Chapter 22
Twenty-Two
EMBER
F elix rolls us to the side, out of the gigantic wet spot I made on his bed, placing me prone on his body. Mortified, I know my face has to be beet red—it's hot and burny.
I cover my face with both hands and bury my face in his chest. "I'm sorry about your bed," I whisper.
He laughs. "Oh hell no, Ember. I know you're not apologizing right now."
I lift up and peek at him through my fingers, all my weight on my elbows, which are digging into his pecs…not that he seems to notice or care. "You're gonna need a new mattress. I just peed everywhere."
"You didn't pee, you squirted. And it was hot as fuck."
I put my face in his hot hard muscle again. "Which is peeing."
"No, it's not. I…never mind."
I roll off of him and curl into the sheltered nook of his arm and body, my cheek on his heartbeat. "No, say it."
"It's not the kind of thing you say in bed with your girlfriend after the best sex of your life," he says.
My heart stops beating for a second. "Wait, hold on. Two things. One…girlfriend? And two, best sex of your life?"
"Yes." There's no question or hesitation in his voice. "Unless you have an objection, then yes, you're my girlfriend. I don't go around telling random hookups that I love them and from what you've told me, you've never had a random hookup. I really doubt you'd tell me you love me if it wasn't true." His long, strong arm cradles me to him, his hand resting on the swell of my hip. "And yes, best sex of my life. Hands down, not even close."
My heart is pounding. "I…" Now that I'm no longer consumed by the most wildly intense and all-devouring sexual desperation for all things Felix, it's harder to ignore the gut-churning panic in my belly.
I told him I love him.
I search myself, terrified at what I'll find when I knock down the last of the walls around the emotions that I've been compartmentalizing for so many months. The guilt is there—I've moved on. I don't really count him —my actual first—as a sexual partner; that was…something else. Dutchie was my first. My first love and my first lover. The first man I gave myself to fully and truly and willingly. And then he died, and now I've taken another lover. But the guilt is…tolerable. I know I haven't betrayed Dutchie. This is what he wanted for me. What he made me promise I'd do. So the guilt is just…what?
Why do I still feel any guilt at all?
Because I'm scared of moving on. I'm scared that I have, and that Dutchie will eventually just be a memory.
But…he already is. He's my past, now. Part of me—an integral, vital part. One that Felix understands and accepts without reservation or hesitation.
What else do I feel?
I glance up at Felix; his eyes are closed, but I know he's not asleep. "Fee?"
He only lets out a long, happy exhale, a small smile on his face, his hand cupping my hip, caressing my ass, my thigh, and my side. "You need a minute." It's a statement, not a question.
"I just…I've got a lot of complicated feelings."
"I know." He pats my butt. "So take your time. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not asleep. I'm just chillin'."
I settle into his chest and close my eyes, letting the steady drumming of his heartbeat lull me into a Zen-like state of drowsy thoughtfulness.
I told him I love him. Is it true? Or was it just the intensity of the moment? The heightened madness of my sexuality? Because it did feel like craziness. Not mindless, just…wild. Not out of control…just a frenzy that demanded release. A ravenous hunger that demanded satiation. And Felix gave me what I needed. What I’ve needed for so very long.
He gave me space to express my sexuality without being threatened or intimidated by it. More, he craved it. He got off on it.
So was it just sex?
No.
That was love. That was months of pent-up sexual tension between us and months more of sexual tension built up inside me—years of it, perhaps. A year, year and a half? When did I begin wanting things in bed that Dutchie couldn’t or wouldn’t give me?
“You know," Felix says, apropos of nothing. "You can tell me what you're thinking and feeling. Even if you just need to get it out and don’t want any, like, man-fix-it reactions from me. I can be your sounding board." A pause. "Even if it's about your husband and your relationship with him. I'm not threatened by that. It won't hurt me."
"I was just trying to figure out if I do really love you or if that was a heat-of-the-moment thing." Before he can react, I continue. "And it was real. I do love you. But it was more than that. What we just shared, Fee, it was…a lot of things for me. And that's why this is a complex moment for me, trying to figure out what I'm feeling because it's all tangled up and confusing."
"It's okay if it was a heat-of-the-moment thing, Ember. Don't ever give me the easy-to-hear lie, okay?"
I sling my thigh over his groin, palm his cheek, gaze into his eyes. "Fee, I meant it. I mean it. I am in love with you."
He searches me, and I see relief wash over him. "Thank fuck. Had me scared for a second."
“You know,” I say, echoing him from a moment ago, “you don't have to be understanding about everything all the time, Felix. You can be scared, too. You can share your negative feelings with me. I want you to."
"I just want it to mean as much to you as it does to me." He brushes a lock of hair behind my ear. "Just now, and this relationship, however you want to define it or not define it. If you don't want to label it…I mean, it's not what I want, but I’ll get it and I'll be okay with it if you need more time to be able to put us in that box."
I let my head droop down to his chest again. "I'm still trying to wrap my head around the sex."
"How so?"
"You said it was the best you've ever had."
"It is—you are. By several orders of magnitude."
"That's tricky for me, Fee. Because on one hand, I feel the same way. I've only had multiple orgasms a few times before. Like, just to be clear, sex with Dutchie was good. He was…attentive. Generous. He took care of me. I always felt loved and…wanted. But…it wasn't always intense. Or wild. We’ve talked about this."
"We have.”
"And…" I let out a shaky breath. "Now that we're on the other side of having sex together, it's even more…real, I guess. What I was worried about."
"Which is?" he asks. "I mean, I know, but I think it may help you to put it out there again."
"It was the best sex of my life, Felix," I whisper, struggling against tears of overwhelmed, mixed-up emotion. "And that’s complicated for me. Like, I really, really, really fucking loved Dutchie. I loved our relationship. I loved being with him. But I…I wasn't always satisfied, especially in the last…I dunno—that's what I'm trying to sort out. How long did I feel that way? How long was I wanting more sexually that Dutchie couldn't or wouldn't give me? And what are those things?"
"And?" he prompts. "Come up with any answers?"
“Trying to." I slide my thigh off of him and trace the grooves and slabs of his absurdly shredded midsection. "It was about a year and a half before he died that I tuned in to my feelings of wanting to—for lack of a less cliché term—spice things up. I mean, in an eight-year relationship, things get…habitual. Comfortable. And that's okay. That’s life, that's long-term relationships. But I wanted…" I sigh.
"You can say it."
"I wanted him to take charge more. To initiate more. Not necessarily be more aggressive, let alone more 'alpha' or anything toxic like that. Just…I…I didn't always want it to be sweet and loving, and that's just how he was."
"Did you talk to him about this?"
I nod. "Oh yeah. Of course. A few times. And it was—he tried. But he felt awkward, like he was pretending to be something he wasn't. So we went back to how things were. And I just…I can't help wondering what would have happened if he hadn't died. Would that low-level discontent have built up inside me to become a problem? Like, I wasn't unhappy—I swear I wasn't. And don't get me wrong, I do want to be treated like that sometimes, too. Sweet. Gentle. Loving. Careful. Tender. All that. I love that. But…"
He doesn't fill the space. He lets it stand, lets me take my time filling it.
"You gave me exactly what I needed, Felix." It's a small, careful whisper. "Obviously, the physical pleasure was off the charts, but emotionally? I…you gave me the space to express myself. You took charge when I needed you to without restricting me."
"And that's a super confusing feeling," he guesses.
"Very." I let the question percolate before I ask it. “Do you have any fantasies, Felix?”
"Yeah,” he answers immediately. “You."
"No, Fee, for real. No bullshit. Do you?"
He swallows. "Um. Yeah, I mean…of course. But there are fantasies that are just for fun and fantasies that you might actually want to experience. Which are you asking about?"
"Both."
“Like pretty much all guys, I’ve had fantasies of being with two girls, but in reality? No way. Sounds better than it is. I know that for a fact—Riley, unsurprisingly, told me as much. Fantasies that could come true? Minor things. Outside under the stars is one." He hesitates, glances at me. "Um. I dunno, Em. To be totally honest, you really are a fantasy come true. Your body is my fantasy."
I blush hard, covering my face with my hands. "Fee. C'mon."
"For real. When I would fantasize and jerk off before I met you, your body shape is what I would envision. I'm not making this up."
"Yes, you are," I mumble.
He rolls into me, snatches my hands away from my face and pins them over my head in one huge, powerful hand. "No," he snarls, eyes blazing with fiery need. "I am not ."
He grabs a breast and squeezes it, nuzzles it.
"These." He bites my nipple suddenly and sharply, and I gasp, writhing in his grip. "I fantasized about giant, perfect tits like these."
"Fee," I whisper.
Keeping a firm, unbreakable hold on my pinioned wrists, he rolls me to my stomach. Puts his lips to my ears. “Can you leave your hands there if I let go?"
I nod. "Yeah."
He presses my hands into the mattress above my head. "Then leave them there. Do not move."
"Okay," I breathe.
"This is a fantasy," he whispers into my ear. "This, right here. You, spread out for me. Helpless."
"Fee," I breathe again. I fight instinct, keep my wrists crossed as if tied together over my head, stretched out on my belly. "Please."
"Please, what, honey?" he asks. "What do you want?"
"You. Whatever you want. Do it to me. Please."
He kisses between my shoulder blades, growling. "Whatever I want?"
"Just don’t hurt me. I'm not into pain. Spanking, within reason, is fine. Biting is fine, obviously. But…no real pain."
"Never," he growls. "I'll never, ever hurt you."
He nips the sensitive skin at my side, licks the hollow at the base of my spine. Frames my ass in his hands and kisses the left cheek all over, the right. Nips here, licks there. Bites hard enough that I gasp, writhing, pushing my hips into the bed to escape the bite. Stretched out on my belly, I'm helpless to resist anything he wants to do to me, and I love it. Because I trust him. I love him. And…this is fun. I love not knowing what he'll do next.
He slips a hand under me, and then his fingers are inside me and I'm drenched with need and panting before he's done anything. I lift my hips, pushing my ass into the air to make room for his hand, but he presses his other hand on the small of my back, pushing me down into his touch, leaving me nowhere to go, no way to escape the intensity of how I know he's about to make me feel.
And oh god, it's incredible. He takes his time, slowly driving one and then two and then three fingers inside me until I'm shaking and whimpering and on the cusp of coming, and then he presses those slick fingers to my clit and brings me right back the edge again—back and forth, back and forth, finger-fucking my channel and then my clit, never letting me actually come until the hot pulsing need is a hurricane in my core, my channel pulsing around his fingers, my clit swollen and throbbing, my nipples aching, my every muscle tensed. I can't breathe, too fraught with the need to come to be able to suck in a full breath—there's no room for both my breath and the titanic immensity of the orgasm he's building inside me.
And then, just when I think he's going to finally let me come, his fingers plunging in and out of me hard and fast—
He stops.
Guides me so my knees are under my belly and spread apart, ass high, core exposed, breast and belly and face in the bed, arms extended. I feel him moving, feel his absence, and then his hair tickles my thighs and then—
"FUCK!" I scream, jerking as orgasm threatens to blow open inside me—he's beneath me, his mouth on my sex, lips fused to my clit, tongue driving inside me.
I'm utterly powerless to hold back. All I can do is come—shaking, crying, screaming as he devours me like a last meal. His hands clutch my ass and hold me in place, encouraging me to grind on his mouth, ride his face. I have no control. There's only wild abandon. I fuck his face, screaming until my throat is sore as he licks and tongues and suckles me to climax so potent I feel almost paralyzed by the intensity of it.
Which is when he pulls away and flips me to my back, working his fingers inside me with his palm pressed to my clit and ravages me like that, fingers inside me, palm pressing on my clit—and his touch hits something inside me, something that breaks me, shatters me, destroys me. I have nothing left—no more screams, no more breath, no more thrashing or contorting. The world is all white heat and pulsating glory, blazing and wild detonation, heels in the bed, hips high, clutching his shoulders with clawed fingers until I know he'll have bruises, and yet he doesn't relent, keeps me on that runaway train of colossal climax.
The shattering becomes a dissolution of self, and I feel another layer of my being come apart, another layer of resistance snap, and I feel that same rush at my core as my resistance is utterly eradicated. The wet gush floods out of me as my mouth works silently, my whole body spasming, jerking, shuddering, twitching, thrashing, and I still can't scream or cry or breathe.
Pulse after pulse, each one more intense than the last until I'm wrung out and jellied—as weak and helpless as a newborn kitten.
When he lets me stop coming, I collapse to the mattress, and my lungs expand, and I greedily gulp oxygen.
I hear a crinkle, and then Felix is kissing me—his beard smells like me. He rolls me back to my stomach, and I can't resist. Not that I would. He helps me get my knees under me again, like I was before, and he's behind me. I can't move, can still barely breathe, and I'm still coming, still shaking with the viciously intense quaking madness of my orgasm. And now I feel his fingers at my entrance, and then the head of his cock nudges me—I lift my ass higher for him, and then he's sliding into me. Filling me. And like this? Fuck. So full.
His cock is perfect.
His hands grip my ass cheeks and pull me apart so he drives deeper, and now I can't breathe all over again for how deep inside me he is, stretching me to glutting, glorious burn, and he's thrusting into me hard and fast, fucking me furiously. Our noises are the most beautiful music I've ever heard—my cries, his grunts, the slap of his hips and thighs against my ass, the wet squelch as he plunges into me. The scent of our sex fills the air. Sun streams golden, bathing us in light. Dust motes dance in front of my eyes.
He leans back, pushing on my ass, and drives into me, and now his cock hits that place inside me that makes me combust, screaming as the orgasm that never quite stopped breaks apart all over again, and I'm a spastic, shuddery, weeping mess as he pounds into me, chasing his own release. His hand cracks across my ass cheek, sending a sudden sharp sting through me that makes me squeal with shocked pleasure, and he growls in his chest—does it again on the other side, and it makes my orgasm splinter to new heights of delirium, so my muscles spasm and go jellied and boneless.
Only, as the orgasm wracks me, I lose control of my limbs and cannot stay upright, can't stay on my knees.
I collapse to my belly and lose him in the process.
"Felix!" I wail. "Oh god, I need you. Give it back!"
I'm on my back suddenly, and he's above me, fumbling with a condom packet.
"It came off," he snarls, his voice tight with frustration.
I grasp him and pull him to me. Fit him inside me.
Bare.
I whimper. "Oh my fucking god, Fee. You feel…oh god."
He isn't moving—frozen, stunned. "Ember. I'm not wearing a condom."
I pull him down to me, lips to his ear. "I know."
"You're not on birth control."
"I know." I thrust against him. "I don't care. I need you."
"But—"
I open my eyes, find his. "Do you love me?"
"With all that I am."
"Do you know I love you?"
"Yes." There's no hesitation.
"Will you take care of me?"
"Always."
I cup the back of his head, whisper in his ear. "Then give me this. Make love to me." I thrust again, whimpering at the feel of his cock bare inside me. "I've never had sex without one."
“Me either.”
"I want to give you this. A first. Just for you. For us."
He puts his face in my neck. "Em, honey." He pushes into me. “Oh god. It feels so fucking amazing."
I weep. "More than amazing."
He rolls again, and now I'm on top of him, straddling him, and he's filling me to overfull, his hands full of my breasts as I sink lower on him, braced on his chest. "Make me come for you, Ember." He stares into my soul. "Take it all from me."
I lean over him and take his face in my hands, touch my forehead to his, and fuck down on him. Take him into me. Just once.
He bucks into my thrust, groaning into my open, shaking mouth.
"Em!” He grunts.
Again. another thrust, slow and deliberate—I whimper, glorying as I focus on the sensation of his cock sliding into me; I memorize the way each inch stretches me, time distorting into an infinity of instants, each vein stuttering past my stretched-thin lips.
I cry out, feeling him pulse inside me, now, his cock swelling thicker as he prepares to come.
No condom, no birth control.
I don't care.
I want this.
Need it.
With Felix.
NOW .
Something I've never done, never had.
This moment, right now—Felix, my love, my lover, my soulmate, giving himself to me so utterly that there’s not a shred of himself held back.
Soul to soul.
Another slow slide of my pussy around his cock.
His growls go ragged, become breathless as he thrusts, instinct making him want to fuck harder and faster, but I'm in control now. And I want it slow.
I gather his hands, tangle our fingers, stretch our arms overhead. He tucks his heels against his ass for leverage and thrusts deep, holds there.
Giving me space to take him.
Relinquishing control to me.
Helping me take what I need.
This moment.
Flat out on him, I whisper to him. "Don’t look away."
"Never."
I roll my hips on him—it’s all I can do. The only motion available to me is a sinuous roll of my hips, taking his thick, slick, throbbing length through me, taking him deeper and deeper until he's bottomed out inside me and I can’t breathe from the fullness.
He grips my hands hard, trembling. "Em!”
"Come for me, Fee," I beg. “Give it to me. Let go."
"I—ohhhh,” he gasps. “Oh fuck ."
"Don't look away," I demand, gazing down into his glacier eyes, so wild and fraught, hazed with intensity, blurry with need, hot with love. "Look at me while you come inside me. "
"Ember—I'm…" he shudders, buck up, and then goes tense all over, mouth hanging open and shaking, and I feel it in him, feel his cock pulse madly. "Oh god, Ember. I'm coming—I'm—oh…oh god, oh fuck, Ember!"
" YES !" I cry, releasing his hands as he begins to come. "Take me!"
He grabs my ass and lifts me, slams me down on him while fucking up into me, arched off the bed, and I brace against his chest with my hands and fuck him back as hard as I can.
Screaming.
Coming with him.
A hot, wet flood fills me, and he goes still, buried deep, and I can't move either for a moment—and then I can. I have to. I push back against him as he comes, slam down and bury him to the hilt.
Deeper.
Deeper.
Crying.
Aching around him.
Full of him.
He fills me with his cum, floods me to overflowing.
The hot rush of his cum spreads through me and I come around him, spasming and slamming onto him.
He's grunting and groaning wordlessly, shattering and coming and coming.
Finally, he finds words. "Ember!" My name is all he can manage.
I feel him coming inside me for an eternity, and I feel it slipping out of me, trickling down his shaft as he slides through me—our thrusts are slow and gentle now, lovemaking rather than fucking.
I find his mouth, demand his tongue. Pull away, whispering. "I love you, Felix."
"Ember…oh god. Oh my god." He gasps helplessly. "God, I love you."
I rest my elbows on his chest and gaze down at him. "That was e verything , Fee. Everything."
He's teary-eyed, overwhelmed, and overcome. "Ember, I…" A shake of his head. "That was…"
I kiss him again. "Just promise me forever. Promise me this kind of love until we grow old."
"I promise," he breathes. "Forever."
I put my lips to his ear. "Then take me to the shower, my love."
And so he does.
Where he fills me again.
Maybe it's reckless. I don't care.
I realized at some point today that I want this life with Felix. Here, in Three Rivers.
With him.
With Riley, Cole, Nyx, and Bear.
Noelle, Raina, Layla, and Lainey.
Lazy days at home.
Busy days.
Storms.
Arguments.
Make up sex.
A home.
A place where I finally belong.
Maybe even a ring on my finger and a swollen belly—a life growing.
Felix puts me in the nook again, rolls me to my back. His hot palm covers my belly. "I love you. And if this happens, I couldn't possibly be happier."
"Promise?" I ask, searching him for the truth I know I'll find.
"Promise.”
I put my lips to his ear. "Because I'm pretty sure it did."
"Pretty sure?" His eyes find mine again.
I nod. "Pretty sure."
He stretches out an arm, fumbles in the drawer, and comes up with a red velvet ring box—the velvet is crushed and faded and dirty.
Old—very, very old.
I stop breathing. "Fee?"
"When my parents divorced, Mom gave me this. It was her engagement ring. Before her, her mother wore it and hers before her. If you accept it, you'll be the fourth woman to wear the ring."
"Fee," I whisper. "You have to ask the question."
"Ember James." He slides the ring around my first knuckle, then pauses. "Marry me. Be my wife—my forever. Please. Marry me, Ember."
I push my hand to take the ring, and, impossibly, it fits perfectly.
“Yes," I whisper. "Yes. I'll be your wife."
"You belong now, Ember," he whispers. "To me. With me. To my family. To my friends. To Three Rivers. You belong ."
He holds me as I cry tears of joy.
Of relief.
Of belonging.
I found my light in the dark.
I found my home.
With Felix Crowe.