21. Chapter Twenty-One
“Ishould get almost-murdered more often,” I said with a small laugh, as Jericho carried me up the stairs to a waiting plane, like I was the most delicate and blissful bride.
“Don’t even joke about that!” Jericho said through clenched teeth, his angry eyes boring into me as he trudged up the slender metal stairs. “It’s not funny.”
The wind blew across the tarmac, and I shivered at his protectiveness.
“Oh come on,” I said, cupping his cheek in my hand. “You all have been so precious to me since I was in hospital. You’ve spoiled me rotten. Even Rose lets me touch her belly whenever I want!”
Jericho smirked.
He laid me on a leather seat of the private jet, buckling me in like I was some kind of invalid. I didn’t mind, though. I didn’t mind his attentiveness. I relished it.
“I could have done that myself,” I said, smiling, as I grabbed his wrists in mine, pulling him to the seat beside me.
“Why would you?” He leaned over me, placing a kiss on my cheek. “As soon as we take off, I’ll take you to the room in the back so you can get some rest.”
“Hmm, will you lay with me?” I said, placing my head on his shoulder.
He shook his head. “You need to rest.”
“I need my husband.” My words were drowned by the roar of the engine, as the pressure from the acceleration slammed me back into the seat.
He flinched at the word, and that set a flutter in my heart going. It was a warning that something was off. Something was wrong with my precious man. But we couldn’t talk about it now. Not with the sound of the engine deafening us.
He did not hold my hand, to my disappointment. He kept his hands intertwined in front him, one finger rotating the ring I had given him long ago. With some satisfaction, I saw that he had the blue evil eye on his wrist, still. After all of this time. I pried his hands apart, laying my left hand in his, our matching scars facing us. A mark of our undying vows.
He covered it with his right hand, and shut his eyes. He was so still I thought he was asleep, until the plane leveled out in the air, coming to a sweet suspension, and gliding across the sky.
His eyes popped open and without a word, he unbuckled my belt, picked me up, and carried me to the room at the back of the plane. A large bed took over the room. A tiny bathroom was to the side.
I knew of such luxuries, but had never had them myself. I did not even think that the Greens had such accommodations with their private jets.
He tucked me in, then pulled the sheets over me.
“Lay with me, please,” I whispered, pulling myself up to kiss him.
He didn’t deny me a kiss. He never did. That was something I had always appreciated about my husband. He always kissed me, held me, stroked me when I asked. No question. No agitation. He was generous with his love. So why would he not make love to me now?
“I already told you, you need to get rest,” he said again, pulling a strand of hair from my face.
“Jericho Vasiliev,” I tried a different tact to get what I desperately needed. “If you do not get into this bed and make love to me, then I will get up and go to my little greenhouse and get to work until I am exhausted and collapse.”
His brows knitted, and he scowled at me. A scowl that made my thighs clench with anticipation.
“You’re playing dirty, witch.”
“I’m not playing dirty enough,” I mocked, as I touched the buttons of my dress, unfastening them slowly until they opened. A simple black bra covered my modest breasts as my top fell open for his inspection.
His eyes widened, as his tongue darted between his beautiful lips. “Eve?”
My name was a warning on his lips.
“Husband?” I said, raising a brow. Then I palmed his face, my thumbs grazing over his lips. “Don’t deny me this.”
I watched as his will crumbled to me. Whatever was keeping him from my bed fell apart in that moment, as his lips plunged into mine. His kisses weren’t as intense as they’d been in the past. These ones were tender, as if he’d been scared to hurt me.
I knew we shouldn’t have sex, my body was still recovering, but the need to bring him back to me overrode the ability to be responsible. Jericho was withdrawing, and I couldn’t have that.
I’d remind him just how much I needed him, how much he needed me, with my body. There was no denying that we both had the ability to melt into each other, to read what the other needed and give in to it.
I tugged at his shirt, pulling it over his head. My hands caressed his hard muscles, almost as if I were savoring him because I knew I might not have him much longer. My fingers moved lower, playing with the metal clasp of his belt.
“Off,” I demanded.
He obeyed, but he moved too slow, and I whined at how long he was taking to make love to me.
“Patience,” he chuckled, reading my mind. “We have the entire plane ride. Let me savor you.” He slid out of the clothing that I so desperately loathed at the moment, and then he settled his head between my thighs.
My fingers dug into the sheets as he lifted my dress and pressed his lips against the already soaked fabric of my thong. And then he feasted on me with a desperation I could feel in my soul, deep inside my bones.
And we never stopped making love. Not once from the plane, to the apartment. He held me like it was the last time, and consumed me like I was his last meal.
He rented an apartment for us, one with a balcony and a view of the beautiful main street. I barely had time to appreciate it, before he made me very acquainted with the bed, our bodies tangled, and hungry for everything.
I had spent a life away from my true husband. I had been kept from him by fate, and the evil that we had vanquished with the death of my tormentors.
I had so much time to make up for. Years of misery were wiped away, again and again, with each kiss, and thrust. With every gasp of breath against our tender, heated flesh.
I made my vows to him, again and again, sending the prayer to the world, as if repeating it would make it true. As if each gasp would render it in stone.
“I love you,” I said again and again until I was weeping with the love he poured into me. “I will never have another.”