lips trailing a path of fire along her collarbone, she tangled her fingers in his hair, a silent plea for more. He responded with a gentle murmur, a sound that resonated deep within her, stirring the embers of their shared passion into a blazing inferno.
They were lost to the world, two souls entwined in a dance as old as time itself. Each touch, each kiss, was a note in the symphony that played between them, a melody that spoke of unending devotion and boundless desire. The night was their canvas, and they painted it with the colors of their lovemaking, vibrant and enduring.
He wanted so much to express his devotion, declare his love for her, but he knew it would be too soon. He could feel her going in deeper, sinking under the silken splendor of his lovemaking. She had become the aggressor, reaching for him without his initiation and he felt hope.
He kissed her again, his hands roaming her curves. With gentle pressure, he pushed her back on the pillows, his body covering hers. He had contemplated a slow and lingering time spent exploring her body, but the need beating at him could not be stayed. He wanted her with a fervency that was making him ill.
His blood was thick, his body coated with a fine sheen of sweat. His heart was hammering against his ribs, his hands trembling.
He entered her swiftly, going in deep, his eyes meeting hers. He marveled at the flaring of the dark brown depths, the parted lips as she closed around him like a tight wet fist. His body jerked in response to this wonderful sensation of her wrapped around him.
When her hands closed around his neck and she tugged him towards her, he brushed his lips against hers slowly. He might not be able to use words just yet, but dammit, if he was not going to let his body speak in volumes.
He moved inside her, his tongue entering her mouth, savoring her taste. Sensations rocketed through his body, and he had no other choice but to allow it to take over. He increased the pace, swallowing her moans. Her pert nipples were branding his chest, creating a friction that was about to drive him mad.
Her body arched, fingers digging into the supple sweat slickness of his shoulders and back, biting into skin. He did not feel anything except the desire and passion roaring through his body like quicksilver. He swallowed her cries as the violent climax engulfed her and she exploded.
They became one, moving together in a rhythm born of instinct and desire. His fingers intertwined with hers, a physical manifestation of the emotional connection that bound them.
He wanted to imprint this moment into his memory, to recall the way her body felt beneath his, the intoxicating scent of her skin, the sounds of their breaths mingling in the stillness of the night.
Every movement, every touch, every kiss was a declaration of his unspoken feelings. He felt her responding to him, her body arching to meet his, her hands clutching him closer as if to never let go. The intensity of their connection grew each thrust a testament to the depth of their passion.
He came and it was not easy or smooth. The depths of his feelings for her combined with the swell of intense passion had his control disintegrating. Ending the kiss, he buried his face against her neck, his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of her skin as he fought to control the madness racing through his body.
He unwittingly broke the skin and even when he tasted blood, he could not let go. Waves after waves of emotions swept him along with a ferocity that had his body shuddering. He poured himself into her, watering the mouth of her womb, his body weak and satiated, his heart shattering.
The moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over their entangled forms. He marveled at the sight of her, illuminated by the silvery light, a vision of beauty and grace that left him breathless. Her chest rose and fell with each ragged breath, her eyes closed as she savored the lingering sensations of their intimacy.
This was the beginning of something profound, something that would shape the course of their lives in ways they could not yet fathom. He could see it in the way she looked at him, in the way her body responded to his touch, in the unspoken bond that had formed between them.
It took more than a few minutes to roll off her and even then, he could not function. Could not think and he could not look at her.
Stirring himself, he was about to get off the bed when she grabbed his arm.
“What’s wrong?”
He finally looked at her, wincing at the raised bruise on her flesh.
“I need to get something to put on the bite mark. I am sorry as hell.”
“Why?”
His eyes flared as he stared at her.
“Why? What do you mean? I hurt you.”
Lifting her hand, she traced the reddened marks on his chest where she had dug into his skin as the climax took over.
“Then I guess we both have our own brands to contend with. Don’t be an idiot. I love what we do in bed together. No one had ever marked me before.”
He gave her a wry look and felt his chest easing. “You are a weird one.”
She grinned, and he felt the tension easing all the way. He had felt foolish and utterly vulnerable at his inability to control his reaction. Something that had never happened to him before. But now she was turning it around and making fun of what had happened.
He lay back down beside her, their fingers still entwined and stared up at the ceiling. The intensity of their connection lingered, a tangible presence in the room. He could feel the warmth of her body next to his, the steady rhythm of her breath calming his own.
As they lay there, the silence between them became a comfortable blanket, wrapping them in its embrace. It was in these quiet moments that he felt the true depth of their bond, an understanding that transcended words. He turned his head to look at her, captivated by the serene expression on her face.
Turning his head to look at her, he felt the smile curving his lips at her disheveled hair and swollen lips. “Still feeling sick?”
She shook her head and moved closer, draping a thigh over his. “You have healed me completely. I told you that is what I needed.”
“You sure did.” He used a finger to trace the bruise. “I should put something on, before it gets infected.”
“Not yet.” She snuggled against him, fingers tangling with the hairs on his chest. “This feels good.”
“Hmm.” He closed his eyes and inhaled her scent.
“I need to ask you something.”
“What?”
She trailed a finger through the hairs.
“Sherrian?” He prompted.
“You were seeing someone.”
“I was, yes.”
“What happened?”
He shifted so that he could see her face.
“I ended things.”
“Why?”
He considered how much he should tell her without giving anything away. “It was just physical.”
She stared at him curiously as if trying to ascertain whether he was telling her the truth.
“How did she feel about it?”
He hesitated briefly. “She knew initially that it was nothing permanent.”
She arched a brow at him. That is an amazingly effective way of not answering the question.”
His gaze remained steady on hers. “I just think that is not an appropriate discussion at this time. It is in the past.”
“Is it that easy for you?”
A frown touched his brow. “Yes, if only my body was involved, then it is that easy. We had a mutual agreement, not a relationship.”
“It’s different for men.”
“I suppose it is.” He answered carefully.
“For women, it much more than physical.”
“I suppose it is.” He repeated.
“The sex…”
“No.” He put a finger against her lips. “I do not feel comfortable discussing my past relationships with you. Just like I would not want to hear what you did in bed with that - that bastard who deceived you. Is that clear?” He jolted when she bit his finger.
“What was that for?”
“I like the taste of you and love when you get all formal and uppity.” And just like that, her mood had changed. He had to admit that she had him spinning in circles. For the first time in his life, he had no idea whether he was coming or going.
“You witch.” He whispered, pushing her back on the pillows and covering her body with his. “For that, you deserve to pay.”
“Looking forward to it.”
*****
It was not long before their playful banter gave way to a more serious conversation. She drew a deep breath, her eyes searching his. "Do you think it's ever possible to really move on from someone?"
He paused, considering her question carefully. "I think it depends on the person and the circumstances. Some people leave a mark that never truly fades, while others..., they become just a distant memory."
She nodded slowly, processing his words. "And what about us? Do you think we will be able to move on if things don't work out?"
His gaze softened as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. "I don't even want to consider that possibility.”
Her lips curved into a small smile.
They lay in silence for a moment, the weight of their conversation hanging in the air. Finally, he broke the stillness with a soft chuckle. "You know, for someone who claims to like the taste of me, you sure have a funny way of showing it."
She laughed, the tension dissipating. "Well, I can't help it if you taste so good."
He grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Just promise me one thing."
"What's that?"
"Let's make the most of every moment we have together. No regrets."
She met his gaze, her expression earnest. "I promise."
And with that, they allowed themselves to get lost in each other once more, savoring every touch, every kiss, every whispered word. For now, the past was forgotten.
*****
“You look like hell.”
“I can always count on you to be honest.” Pulling out a chair, she sat and stretched her legs. The place was quiet for a change, the lunch and early afternoon crowd had come and gone.
The contractor and his team had also left to go and tackle another project. She was not feeling well and had pretended she was doing great and recovered to avoid the nagging from Leo.
“I am not just being a bitch, darling, I am serious.” Michael remarked, peering at her anxiously.
“It is this cold that seems to be lingering and my stomach is acting crazy. I sent someone home two days ago because of a stomach virus and it seems like I caught the bug. On top of that, I cannot taste a fricking thing. It is like my tastebuds have gone for a walk. I am fatigued and listless, it is frustrating.”
“Perhaps you should go and get a checkup.” He offered carefully, taking up his cup of coffee.
“Does Leo know you’re not well?”
She lifted her brows. “We live together and yes - I told him I was not feeling too hot. After he made me tea and soup, I thought I was feeling better…,” she shook her head. “Enough to – you know…” She waved a hand and managed an impish smile at his widened eyes.
“Even though you were at death’s doors, he still wanted to…,” he huffed out a breath. “The man is a monster.”
“I was not at death’s door, and I was the one who initiated it. I have become a sexual deviant.” Her satisfied tone had him laughing.
“It is about time. Good for you.” He sobered and gave her a thorough once-over.
“I am going to ask you a series of personal questions and don’t want you freaking out on me.”
She gave him a curious look. “Since when do you give advance warning? You are always poking in my business and never make an apology for it. Why the change?” He took another sip of the coffee and eyed her over the rim of the cup.
"Because these questions might be a bit more invasive than usual," he replied, setting down his cup and leaning forward. "Are you experiencing any other symptoms? Fever, chills, shortness of breath?"
She shook her head, briefly closing her eyes as a wave of dizziness overcame her. "No, just what I mentioned before."
“And you have been careful?” He took another sip of coffee.
“Careful?” She frowned at him. “What the hell do you mean?”
Putting his cup down, he folded his hands in front of him and stared at her. “Protective sex, darling.”
“Oh.” For a second, she gave him a blank stare and then her eyes widened. “Oh. Crap. You think I might be pregnant. We…” She closed her eyes as she recalled that ever since they started in Europe, she and Leo had not contemplated or even talked about protection or the consequences if that was not exercised.
“I…,” pressing a hand to her jittery stomach, she took a deep breath. It fits. All the symptoms were there. The lethargy, the nausea, the dizziness, and the fact that she had missed her period, something she had chalked down to all the stress and the change in her lifestyle. “Oh Lord.”
“Have you two discussed the possibility of having a family?” Michael prodded.
She shook her head slowly, still processing the revelation. “No, we have not. It never came up because…, well, I guess we were just caught up in the moment and not thinking about the future.” She ran a hand through her hair, feeling the weight of the potential reality crashing down on her.
“How ridiculously careless of me. I cannot be pregnant. We are not in a position! We are not even married, and I have so many things going on. God! To introduce a child into the mix is just insane. All of it is madness.” She thumped her fists on the table and felt the zing of pain going up her arms, welcomed it in fact.
“What the hell am I going to do?”
Michael reached over and placed a comforting hand over hers. “The first thing is you’re going to calm down and the second is go next door to the pharmacy and get yourself a pregnancy test.”
“And then?”
“Go on from there.”