CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
He nestles me snuggly against him, fingers raking through my hair and tickling warmth over my skin. “That’s my good girl. You did so good. You’re okay now, baby.”
“I’m sorry,” I whine into his neck, wetting his heather-gray collar with my weeping. “I didn’t want to say it, but I got so scared and sad. I’m not usually a crier, and I know it doesn’t make sense—”
“It makes absolute sense. Your emotions were heightened, making it difficult to ignore the ones you’ve been pushing aside. You did perfect using your word. I’m so proud of you, Ives. So proud. Tell me why you’re scared and sad.”
His praise increases my sobs because I realize I’m in love with this man, in love with my husband, which should be a wonderful thing. Except that something feels flimsy, like it could all slip through my fingers at any moment. My lungs burn. I’ve never been so terrified to lose anything.
He rises with me still cloaking him like a spent sloth and carries me to the bathroom, where he draws a bath. Sitting on the side of the tub with me, he continues to whisper tranquil affirmations while his fingers twirl my hair. It’s all a blur .
Next thing I know, we’re both in the tub, Wells behind me, clutching me against his chest while he washes me. No recollection of him disrobing or either of us gliding into the bubbles.
Dandelion dreams.
I tilt my head up to him, and he smiles, kissing my nose.
“There’s my girl.”
“Hi.” I breathe. “I’m sor—”
“Do not apologize,” he cuts in. “Think of this like another lesson in your training.”
“You want me to view our sex life as training?” I mumble, wholly relaxed.
His warm chuckle filters through the air as his hands rove all over me, massaging my muscles beneath the suds. “Yes. In part. There are times to be a force, times to submit, and times to say you’ve had enough. It’s all okay. All important.”
“I thought you liked using me, owning me. Being a force and saying I’ve had enough don’t really align with that,” I counter.
“They do. You’re mine in every way, Little Storm.
Out there, I worship you as my queen, and in here, I make you my slut.
But only because queen by day and slut by night works for us both.
Which is why, wherever we are, I need you to tell me if something’s too much.
Because you’re my priority. Always. Understand? ”
I nod, but the lack of verbal confirmation has him pressing for more, gripping my chin so I look at him again.
“Tell me you know there is nothing more important to me than you. No matter what else happens, I need you to know that.”
The vulnerability in his face is almost haunting, as if his emotions are teeming inside him, like mine are. There’s no denying the truth in his declaration, which wrecks me further, in the best of ways.
“I know I’m your greatest priority,” I assure him. “My gut shouts it. It’s what scared me, the way I feel about you. Sometimes, I don’t understand this between us. It came out of nowhere. How did I find you? ”
His features contort with an emotion I can’t identify. “It’s the other way around, baby. A million-dollar question.”
“Thank you.” I lean my head back against his solid chest, scratching my fingers over his thighs while he continues kneading my muscles. “Why do you care if I touch myself?”
“I’m not against you making yourself feel good. If we had to be apart for a while, it would be different. But I’m selfish, Ivy. I want the moments—your noises and smiles and pleas. Your pleasure and joy. I want the intimacy with you.”
I blow out a breath, overcome with how fortunate I am. “Wow. That’s a good reason.” My eyes find his over my shoulder. “How long until you have to get back to work this morning?”
“I’m all yours today.”
My heart leaps. “You’re taking a day off?”
Wells never takes a day off, not even in New Orleans.
“Yes.” His arms clasp around me, nose nuzzling my neck. “I’m right where I want to be. We can do whatever you want.”
“Really? Whatever I want?” I twist to see him better, waggling my brow.
“Yep. We can watch a sappy rom-com, read a book together, bake something. You name it.”
Oh hell. He really means a day for me. “All of the above.”
He kisses me on the cheek, smiling so brightly in my peripheral vision, as though he hasn’t a care in the world. “Done.”
Craning my neck, I let my gaze meander over his features—strong jaw, impeccably manicured two-day scruff, bright emerald eyes, rimmed with thick, dark lashes and contrasting against his golden skin and raven-black hair. A masterpiece.
I turn back to the bubbles, building a foamy monument before us. “Someday, I’d like to paint you.”
“Hmm.” He steals my suds, working them into my hair, fingertips scraping against my scalp. “Nude?”
“No.” I laugh. “That godlike, sculpted physique is for my eyes only. But I’d like to paint you in a suit. I don’t usually paint people—primarily, it’s places I dream about—but you’ve invaded those more than any geographical location, real or imagined, and you’re so beautiful.”
He threads his fingers into my wet strands, tipping my chin to him and curling around me. His tongue rolls against mine for a kiss so passionate that I lose my breath, frantically twisting myself to straddle him, our bodies compressing to become one.
He makes it clear sex is off the table today, so when we get out of the bath, he insists I replenish with a sports drink while he prepares breakfast—coffee and omelets with a side of Skittles that we eat in bed while watching The Wedding Planner and The Wedding Singer .
If he wasn’t already married to me, my choices may be alarming, but thankfully, we’re beyond that.
After the chick flicks, we share our hopes and a picnic by the pond before an afternoon in the library, scanning books and picking one to read together.
It’s the most harmonious activity I’ve ever shared with anyone—his legs entwining me, arms draped around my waist, his rasp low in my ear while reading a love story to me.
My heart nearly bursts out of my chest, fluttering through every page.
The fairy tale continues all evening. We bake bread and meatloaf and cheesy potatoes, laughing through the meal at our private joke every time the guys say meatloaf .
We whip up snickerdoodles for dessert—garnering me a big fat kiss on the cheek from Gage—and retreat back to the bedroom for another chapter.
I fall asleep in Wells’s arms and wake to him still cuddling me, certain I experienced the best twenty-four hours of my life.
And more importantly, that there’s nowhere I belong more, and it’s only the beginning.
Wells is conducting his morning meeting with the guys later than usual, due to us sleeping in and his insistence on taking care of me before we risked a repeat itch from yesterday, so I’ve wandered into the basement.
I’m down here nearly every day, working with Liam, learning the ins and outs of the cyber world—something I find fascinating.
But last week, I noticed a baseboard loose and had an idea. It’s been a distraction since.
Taking out a paint pen, recently purchased after I put it on the shopping list that Wells’s staff magically fulfills, I lift the loose chunk of baseboard onto my lap and start scrolling my inspiration across the underside in artful penmanship.
My own version of a time capsule. I’m not sure how long we’ll stay in this house—part of me thinks forever wouldn’t be enough.
It’s home in every sense of the word—a place I’ve grown into myself and become.
I set it down, examining my handiwork and blowing it dry to ensure it doesn’t smear.
Within these walls, I am traveling an epic journey, mining a piece of my soul that I never knew was missing—all because of the love of one astounding man, whose heart is the shooting star I caught, and the comfort of a family of men who offered the net to catch it.
I am forever yours, Gavin Wells. Thank you for this life.
Using the hammer and nail I brought with me, I fasten the baseboard in place. My little secret. It’s kind of silly, but it’s something I can show him years from now, maybe on our fifth anniversary since wood is the designated gift—courtesy of my research this morning.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, so I whip it out to find a text from Rena.
Rena: What’s up, girlie? Tell me something good.
I don’t even have to think, knowing exactly what she wants to hear most.
Me: Wells tied me up and shattered me with orgasms until I blacked out yesterday. Then, he wooed me—a bath, breakfast in bed, candy, picnic, rom-coms, baking, and reading together.
Rena: Your perfect day! Gotta love a man who knows how to make upside-down romance seem planned—getting the sex out of the way so you can concentrate.
Me: Exactly. I was utterly boneless.
Rena: LOL. I bet. Now, I’m jealous. I need a man. Sigh. Preferably someone who can fuck me into oblivion. Find me one. ASAP.
I laugh. Rena’s texts are a daily highlight. I hope she finds someone.
Me: I sense the state of emergency. Top of my list.
Rena: Great. Gotta run. Thinking of tattooing my tits and wearing a plunging neckline to piss Axel off. Thoughts?
Sometimes she worries me though.
Me: Uh … don’t. Too extreme. Piercings are removable. Tattoos aren’t. Best not done in a moment of rage. What’d he do?
Rena: Sent out an APB for me all over the resort because I went on a date. The sissy practically pissed himself, ditching me.
Me: Sounds like Axel saved you.
Rena: That’s what Axel said. Whose side are you on? He won’t be happy until I’m a nun, but then he’ll off the priest.
Me: Yours. Always yours. No priests will be harmed in the love life of Rena Noire.
Rena: Fine. I’ll think of something else. Maybe a chain between my facial piercings.
Me: Now, you’re talking. Go for a good one—diamond encrusted.
Rena: Perfect. Love you, girl.
Me: Love you too.