Chapter 12
TWELVE
DOMHNALL
After breakfast, I watch as Anna shoves the laundry into the dryer, her movements more forceful than necessary. Her shoulders are tense, but she's smiling—one of those smiles that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
She turns, catches me watching her, and her cheeks flush.
Christ, she's beautiful—so beautiful it physically hurts to look at her sometimes.
Last night with Mads replays in my mind—the darkness of it, the way she demanded and took and gave.
And the way I unleashed parts of myself I've been keeping chained.
The soreness I no doubt left in the body that Anna woke to.
"You're staring." Anna's voice is soft as she walks past me back toward the kitchen. Her hand brushes mine as she passes. A deliberate, lingering touch.
I follow her, drawn as much like a moth to flame as I ever was. "Can't help it. You're feckin' gorgeous."
My brogue slips through when I'm tired, or hungry, or—like now—when I'm fighting to keep my hands to myself. My body aches with the restraint. You'd have thought a night like last night would've made it better, but it's actually the exact opposite. I've just eaten, but I'm starved all over again.
She rolls her eyes but smiles, this time with heat in it. As she reaches for her coffee cup on the counter, I move behind her and slide my arms around her waist, unable to stop myself.
She freezes for half a second, and I hate myself, about to pull back.
But she snatches my wrist to hold me there, then relaxes back against me with a sigh that sends blood rushing south.
She fits against me perfectly, the curve of her back meeting my bare chest like she was made for me.
I'm still in just a towel wrapped around my waist. I haven't dressed yet for the day.
"Is this okay?" My lips brush her ear as I fight to steady myself.
She nods, pressing back more firmly. I can't help the hard-on poking her soft ass. "More than okay," she whispers in a breathy little voice that only has me going stiffer.
We stand like that for a moment, her heart beating against my palm. Then she turns in my arms to face me, her eyes darker than they were a moment ago.
"Can we try something?" she asks, her voice dropping to a register that makes my skin prickle.
"Anything," I reply, meaning it completely. "Anything you want, love."
She lifts those stunning golden eyes to mine, and I see hunger there that steals my breath. "Could we... maybe just kiss for a while? Really kiss?"
I swallow hard, my pulse thundering in my ears. We've kissed since she came back, of course—careful, chaste things that have left me aching.
"Are you sure?" I need to be certain.
Instead of answering, she rises onto her toes and presses her mouth to mine.
This isn't like our careful kisses of the past weeks. This is hungry, desperate, her fingers digging into my shoulders like she's afraid I'll pull away. I groan against her mouth, my hands moving to her waist, holding her steady as her body sways toward mine.
"Anna," I breathe when she breaks the kiss, both warning and question.
"I want this." Her soft voice is ragged. "I'm so tired of being afraid, Domhn. I'm tired of feeling like my body isn't mine. I want to feel you. I want to feel us."
I take her face in my hands, searching her eyes. Is this because of last night? Because of the soreness she most likely woke to this morning? Or even if it is, does she feel her own need pulsing in the aftermath?
"We stop the second you need to. Understand? Just say the word."
"I know," she whispers. "I trust you."
Those three words gut me. Trust. After everything. After what I did, keeping her locked in my dungeon when she couldn't remember who she was, who I was, who we'd been to each other. She still trusts me.
I crush my mouth to hers, unable to hold back any longer. She meets me with equal fervor, hands tangling in my hair, tugging in a way that sends electricity down my spine. I walk her backward until she hits the counter, then grip her thighs, lifting her to sit on it.
She gasps into my mouth. I hesitate to step between her legs, but her thighs part readily, making space for me. Her hands move restlessly over my shoulders, my chest, my arms, as if she's confirming I'm real.
When she breaks the kiss, her lips are swollen, her pupils blown wide. "More," she whispers, sliding off the counter and taking my hand. "But not here."
I follow her—God, I'd follow her anywhere—my body thrumming with need as she leads me to the living room. She stops by the window, golden morning light streaming in and catching in her hair. She's so fucking beautiful, I swear my heart almost stops.
But then she reaches for me, and she's flesh and blood, and so am I.
"I thought maybe a change of scenery would help," she explains, words tumbling out quickly. "Different places, different memories. I don't want to be afraid anymore." Her hands tighten on mine. "I want you so much, Domhn. I always have."
The raw honesty in her voice undoes me. I pull her to me, one hand tangling in her hair as I kiss her deeply.
She opens for me instantly, her tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me groan.
My free hand moves to her hip, fingers digging in probably harder than they should, but she doesn't flinch—she just presses closer.
She makes a sound in the back of her throat—a whimper that goes straight to my groin—and her hands move up my chest. Her palms are hot against my bare skin.
"Jesus, Anna," I rasp, breaking the kiss to catch my breath.
Her innocent neediness is so different from last night but no less affecting. I'm all but falling to my knees.
She doesn't stop. Her lips move to my jaw, my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. "Touch me," she demands, voice husky with need. "Please, Domhn. I need to feel you."
I comply, hands skimming up her sides, brushing the undersides of her breasts through her shirt. She arches into the touch with a gasp that might be the sexiest sound I've ever heard.
"Where now?" I struggle to maintain some semblance of control.
Her eyes, when they meet mine, are wild with want and something else—determination, maybe. Fear she's trying to outrun.
I meant where does she want me to touch her, but she takes me literally, intent on testing her theory about making new memories in new places.
"Library," she says, stepping back but keeping hold of my hand. "Follow me."
I do—of course I do—letting her lead me to our favorite room in the house. The walls are covered with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A fire crackles in the stone fireplace, and warm winter light pours in the windows.
She pauses at the threshold, taking in the space. "You lit a fire," she says softly, a smile curving her lips.
I nod. "I started it on my way to the kitchen this morning. I know how you like to curl up in here after breakfast."
Her eyes meet mine, something soft and grateful in them. "You always think of everything."
The knowledge that I'd unconsciously set the stage for this moment—that some part of me had been hoping for this connection even before I knew it was possible—sends heat surging through me.
She doesn't sit in one of the comfortable chairs near the fireplace. Instead, she backs me against one of the bookcases, her small hands surprisingly strong as she presses me against it.
"I think about you in here," she confesses, her voice low.
"When you're working late. I come in here and I can smell you on the books and the leather chairs.
I sit by the fire and imagine you touching me.
" Her eyes reflect the dancing flames, turning them into liquid gold.
"I think about the things we used to do before.
.." She trails off, something flickering in her eyes.
"Anna," I start, concerned.
She shakes her head, dismissing whatever shadow just passed over her. "Kiss me," she demands, rising on her toes.
I comply, pouring everything I feel for her into the kiss—my love, devotion, and my desperate need. Her hands slide into my hair, holding me to her as if I'd ever try to pull away.
My hands move down her back to her ass, squeezing, lifting her slightly.
She moans into my mouth, her body going soft and pliant against mine.
I turn us, walking her backward until we're near the hearth, the fire's warmth on our skin.
I press her back against the large leather chair, one of my thighs slipping between hers.
She breaks the kiss with a gasp, her head falling back as she grinds against my thigh. "Domhn," she breathes, her fingernails digging into my shoulders.
The firelight plays across her face, highlighting the flush on her cheeks and the glisten of her parted lips. I drop my mouth to her neck, tasting the salt of her skin and feeling her pulse racing beneath my lips. Her nails rake down my back, and I groan against her throat.
She pushes me back, but only far enough for her eyes to roam over my bare chest, hungry and appreciative, before her hands follow. Each fingertip trails fucking fire. Anna traces the muscles of my torso with reverent fingertips. Meanwhile, I try not to fucking die.
"God, you're perfect," she whispers, leaning forward to press her lips to my collarbone.
I thread my fingers through her hair, holding her to me as her mouth explores me—my chest, my shoulders, and back to my neck. When her teeth graze my skin, I hiss out a breath, my hips jerking forward involuntarily.
She pushes me again, this time guiding me to sit in the chair.
Before I can think, she's straddling me, her knees on either side of my hips, her hands braced on my bare shoulders.
The position puts her slightly above me, the leggings covering her pussy teasing against my shaft that's standing at attention beneath my towel.
I tilt my head back to keep eye contact with her.
"You're so beautiful," I breathe, my hands settling on her waist. "Are you sure this is alright, though?"