9. To His Beauty
nine
To His Beauty
Emma
When I tried to pull away and Dean pulled me in, the shred of fear inside me threatened to expand, swallowing me whole. But something in the way he whispered sweet reassurances in my ear matched no other man. It wasn’t the words, as much as the way he’d said them. His tone, ethereal, as if his soul were communicating with mine away from our mortal ears.
And when his fingertips touched my chin, the electricity that coursed through my body was welcomed. Sweet. Cathartic.
But all my logic crumbled when his lips touched my jaw in the manner that they did. And when his mouth moved upward, I caught myself feeling disappointed that it didn’t make a stop on mine. Soon, however, all those feelings were replaced with something more profound.
On paper and as far as everyone was concerned, Dean was my husband. But in reality, and until this moment, I had never experienced this side of him, not even remotely. To think that the man who had been my serious, professional, and closed-off boss for nearly three years had the ability to behave this way. It blew my mind .
And the fact that it was me right here in his arms, receiving this unearthly brand of affection, completely destroyed my mind.
Yes, I felt insane .
Insane enough to throw all my dreads and terrors against the wall and watch them shatter to pieces at this beautiful man’s feet. Insane, as I followed my heart’s commands, running my fingers through his thick, soft hair as he kissed my eyelids.
Of course, I was insane to think that this could have led to anything. But none the wiser, I threw myself in the arms of the first man to have made me feel this… this… what was I feeling? Was it only desire? It couldn’t have been.
“ Emma .” His hoarse whisper threw me back into the moment, only to realize that he was now propping himself up on his knees over the sofa, cradling my face with both hands. “Say the word, and I’ll leave you alone.”
“No.” I shook my head, my hands grabbing his shirt at the sides just under his arms, pulling him closer. Sitting up on my knees to face him, I brought my face another inch nearer to his, my eyes drinking in his beautiful features. His deep brown eyes, troubled yet slowly gleaming with a glimmer of comfort. His smooth black hair with my fingers running through it lost all purpose but to feel it. An intrusive thought told me that I wanted to wash it again, with both of us in that tub one day. His lush, reddened lips, slightly parted as he visibly worked to slow down his breathing. His round chin and with that dimple in the middle, a divine gift from Pearl’s features. And his nose; without thinking, I saw my index finger trace a line down its straight form, reaching his Cupid’s bow.
And at the very same fraction of a second, we kissed. The breath caught inside my chest while every cell of my being marveled in the feeling of his lips against mine. The most loving kiss, I thought, if only we could have been in love.
But none of that mattered now. Who cared about reality when the momentary delusion was far more beautiful than my entire life wrapped up?
When Dean put his hand behind my head, dipping his fingers in my hair and pulling me in, our kiss deepened, gaining a more heated air. But before I could get lost in it, he pulled away, asking against my mouth, “Are you sure?”
Gazing into his eyes, I nodded. “If we’re pretending I’m your wife,” I whispered, “how about we believe it for one night? Show me how that would be.”
I thought I saw the shadow of a smile appear at the corners of his lips before he pulled me back again, kissing me harder than before. His lips were so plump that I felt like I was kissing a cloud, but how could a cloud be so warm and passionate?
Was that what clouds felt like if we touched them right before the storm?
With my mind lost in the midst of the tempest, my hand drew my attention to the fact that Dean now had it in his, interlinking our fingers and pressing them against his chest. His other hand was still in my hair, soon to slide down my nape, along my spine, reaching the small of my back. I pushed myself up a little in response, only to have him extend his head to keep up with me, refusing to break our kiss. Instead, his hand at my back pulled me closer, so close that my breasts were pressed up against our intertwined hands over his heart.
And then slowly, he leaned forward, returning his hand to the back of my head as I leaned backward, until I was lying flat on the sofa underneath him. When his hand let go of mine, I felt it caress my lower belly, sneaking softly upward over the smooth silk. His fingers glided between the flaps, sliding the robe down my shoulders. With my breasts halfway exposed, I expected them to be his next stop. However, as he lowered his head onto me, his lips found the spot where my heart should be and started kissing it there.
One kiss…
And a second…
And a third…
And any shred of reservation I had left immediately left my body.
Dean started to shift, pulling me back up with a kiss I couldn’t risk stopping. As he sat back down on the couch, crossing his legs, he cradled my torso and dipped me backward, just like he had when we’d danced. In a second, I was lying down in his lap, and he was bent over me; hands supporting my body; arms protecting me; and lips worshiping me.
I could only feel one thing, and I knew it was an illusion; he tasted like he was mine .
I knew he wasn’t, but none of that mattered.
Not now.
And because I could feel reality as it tried to chase me, I wanted to do something—to take control. That was why I suddenly sat up, grabbing his hand with all my might as I stood on my own two feet. Wide-eyed, he stared up at me, parting his lips to conjure up words that refused to come.
“Come,” I urged him, tugging.
Holding his hand, I ran toward my suite, and he followed. I felt his fingers tighten their grip on mine, afraid to let go. Just like me, he didn’t want this dream to end.
Leading him into my unruly bed, I tossed away the robe that was still dangling at my elbows. Now with nothing but a night slip, I laid on my back, softly pulling him by the arms. I watched him hovering over me, at a loss for where to begin. I whispered, “I’m your wife.” My hands covered his cheeks, feeling the heat radiate from them as if in a fever. “Talk to me like that.”
“I…” He breathed for a moment before saying in a broken voice, “I don’t have the words.”
I kindly smiled. “Then, show me.”
Once again, his lips reached for mine like a thirsty man’s mouth for cool water. This time, he started out slow and tender, gradually heightening the intensity until his tongue found a home between my lips. And again, and again, and again, the way it felt so right tortured me until I wanted to say something— do something to take my mind off of it all.
But I couldn’t. Not with this heavy mist of colored smoke surrounding my senses, leading me deeper and deeper into a delicious trip of sensation and emotion.
When did Dean stop being my boss, and when did he become my master?
His hand kept roaming around, as in a shield around my shoulder, my head, into my hair and out of it, and up and down my arms. His frenzied desire to feel me ignited my own, and my hands made their way to his back, one sliding downward, while the other was going up. I pulled up his shirt, and for the second it took to pass it over his head, it was as though he didn’t want to part us. Not even for a miniature fraction in time.
When he dove back in to kiss me, he whispered, “You’re so good.” I thought he meant to say that I felt so good.
“You feel good, too.” I gently bit his lower lip, and he kissed me harder. “So good,” he mumbled between racing breaths. “So good, I love it. I love this. I love this. ”
Closing my eyes, I imagined the way his voice would sound if he were to say, ‘ I love you .’ My heart ached for him and for me.
In a pace only fit for divine worship, Dean started kissing my cheek, descending in sweet little pecks over my neck, the center of my chest, and my stomach. He slowed down there, pressing with his hands against my flesh while his lips made sure not an inch around my navel was left unloved.
When his hands slowly grabbed my hips, sliding around them slowly and reaching my bottom, I looked down and saw his head below my navel. Tossing back my head, I didn’t know what to expect, so I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath for a moment.
As soon as I felt his mouth there, I let out a brief whine before biting my lower lip. Oh my God, this wasn’t happening.
Slowly but surely, the buildup was everything that I could feel radiating from my center, all the way to the tips of my fingers and my curled toes. I couldn’t believe it—Dean Allen, doing this .
But soon, belief was no longer in question, since pleasure took over, blurring my vision and forcing me to close my eyes once again. As moans and whines refused to remain in my throat, they announced their presence loud and clear, echoing back to me across the air in the room.
It wasn’t long before I screamed.
And this time, it was a good scream. Really good.
Just as I was about to start fighting for a breath, Dean’s darling face appeared before my eyes, and he kissed me again. This time, the taste was of us both, a testament to a moment so rare in time that I was never going to forget it.
Kissing him harder, I let my hands go to his hair again, this time tugging slightly. “Dean,” I breathed into his ear. The syllables were broken, slow in their release and shy in their revelation. “Come on, baby,” I begged him. “I’m your wife . You’re my husband tonight.”
Gazing into my eyes, everything about him screamed of love. But then again, I had a long track record of fooling myself. That was why when he finally took off his shorts, I worked to distract myself by the full sight of him.
Oh, Dean, how beautiful you are .
I no longer saw a reason to hold back what I wanted to say, nor did I want to. I had spent far too many years doing the proper thing. “You’re gorgeous ,” I whined as I let my eyes visibly admire his form, my hands running over his taut stomach, around his sides, and grabbing his behind. “You’re absolutely beautiful, Dean. My God .”
As he eased himself into me, he let his head drop into the nook of my neck. With his hot breath against my skin, he groaned, “And you’re the most beautiful thing in my life, I swear.”
I wanted to ask him not to toy with my heart that way, but the sensation of him inside of me was more overwhelming than anything I had ever experienced. How could a man’s movements be so passionate yet so tender? How could every push and pull take my soul in and out of my body this way?
And how was it that we had found each other long before we found each other like this?
In a moment of absolute bliss, I felt our souls meld. I heard our voices resonate in perfect harmony. And our bodies, having reunited after an eternity of separation… just didn’t want to let go.