Chapter 77 Anton
Anton
‘I’m saying this without any agenda,’ I say, staring at this beautiful woman who’s turned my life upside down and whom I nearly lost through my fucking egotistical actions.
I relax my grip on her neck and allow my fingers to enjoy caressing the smooth skin of her neck.
‘I’m fifty-two. Sweetheart—I don’t think you understand how I feel about you.
‘I’ve been married three fucking times, for Christ’s sake, and this’—I break off and attempt to pull myself the fuck together—‘is what I’ve been looking for the entire time.
This. With you. And I’ve wasted half a fucking century without you.
And I don’t regret anything that gave me my kids, but I wish I’d met you sooner. I wish that so much.’
She widens her beautiful pale blue eyes. Eyes I lose myself in every time I look at her. I let my gaze roam over her face and trail the pad of my thumb across the plump perfection of her lower lip.
‘Anton,’ she whispers.
I plough on. I need to get this off my chest before I become a blubbering mess.
‘What you and I have is so extraordinary,’ I tell her.
‘I can show you sides of myself that everyone else I’ve been close to has judged and rejected, and, amazingly, you accept them.
You seem to actually like them. And you’ve trusted me enough to let me see your darker sides, too, and that’s what makes it so fucking incredible between us.
‘Because what we have is raw and authentic, and it feeds our souls. And I can’t live without it, sweetheart. I love you so much. So much. It seems amazing to me that I ever thought anything else was love, because this is…’ I trail off. I can barely articulate what I feel for Gen.
‘You are the real deal,’ I tell her. ‘You’re everything I’ve been looking for in a woman, my whole life, and I will do anything—anything—to make sure you never have cause to doubt me again. Do you understand?’
Her eyes are brimming with the prettiest tears, but she’s smiling and nodding frantically. ‘Yes. Yes.’
‘And I love you. In case you missed that bit.’
She laughs, and it’s beautiful. ‘I didn’t.’
‘Good,’ I say sternly, but I’m grinning like an idiot.
She cups my face in her hands. ‘I love you too. I’m completely besotted with you.’
‘You don’t need to say it back,’ I protest, raising a hand and trapping hers against my face.
‘I know. But it’s true. I knew before I even met you that you’d make me feel all sorts of things, and I was right.
What you just said—what we have—it’s like nothing I’ve ever known.
That’s why I was so fucking terrified about giving it a shot with you.
And it’s why I was so upset the other day.
I felt like I’d met the guy for me but then he wasn’t going to be healthy for me. ’
I’m a mess of emotions. Relief, and awe, and ecstasy that Genevieve Carew loves me, and disgust that I almost derailed everything.
‘I promise you I’ll be healthy for you. I will only be good for you,’ I tell her. ‘I’m so fucking happy you love me.’
Then I’m kissing her again, drowning in her, and fuck, I’ve missed this. My bed has been a cold and depressing place these past few days. I even put Hades’ dog bed in my room which is a low I’ve never stooped to before.
She’s pliant in my arms, her beautiful tits pressed up against me, her mouth hungry, her tongue entangling with mine.
I need her.
That reminds me.
‘I got you something,’ I tell her when I’ve found the strength to break away from our kiss. I reach into the bag on the floor beside me and present her with a flat Bulgari jewellery box.
‘Oh my God,’ she says, and the shock in her voice makes me smile.
‘Don’t pray to God until you’ve opened it,’ I tell her wolfishly.
She licks her lips and opens the box. Her hand flies up to cover her mouth, but her gasp is still audible.
‘Jesus Christ, Anton.’
‘Do you like it?’ I ask.
‘I—I love it. It’s absolutely stunning.’ She stares down, rapt, at the contents of the box.
I bought her Bulgari’s iconic Parentesi choker of platinum and diamonds. It reminds me of her. Strong. Sculptural. Understated. Sophisticated.
And very, very beautiful.
‘You can wear it whenever you want, obviously,’ I say, ‘but I thought it might work for our boundaries. When you put it on for me, you’re mine to do with as I like. You wear your collar of sorts, and I call the shots.’
She jerks her head upwards, and I swear her pupils are dilating before my eyes.
‘You like that idea?’ I say softly.
She smiles at me coquettishly. ‘I do.’
‘I’m committed to an equal partnership,’ I tell her, ‘but I want it crystal clear who calls the shots in our sex life.’
‘You do,’ she whispers.
‘Right answer.’ I pause. ‘Would you like me to put it on you?’
‘Very much,’ she says. She hands me the box and raises her arms so she can hold her hair up off her neck. I take the choker out and admire her swanlike neck and the view down to where her tits are straining against that elegant sundress she’s wearing.
This is what I need. This is what I’ve been craving like an addict. I will build her up and kneel at her feet and worship her in her professional life. But when it’s just the two of us, I have this sick need to know she’ll do whatever the fuck I say.
I lean forward and fasten the choker around her neck by feel alone, my gaze fixated by the sight of her looking up at me through thick eyelashes.
‘There.’ I drag a thumb along her delicate collarbone. ‘It looks beautiful on you.’
‘Does it?’ She picks up her phone and presumably likes what she sees in her camera, because a pleased smile plays on her beautiful lips. ‘God, Anton. It’s stunning.’
‘You’re stunning,’ I correct her, my thumb moving to the thick strap of her dress and sliding beneath it to stroke her skin there. ‘But you know what would be even better?’
‘What?’ she asks, amused.
‘Just the choker. Lose everything else.’
Her eyes flutter closed for a moment. ‘Oh, God,’ she whispers.
‘Because I may have been out of line, sweetheart, but you withheld yourself from me. You wouldn’t let me touch you.
’ I push the strap off her shoulder and bend my head so I can suck on the glossy skin there.
‘And you know what that does to me.’ Fuck, her skin is delicious.
I bite her lightly there, and she shudders gratifyingly as she palms my chest. I drag my teeth over the skin.
‘It makes me crazy. So you need to get on that sofa and lose the fucking dress.’
The visual floors me. Gen stripped bare for me, every sacred spot on her body mine to play with. To sample. To devour. Nothing on that flawless skin of hers except the choker that signifies my claim to her and any marks I should choose to leave with my hands and my teeth and my lips.
She hesitates and glances towards the closed door between us and the flight attendants.
‘It’s more than their jobs are worth to disturb us,’ I promise her. ‘Go on. Do it.’