24. Elizabeth
— ? —
Elizabeth
Rain again.
I’ve been watching it build all day, the clouds piling over the sea like bruises stacking on bruises, the air thick and electric with the promise of something coming.
By late afternoon the first drops are falling, fat and heavy, and by evening the storm has arrived in full force, rain hammering the windows, lightning splitting the sky.
I stand at the bedroom window and watch the chaos outside, my palm pressed flat against the cold glass.
It’s been three days since the staircase.
Three days of his mouth on me every night, worshipping me, bringing me to the edge again and again while asking nothing for himself.
Three days of falling asleep in his arms, of waking to his hands gentle on my skin, of learning what it feels like to be cherished instead of tolerated.
I’m ready for more.
I’m ready for everything.
“Elizabeth.”
His voice comes from the doorway, soft with concern. I don’t turn around.
“Do you remember the last storm?”
A pause. I hear him move into the room, feel the shift in the air as he comes closer.
“Yes.”
“You kissed me. Then walked away.”
“I remember.”
I watch lightning fork across the sky, count the seconds until the thunder rolls.
“I almost left that night. Almost packed my bags and disappeared into the dark.” My breath fogs the glass. “Told myself it would hurt less than staying. That anything would hurt less than wanting someone who wouldn’t let himself want me back.”
I feel him behind me now, the heat of his body close but not touching. Waiting for permission, as he always waits now.
“Why didn’t you?”
I turn to face him.
He’s rumpled from the day, shirt untucked, hair disheveled where he’s been running his hands through it. But his eyes are clear, present, fixed on me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
“Because part of me still hoped.” I reach up, touch his jaw, feel the muscle jump beneath my fingers. “Part of me believed you wanted me as much as I wanted you. That you just needed time to stop being afraid.”
“You were right.” His voice is raw, scraped bare. “I wanted you from the first moment I saw you, standing in that lawyer’s office in your thrift store dress, looking at me like you could see straight through all my bullshit to the coward underneath.”
“You weren’t a coward.”
“I was.” He catches my hand, presses his lips to my palm. “I was terrified. Of you, of what you made me feel, of how completely you could destroy me if I let you in. So I built walls instead. Pushed you away. Ran to Victoria because she was safe, because she didn’t make me feel anything at all.”
“And now?”
“Now I’d rather be destroyed by you than spend another day hiding from this.”
I pull him down and kiss him.
Not the gentle kisses we’ve been sharing, careful and tender.
This is the storm kiss, the one we had that night on the couch when his control shattered and he ground against me like a man possessed.
I pour everything into it - the wanting, the waiting, the long months of hunger that built up in both of us while we were too stubborn or too scared to give in.
He groans into my mouth and hauls me against him, one hand fisting in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise. I feel him hard against my stomach, feel the tremor in his muscles as he fights for control.
I don’t want his control.
I want him wrecked. Undone. As desperate as I am.
My hands find the buttons of his shirt, work them open with trembling fingers. He stands frozen, barely breathing, letting me set the pace even though I can feel how much it’s costing him.
“I’ve never done this,” I say softly, pushing the shirt from his shoulders. “You know that.”
“I know.”
“I want it to be with you.” I press my palms flat against his bare chest, feel his heart hammering beneath my touch. “I want you to be my first. My only.”
His breath shudders out. “Elizabeth-”
“I want to belong to you.” I look up at him, let him see everything I’m feeling. “The way you already belong to me.”
His control shatters.
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me with everything he has. Every month of denial. Every night of wanting. Every apology he couldn’t put into words. His tongue slides against mine, claiming, demanding, and I melt into him like I was made for this moment.
He walks me backward toward the bed, mouth never leaving mine, hands finding the zipper at the back of my dress. The fabric loosens, slides down my shoulders, pools at my feet. I’m left in nothing but my underwear, goosebumps rising on my skin as the cool air hits me.
He pulls back just enough to look at me.
“God.” The word comes out reverent, broken. “You’re so beautiful. Do you know how many nights I lay awake thinking about this? About what you’d look like in my bed, what sounds you’d make when I finally-”
He stops. Swallows hard.
“I don’t deserve this.”
“No.” I reach for his belt, work the buckle open with hands that only shake a little. “But I’m giving it to you anyway.”
He lets me undress him. Lets me push his trousers down, his boxers, until he’s as bare as I am. I’ve seen him before, felt him in my hands, but this is different. This is him offering himself completely, hiding nothing.
He’s beautiful. Hard and thick and straining toward me, a bead of moisture at the tip that makes my mouth water.
“On the bed,” he says roughly. “Let me take care of you first.”
I lie back against the pillows, and he follows me down, settling his weight over me in a way that makes me gasp.
The press of his body is overwhelming - hot skin, hard muscle, the rigid length of him trapped between us.
He kisses my throat, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts.
Draws one nipple into his mouth and sucks until I’m arching off the mattress.
“Jarec-”
“Not yet.” He moves lower, kisses my stomach, my hips, the sensitive crease where my thigh meets my body. “I need you ready. I won’t hurt you. I won’t rush this.”
His mouth finds my center, and I cry out at the first touch of his tongue. He’s learned my body over these past days, knows exactly how to work me, and within minutes I’m writhing against the sheets, fingers twisted in his hair.
“Please.” I’m begging, shameless, desperate. “Please, I need-”
“Soon.” He slides one finger inside me, then two, working me open with patient strokes. “Let me make sure you’re ready.”
He adds a third finger, stretching me, and the fullness is almost too much. I feel myself clenching around him, feel the orgasm building like a wave.
“That’s it.” He curls his fingers, hits something inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyes. “Come for me first. I want you soft and open when I finally take you.”
I shatter.
The orgasm rolls through me, intense but somehow different from before. Like a door opening instead of closing. Like my body making room for what comes next.
When I come back to myself, he’s poised above me. The head of his cock is pressed against my entrance, hot and insistent, and his eyes are locked on mine.
“Look at me,” he says.
I look.
“I love you.” His voice cracks on the words. “I’ve loved you from the beginning. I was just too much of a coward to say it.”
Tears prick my eyes. “I love you too.”
“If you need me to stop, at any point, for any reason-”
“I won’t.” I wrap my legs around his hips, pull him closer. “I want this. I want you. Please, Jarec. I’ve waited so long.”
He pushes inside.
Slowly. Inch by inch. Giving me time to adjust to the stretch, the fullness, the unfamiliar pressure of him filling me. There’s resistance, a moment of sharp discomfort that makes me gasp, and he freezes immediately.
“Elizabeth-”
“Don’t stop.” I grip his shoulders, pull him deeper. “Please don’t stop.”
He groans, forehead dropping to mine, and I feel the moment he seats himself fully inside me.
Full. Complete. Like a key turning in a lock I didn’t know was closed.
“Fuck.” His voice is wrecked, shaking. “You’re so tight. So warm. I can feel you squeezing me, drawing me deeper.” He presses a kiss to my temple, my cheek, the corner of my mouth. “I almost died without this. Without you. Never again.”
He begins to move.
Slow at first, careful, watching my face for any sign of pain. But the discomfort fades quickly, replaced by something else - a building pleasure that coils tighter with every stroke. I find myself moving with him, matching his rhythm, chasing the feeling.
“That’s it.” His hips snap forward, harder now, and I moan at the new angle. “Take all of me. Let me feel you.”
The storm rages outside, rain hammering the windows, thunder rolling across the sky. Inside, we’re building our own storm - sweat-slicked skin, desperate sounds, the ancient rhythm of bodies learning each other.
“You’re mine,” he says against my throat. “Say it.”
“Yours.”
“Again.”
“I’m yours.” I dig my nails into his back, feel him shudder. “And you’re mine.”
“Always.” He shifts his angle, hits that spot inside me that makes me see stars. “Forever. Only you.”
I’m close now, so close. I can feel the orgasm building, different from before, deeper, like it’s being pulled from somewhere inside my chest rather than my body.
“Jarec, I’m going to-”
“I know. I can feel you.” He moves faster, harder, and his thumb finds my clit, circles with devastating precision. “Come with me. Let me feel you fall apart while I’m inside you.”
I shatter.
The orgasm tears through me, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt. I clench around him, crying out his name, and I feel him follow me over the edge - his hips stuttering, his body going rigid, a broken sound escaping his throat as he spills inside me.
We stay tangled together for long minutes, hearts pounding, breath coming in ragged gasps. I feel him softening inside me, feel the warm trickle of our combined release, and I’ve never felt more connected to another human being in my life.
Eventually he rolls to the side, pulls me against his chest, and we lie there listening to the rain.
“I fell first,” he says quietly.
I lift my head to look at him. “What?”
“That first week. When you moved in.” He traces patterns on my shoulder, not quite meeting my eyes. “I watched you trying so hard to make this house feel like home, rearranging flowers and choosing your own cup for coffee, and I wanted you so badly I couldn’t breathe.”
“But you-”
“I convinced myself it was just physical. Just desire. Easier to believe that than admit you’d gotten under my skin.
” He finally looks at me, and his expression is vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen.
“But it was never just physical. From the beginning, you terrified me in ways Victoria never could. Because I knew that if I let myself love you, really love you, you could destroy me. And I wasn’t brave enough to take that risk. ”
“When did you know? That it was more than physical?”
“The night of the storm. The first one.” His hand stills on my shoulder. “When you kissed me and I kissed you back and I felt like I was drowning in something I couldn’t control. I knew then. And I ran anyway, because that’s what cowards do.”
“You’re not running now.”
“No.” He pulls me closer, presses his lips to my forehead. “I’m done running. I’m done being afraid. Whatever comes next, whatever challenges we face, I’m facing them with you. Beside you. For the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”
I settle against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.
The storm is fading outside, the thunder growing distant, the rain softening to a gentle patter. Inside, everything feels new. Clean. Like the world has been washed and we’re seeing it clearly for the first time.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I’ll let you.”
His arms tighten around me.
And finally, after all the waiting and wanting and pain, I feel like I’m exactly where I belong.