Chapter 21 #2
He nipped my nipple again and looked up at me with a cocked brow. “If you can behave. Can you do that? Can you be a good girl and let me taste you?”
Holy fuck. Why was that so hot?
I nodded.
“Your words, Ma Belle. Say it.”
“Please.”
He licked my nipple again, sucking it into his mouth as his fingers slowly circled my clit. I was consumed by him.
“Please, lick my pussy.”
He kissed me again before moving down the bed and spreading my legs. He licked his lips as he watched his fingers pump in and out.
Then he lowered his face and licked me. At first, it was slow and deliberate, but as his fingers pumped, I didn’t need much more. Then he deepened, sucking me into his mouth. It was like he was everywhere, licking and sucking and devouring me.
My back arched off the bed as I moaned. My legs tried to close around his head on their own, but he held me open and continued to devour me. He was ravenous, and I exploded.
He didn’t even give me a chance to come down. He stayed focused, licking and sucking, pushing my orgasm to reach a height I had never experienced. Finally, I screamed his name as my body went rigid with pleasure.
He pulled back, my release glistening on his beard. Fuck, I was gone for this man.
Then he positioned himself over me. He was pressing me into the mattress, and I think it might be my favorite feeling ever, that is, until I felt that thick cock notch at my entrance.
“Are you certain?” He asked as he continued to kiss the column of my neck.
“Please,” I begged as I wiggled my hips just enough to have his cock nestled so close to where I needed him.
He pulled back. “Look at me.”
I did. I looked up into his deep brown eyes as he slowly started to push into me.
My eyes closed, the feel of him stretching me was divine.
“Fuck,” we both hissed out in pleasure at the same time.
“Belle, you feel . . . Fuck, you feel too good.”
His body was tense over mine as he stilled. “I just need a moment.”
Finally, his eyes opened and connected with mine. There was a hint of a smile on his face, and that was quickly becoming one of my favorite things.
Then he continued to push the rest of the way in. It felt like coming home. I clung to him as he started to move.
“Ma Belle, you feel so good.”
I couldn’t speak. All I could do was move. He filled me so full that each adjustment of my body felt monumental.
He found a slow, steady rhythm and continued to move in and out of me slowly. Fuck. It was everything.
The heat coiled deep in me. I was going to come again. I met his thrusts with my own, grinding my clit against him.
I had to close my eyes because sex had never felt like this before. I had never felt so taken care of. It was like I was something special.
Oh my god, was I going to cry?
No, I was not going to cry during sex.
I sped up my thrusts, and he met me each time. We moved together like we’d been doing this for years instead of this being our first time. With the added speed, he began to thrust harder.
That was it for me. I clung to him as my orgasm hit. It pulsed through my entire body in what seemed like an endless loop of pleasure as he continued to move. Just when it crested, I felt him slam into me one last time and felt him pulse.
“Raph,” I panted. “That was amazing.”
He just looked at me, brushed the hair off my forehead, and lowered his head to kiss me. I had never been kissed like I was something precious before, but it was something I could get used to.
The room was quiet except for the river beyond the windows and the steady rhythm of his breathing.
We were tangled together in the sheets, skin warm against skin, the gold dress long forgotten in a soft heap on the floor. Everything felt different. I’d never felt like this before. Not just the physical warmth, but the safety I felt when I was with him was intoxicating.
His arm was wrapped around me, my head resting against his chest. One of his hands traced slow, absent circles along my bare shoulder, down my arm, and back again. Not demanding. Not restless.
Just there.
My fingers drifted lazily over his chest, mapping lines I’d already memorized in the dark. The intimacy of it all felt surreal, like stepping into someone else’s life and finding out it fits.
I should rein this in. That thought floated through my mind, half-heartedly. This wasn’t real. We got married for insurance. And yet, nothing about this felt staged. Nothing about the way he looked at me or touched me or built me a set of shelves in his library felt transactional.
I was already falling for him. The realization landed quietly but firmly. I should have been careful. Instead, I pressed closer.
He shifted slightly, fingers moving into my hair. He slid a few strands between them, thoughtful, almost absentminded.
Then he cleared his throat. It’s subtle. But I felt the shift.
“How long had you been living in your van?” he asked barely above a whisper.
There it was. The one piece we’d skirted around. The one truth I’d kept folded tight and tucked away. Even from my team. Even from Eleanor.
I froze for a second.
His hand stilled slightly in my hair. “You do not have to answer.”
I could’ve taken the out, made a joke, and deflected. But I was tired of deflecting.
And if I was going to fall for him, I couldn’t keep this part locked away.
“Almost four months,” I said softly.
His body tightened beneath me.
“I had to sell the house. When I put dad in Long Creek, I didn’t have enough for the deposit, so I had to sign over his estate, which was really just our little two-bedroom home,” I continued, staring at the curve of his collarbone. “There wasn’t another option.”
I swallowed.
“I looked for apartments. Studios. One bedrooms. Even the ones that weren’t great were more than I could manage. Rent is ridiculous right now. And I was already working two jobs.”
I let out a breath that trembles more than I expect.
“Minimum wage doesn’t stretch very far when you’re also paying for memory care. Because what they don’t tell you is that room and board may have been covered when I signed over the house, but then there’s incidentals, nurses, and other things insurance won’t cover.”
The words sounded small out loud. But beneath them was the truth I’ve never said fully.
“I thought it would be temporary,” I whispered. “Just until I got ahead again. But every time I got close, something happened. A late fee. A car repair. A medical bill.”
His arm tightened around me. I didn’t look at his face. I didn’t think I could.
“I kept thinking if I just worked harder . . . ” My voice cracked slightly. “If I just didn’t need anything for myself . . . ”
Something inside me splintered. And before I could stop it, a tear slid down my cheek. I blinked. Another follows. I was crying. I could not remember the last time I cried in front of someone. This was not me. I didn’t do this, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” I admitted, voice shaking now. “Not the girls. Not El. I didn’t want them to look at me differently.”
His hand moved from my hair to my back, pressing me closer against him.
“You’re not different. You are still the kind, strong woman you are,” he says quietly.
That did it. The tears came harder. Months of exhaustion and fear and pride and pretending poured out of me in quiet, shaking sobs against his chest.
I tried to apologize.
He didn’t let me. He just held me. Like I was allowed to fall apart here. His hand moved slowly along my back in long, grounding strokes. His other arm anchors me in place, like I’m not going anywhere.
“You will never live like that again,” he said softly.
He sounded so solemn and certain. I wanted to believe him. God, I wanted to. But hope was dangerous.
Still, wrapped in his arms, warm and solid and unwavering, I let myself imagine what it would feel like if he were right.
And I didn’t pull away.