30. Corm
Chapter 30
Corm
T he car stops in front of Mom’s apartment building. I get out and hold out my hand for Saar. I haven’t tried to kiss her since that almost-kiss in the hospital.
I can’t have a taste. Not until she’s fully on board. I can’t give the stupid hope more power.
So I’ve been waiting.
I’ve been waiting patiently.
Okay, not so patiently.
But I do wait.
It’s her call now.
Mundane tasks have filled the four weeks since Saar returned from the hospital. She’s integrated back into life gradually. She’s back in the studio recording the podcast, and her audience is soaring.
Her physiotherapy is progressing nicely; she manages without the painkillers, and is regaining complete mobility in her arm.
The sick bastard in me almost regrets that development, because now she is less and less dependent on me, and it fucking sucks.
We coexist in some strange harmony. It’s even more fake than our fake relationship was before. Because this time around, we don’t pretend for the public; we avoid in private.
It’s like being in love with a woman who lives behind a glass wall. She is here, within my grasp, but the wall is impenetrable.
Some days feel like a continuation of before. We eat together, we laugh, we talk. Other days, she retreats somewhere I can’t reach her.
I fucking wish she didn’t try so hard to remember. That she would just stay in the present. The present is painfully fragile, but at least it allows her to form new memories of us.
The whole situation between us is so tentative, it drives me crazy. But at the same time, it teaches me patience.
Fuck, if someone had ever told me my life would revolve around the needs of a woman, I would have laughed at them.
But here I am, putting someone else first, trying to let go of my inherent need to control her, to control the situation. Because at the end of the day, I can’t fucking control her mind.
“You’re here.” My mom greets us with a smile that guts me. And reminds me I ignored her for way too long.
“Sorry we’re late,” Saar says, a bit startled by my mom’s embrace.
“You’re here, that’s what matters. Come on in. I love your dress.”
Saar runs her hand over the delicate knitted ridges of her sleeveless dress. “Thank you.”
“Saar made it.” The pride I feel surprises me.
I mean, my wife is a former top supermodel, and slowly but surely becoming one of the most influential podcasters, and I’m bragging about her knitting skills like I had any credit to take for them.
But when I meet her gaze, my stupid heart swells. She’s smiling at me with something akin to adoration… I’m projecting, perhaps, but her smile reaches her eyes. It’s not the polite thank-you smile.
It’s filled with gratitude, like she feels about me the same way I feel about her.
“I would probably poke my eye with the needles. You should start selling these.” Mom ushers us into the sitting room, breaking the moment.
On impulse, I slide my hand into Saar’s. She tenses for a moment, but doesn’t recoil. A win.
A few steps farther, and she squeezes a bit. Another one.
And when my mother sits us on the sofa, Saar puts my hand on her thigh, leaving her slender hand over mine. Home run.
That simple gesture makes me want to roar. To use all the billboard spaces I bought—okay, not my finest moment—the night before the incident and have my claim on her transmitted to the world.
“Sweetheart, could you go to the cellar for me? I have guests coming over tonight, and I need help with the wine. The menu is on the counter in the kitchen.”
I don’t want to move, but I’m a grown-ass man, and I can’t tell my mother I want to hold hands with my wife. So begrudgingly I trudge away, knowing that this is probably just a ploy to get me out of the room.
After retrieving the menu, I cross the hallway toward the cellar, and I glance into the sitting room.
My mom moved to sit beside Saar, and both of them are laughing. The two most important women in my life are sharing a joyous moment together. I’m rooted to the floor.
Despite my relationship with Saar being in an agonizing limbo, this moment right here is worth waiting for as long as she needs.
She’s my wife.
Though I’m a bit jealous of my mother. Saar seemed to have built a bond with her easily.
Is it just me whom she is guarded around?
I go to retrieve the wine, and when I’m back the two of them are standing by the window, their backs to me.
“I’ve never seen him so smitten. Don’t tell him I said that, though,” Mother says.
“I wish I knew what I’m feeling,” Saar confesses.
I should let them have their conversation or announce my return, but I have never claimed to be noble.
My mom rubs Saar’s back. “Feelings are to be felt, not to be known.”
“I wish I remembered who we are together.”
“But why? If there wasn’t history between the two of you, if you met him in the hospital, and that’s where your story started… would you be with him now?”
Saar turns her head to my mom. She swallows, but doesn’t say anything. The sun seeps behind her, adding soft hues to her ethereal profile.
“That’s the question you need to answer for yourself.” My mom hugs her. “Take as much time as you need, darling Saar. But if this thing between you doesn’t feel like a new beginning to you, please release him, so he can heal.”
“I will.” Saar nods, and my heart bleeds, spreading dull pain in my chest.
Things shift between us in the two weeks after our visit with my mom. We attend several functions together for my work, or for Saar’s charity causes. It’s like we’re faking our marriage for the public again.
But we also continue to fake in private. We fake our patience. We pretend we’re not frustrated. We feign we don’t wonder how long we can go on like this.
I don’t work from home as much as I did after her return from the hospital. She doesn’t need my help anymore. She needs space.
And I fucking want to occupy all her time and all her space, but I’m learning to give her freedom.
It’s fucking killing me. But at least she hasn’t left.
“I’m out of here,” I tell Larissa, who jumps from her desk like I caught her watching porn.
“It’s three o’clock,” she sputters.
“So?”
She gives me a puzzled look. “Can I leave too?”
I’m about to nod.
“No, you can’t,” Roxy warns behind me. “I’m sure you have enough work to fill your paid hours.” She smiles, and Larissa rolls her eyes but sits back down.
“Xander needs to talk to you,” Roxy says.
“What, are you his messenger now?”
I check my watch. The security camera showed Saar returning home, and I wanted to join her. We have no events to attend tonight, and I’m hoping a quiet night at home can… I don’t know what.
“He’s on the phone. He just texted me that it’s urgent.”
By the time we get to his corner, Cal and Declan are already opening his door.
Xander looks up, beaming. “They are all here for your good news, Don.” He hits the mute button. “And a bit of groveling.” He shimmies his hips like a fucking stripper.
I roll my eyes and hit the speaker. “Donovan.”
“Cormac, long time no see. I’m sorry about your wife.”
Everyone looks at me, because apparently a response is required when he throws fake compassion my way.
“She is doing well, but I’m assuming my marital bliss isn’t the reason we are here.”
“You’re as pleasant as ever. I got the approval from the board to continue the negotiation with AetherTech, with Merged as the facilitator.”
Approval, my ass. They know Vladislav wouldn’t get to the table without us. He kept his word and dodged their calls. And after Saar got shot, he forgave my no-show at his pet project gala.
“That’s great news, Don. We’ll be sending you a draft contract by the end of this week,” Xander says.
After we hang up, I make my way to the door.
“Where are you going?” Xander calls.
“Home. My wife is waiting.”
“Who knew the marriage would actually sway them at the end,” Declan mumbles.
“It was their greed that swayed them.” I leave them there, glimpsing Xander pouring whiskey as I round the corner.
It was their greed, but fuck, I’m glad they made me jump through the hoops. The deal may have started it all, but it lost its importance a while ago.
I come home with the same pit in my stomach—part excitement and part dread. I find Saar on the patio. As always.
The days are warmer, the humidity slowly becoming an everyday toll of life in Manhattan, but she started the fire, anyway.
She is wearing an off-shoulder dress, and in the flickering flames, she looks so beautiful. My chest constricts. Fuck, I love this woman.
“Sometimes, I fear you’ll remember.” My voice is gruff.
She turns her head, half smiling, half frowning. “Why?”
I eat the distance between us and sit beside her. On the first breath, I get a hint of lavender and immediately feel better. “Because if you remembered, you might not choose me. Because then you’ll find yourself and realize you deserve better.”
She holds my gaze, and fuck, I want to take her into my arms. Take her away from here and start anew.
“Was I unhappy with you?” she asks, and reaches to play with my hair. Fuck, the amount of déjà-vus every day is messing with me.
I want to tell her a similar moment happened already, but what’s the point? For her, this is a new moment, and I should cherish it.
Maybe it’s me who is stuck in past memories. Maybe it’s not her need to remember, but my need for her to remember.
Fuck.
“I hope you were happy.”
She picks her phone from the seat beside her. “I was looking at my feed. This is very romantic.” She clicks on a post and turns the phone to me. Our elopement announcement.
My stomach sinks.
My initial reaction is to redirect. To avoid. To obscure. That has been my go-to mode for years.
But I don’t want to be that man with her. “It’s fake.”
She knows our match was arranged, but we never talked about the gory details. She turns to me, cross-legged.
Fucking déjà-vus.
“What do you mean it’s fake? You don’t want me to never feel lonely?”
I close my eyes briefly. “I do, Saar, I do want you to have everything that you need and desire. Even things you don’t know you need or desire. You deserve the world and the stars.”
She smiles.
“But this post… I hacked your feed, because your previous post competed with my interests. So I told the world we were married. To turn the narrative.”
“So we’re not married?”
“Yes, we are.”
“But—”
I sigh. “We got married later. Or rather, I paid to have a marriage certificate issued.”
“So you hacked my feed for your own gain, and I still stayed for the ride?” She leans back like she can’t stay close to me.
Fuck. Fearing I’m going to lose her in this conversation, I lean into levity. “I have a magic cock.”
I swear, her pupils dilate. Her chest rises and falls faster. She wets her lips, and the glimpse of her tongue stirs my cock.
She looks at me, heat radiating from her gaze, from her entire body language. “Can I see it?”
“You want to see my cock?”
Said cock stiffens at the idea, all eager, pushing at the zipper of my pants.
My heart hammers in my chest like I’m about to lose my virginity. No, I was high for that event; I don’t think I was this… I don’t even know what.
“More like I want to feel it.” She pushes to her knees beside me.
“Are you sure?”
She gives me a lazy, sexy smile. “Something tells me this is the first time you’re denying sex to me… to any woman.”
I stand up. “You’re the only woman, and I’d never deny you anything.”
I unbuckle my belt and lower the zipper, the energy around us zapping with chemistry and anticipation. I lower the waistband of my briefs, and my cock, already covered in pre-cum, springs out. I give it a rough tug, unreasonably pleased with her admiring reaction.
She shuffles closer on her knees and starts unbuttoning my shirt. With every inch of exposed skin, she takes her time discovering. With her lips. Her fingers. Her heated gaze.
Her touch is new and familiar at the same time. My cock is painfully hard, but I don’t dare move. It’s a strange feeling, letting someone lead.
It’s heady as well.
Letting her take the lead and admire my body, decide the pace and the extent of her exploration should feel emasculating, but here, I’m learning from this woman—from my wife—how surrendering is equally powerful.
She pushes my jacket and my shirt off my shoulders. The fire is hot on my back, but it doesn’t match the scorching sensation of her gaze.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispers.
I want to return the compliment, but I’m choked up.
She wraps her hand around my cock and looks at me through hooded eyes. “Can I?”
A shudder rakes through me at her touch. “It’s yours, baby; it’s always been yours.”
I wrap my hand around hers, and her breath hitches.
“It’s always been yours.” I squeeze around my girth, her hand soft but firm under my palm. “As has been my heart, my soul, my every fucking thought.”
She pulls her hand a bit like she wants to retreat, but I don’t let her. I move our hands along my shaft.
“You really did love me?”
I’m not sure if it’s a question or a statement, but I answer it anyway. “No, Saar, I didn’t love you. I still very much do.”
I continue giving myself a hand job with our joint hands, barely hanging to any remaining control. I don’t want to blow yet.
“But I feel like I’m someone else.” She puts her other hand on my heart, probably feeling how it beats like a spooked animal.
It’s a simple move, and it may just be to maintain balance, but it feels like so much more.
I kiss her lips gently. Fuck, I miss her. “I would love any version of you. I probably loved the Morrigan’s version of you without even knowing. And, baby, you might be a bit lost, but you’re still you.”
“I don’t quite know who that is.”
I don’t know if it’s her or me who starts moving faster, and my cock gets harder, if that’s even possible.
“You will discover yourself again. And if you let me be a part of that journey, there is one part of your identity I can offer you.” My words come out choppy, the release building up.
She tilts her head in question. “What identity?”
“Mine,” I grit out and seize her lips. The kiss is sloppy and quick as pressure builds at the base of my spine. “My wife.”
The world stills as I spill ropes of white into our hands, on her dress, and my stomach. My knees shake, and I rest one on the seat beside her, finding support.
I wipe my hands quickly on my pants and capture her lips and finally kiss her properly.
Fin-fucking-ally.
It’s like a first intake of air after being submerged under water.
She moans into my lips and starts tugging at her dress, desperate now. I grip the hem and have her out of it in no time.
Discovering she is naked under it, I groan, my cock immediately ready to go. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.” I kiss her again, grazing my teeth around her jaw, down her clavicle.
“Fuck me, Corm.” She pulls me to her, lowering us both on the sofa and wrapping her legs around my waist.
I’m kissing her and touching her, and wondering if I can ever get enough. But then something makes me pause. Will sex confuse her more?
She groans, exasperated.
“Are you sure about this?” I’m not even sure why I’m asking, because if she hesitates, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.
She tugs me to her. “Yes, yes, fuck me.” And then she pauses. “But it means nothing.”
It feels like an afterthought, a last sane thought to protect herself. And I wholeheartedly disagree, but I can’t have her recoil.
“That’s what you said the first time we had sex.” I find her nipple with my lips, and she arches her back.
“Hm, I guess history repeats itself.”
“Fuck, I hope you’re right.”
I thrust, her pussy stretching around me, and fuck if it doesn’t feel like home. “You take me so well, Saar. Fuck, I need to fill all your holes. I missed you so much.”
She bucks her hips, seeking friction.
“God, I love this greedy cunt of yours.” I start moving. I’ve just come, but I feel like I’m going to blow again.
But she tenses, and I stop. “What’s wrong?”
“Have we done this without condoms?” Her deep line splits her forehead.
I sigh, hoping this déjà vu will morph into a new memory quickly. “Yes, but I can get one,” I offer, even though I would love nothing more than planting my baby in her womb.
She smiles. “No, it’s okay. I want to feel you.”
Perhaps there are memories we can overwrite.