Chapter 8 #2
For several long moments, we lie tangled together, breathing hard, heartbeats gradually slowing. James's weight on me feels like an anchor, keeping me grounded when I might otherwise float away on waves of bliss.
"That was..." he begins, then laughs softly. "I don't even have words."
"I know." I run my fingers through his hair, damp with exertion. "Me neither."
He shifts to his side, keeping one arm draped over me, his expression suddenly serious. "I meant what I said before. You're everything to me, Eva."
The naked emotion in his eyes nearly undoes me. "Even though I'm too intense sometimes? Too emotional?"
"Especially because of that." He traces my cheekbone with gentle fingers. "I'm in love with you. All of you."
My breath catches at his words. Not "falling in love" this time, but "in love." Present tense. Certain.
"I'm in love with you too," I whisper, the truth of it settling into my bones. "That's why the Boston thing scared me so much. Not just because of the distance, but because what we have feels too important to risk."
"It is important," he agrees. "The most important thing in my life right now. Which is why I've been thinking about alternatives."
I prop myself up on one elbow, studying his face. "What kind of alternatives?"
"I spoke with Robert Westcott yesterday." James tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. "Asked if they would consider a modified arrangement—part remote work, part on-site. Three days a week in Boston, the rest here."
Hope flutters in my chest. "And?"
"He's open to it, at least for a trial period. Said my leadership abilities are worth being flexible about the structure." A small smile tugs at his lips. "It would mean a lot of commuting, but it's doable. And it would let me keep my roots here while still taking on this new challenge."
"That sounds... perfect, actually." I trace patterns on his chest, thinking. "And I could come with you sometimes. Work remotely from Boston for a day or two when you're there."
"You'd do that?"
"Of course I would." I meet his eyes. "I want this to work, James. I want us to work. And that means finding solutions together, not making either/or choices."
Relief floods his expression. "That's all I want too. To find the 'and' instead of choosing between you and my career."
"We can do this," I say with growing confidence. "It won't be easy, but nothing worthwhile ever is. We can talk about it later," I murmur, sliding my hand down his stomach. "Right now, I have other plans for you."
His breath catches as my fingers find their target. "Already?"
"I told you." I press a kiss to his chest, then lower. "I don't do anything halfway."
"Thank god for that," he groans as my mouth replaces my hand.
I take my time exploring him now, learning the taste and texture of his skin, the sounds he makes when I use my tongue just so. His hands tangle in my hair, not guiding, just connecting, as I take him deeper.
The power I feel in this moment is intoxicating, watching this controlled, composed man come undone beneath my touch. His cock hardens further in my mouth, heavy on my tongue, his taste both foreign and already familiar.
"Eva," he warns after several minutes of this delicious torture. "If you keep that up?—"
I release him with a final lick. "We can't have that. Not when I want to feel you inside me again."
His eyes darken at my words. "Come here."
I move up his body, straddling him once more, but he surprises me by flipping us over again, settling between my thighs. He positions himself at my entrance, pushing inside in one long, smooth stroke that has me gasping.
"I want to look at you this time," he explains, setting a slow, deliberate pace. "I want to see your face when I make you come again."
"Confident, aren't you?" I tease, though we both know it's not misplaced.
"With you?" He thrusts deeper, making me whimper. "Absolutely."
This time is different—slower, more deliberate. James watches my face as he moves within me, angling his thrusts to hit the spots that make me moan. My legs wrap around his waist, drawing him deeper, my hands running over the strong muscles of his back.
"You feel incredible," he murmurs, dipping his head to take one nipple into his mouth. "So perfect around me."
I arch into the sensation, words failing me as pleasure builds. He knows exactly how to touch me now, how to move, how to push me toward the edge. When his hand slides between us, finding my clit with unerring accuracy, I feel myself spiraling toward release again.
"That's it," he encourages, his own breathing ragged. "Let go for me, Eva."
I shatter around him, my body clenching in waves of pleasure that seem to go on forever. He follows moments later, his release driving him deeper as he groans my name against my neck.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin. James's fingers trace lazy patterns on my back, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my ear.
"I never want to move," I murmur, completely boneless with satisfaction.
He laughs softly. "We might need food eventually."
"Overrated."
His arms tighten around me. "I love you, Eva Miller."
The words still send a thrill through me. "I love you too, James Adams."
We stay like that, drifting in and out of conversation, trading gentle touches and soft kisses. Eventually, hunger does drive us from bed, and we raid his kitchen in various states of undress: me in his t-shirt, him in just his boxers.
As we sit at his kitchen island, eating leftover pasta and drinking wine from mismatched glasses, I'm struck by how right this feels. How comfortable. How real.
"What are you thinking about?" James asks, catching me staring.
"Just... this." I gesture between us. "How natural it feels. Like we've been doing this for years, not weeks."
His smile is soft, unguarded. "I know what you mean. Being with you—the real you, not the careful version—feels like coming home."
"Even when I'm being too much?"
"You're not too much, Eva." He takes my hand. "You're exactly right. For me, at least."
The certainty in his voice, the steady warmth in his eyes, finally silences the doubtful voice in my head—the one that's always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"So we're really doing this?" I ask. "The whole package? You in Boston part-time, me visiting when I can, building something real together?"
"If that's what you want."
"It is." I squeeze his hand. "I want all of it. The messy, complicated reality of loving you while we both pursue our dreams."
"That's what I want too." He pulls me into his lap, his arms wrapping around me. "No more either/or choices. From now on, we find the 'and.'"
"The 'and,'" I repeat, liking the sound of it. "I can work with that."
Later, as we lie in bed again, James's arms around me and his breathing deep and even in sleep, I think about the strange, winding path that brought us here. From that first committee meeting where I dared to contradict him, to the partnership that turned into something neither of us expected.
If someone had told me two months ago that I'd be falling asleep in James Adams's bed, secure in his love and planning a future together, I would have laughed in their face. But here we are.
And for the first time in my life, I'm not waiting for it all to fall apart. Not bracing for the moment when someone decides I'm too much. Because James doesn't just tolerate my intensity. He cherishes it. He sees it as strength, not weakness.
With that thought warming me from the inside out, I snuggle closer to him and close my eyes, ready to dream of our "and"—the future we'll build together, no holding back, no careful editing.
Just us. Real and imperfect and exactly right.