Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Blue
Every second ticks closer to the moment I've waited for my entire life. But I don't rush. And that's how I know this is real.
Red's house is quiet when I step inside. The door shuts behind me with a soft, final click that sends a ripple through my spine. I stand there for a moment, hand still on the knob, breathing in air that's clean, faintly masculine, and unmistakably Red.
My Red.
It settles into me, loosening something tight and wound too far inside my chest, mixing with my quivering body.
It's not nerves or fear. It's anticipation so intense, it feels physical, like something pressing outward from beneath my skin.
I go into Red's room, stand in front of the oversized mirror, and undress. I pull the white lingerie out of my bag, step into it, and take a deep breath.
It feels almost ceremonial against me, the fabric hugging every curve like it knows exactly why it's here. The luxurious, delicate, rose lace showcases my nipples and V's straight to Red's gift.
Tonight it's finally happening!
Time turns still. I close my eyes, imagining Red pushing inside me, gripping his shoulders to steady myself from his girth and length. My butterflies take over, torturing me until I feel dizzy, and I open my eyes, reaching for the wall to steady myself.
I swallow hard, blinking until my reflection returns.
I turn my ass, admiring the way the thin string of lace fits perfectly and the shift of weight sends sparks up my legs.
I squeeze my thighs together and breathe through it, heart stuttering, then I reach for the white dress, sliding it over my head and staring.
The sweetheart neckline, soft spaghetti straps, and swishy skirt drapes fluidly, clinging slightly before releasing innocently.
"Perfect," I praise, giving myself another glance over, then pinning my hair in a messy updo that Red can take down or leave up.
Another round of butterflies taunts me. Every nerve turns higher, every sensation sharpens enough to steal my breath.
I take another moment to calm myself, then move into the kitchen, barefoot on the cool floor, the contrast making me shiver again. My reflection flashes in a dark window, highlighting wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and parted lips.
"I look like a virgin," I proudly say to myself, sure Red is going to lose his mind.
Heat pools low and heavy in my core. I go into the living room, my pulse loud in my ears, breath uneven, and glance at the clock.
He should be here soon.
For the next ten minutes, I pace, picturing him walking in and the way his posture changes as he braces for control. I assume his gaze will sharpen, like when he's fighting himself. And the thought sends another tremor through me so strong this time, my knees threaten to buckle.
I grab the counter, staring at the bedroom door.
I barely hear the front one open. But I feel him. My flutters beat harder, and the air shifts, pressure rolling through the room like something heavy has entered orbit.
My heart slams so hard, it knocks the breath from my lungs. I turn slowly, deliberately, letting him see me exactly as I am.
He freezes.
The look on his face is everything. Shock hits, then recognition. Then something darker slides underneath it all, hinting at a dangerous and tightly restrained Red.
"Blue," he says, my name low and controlled, like he's testing it in his mouth.
I don't move. I let his gaze take its time, dragging over me in a way that makes my skin prickle everywhere it lands.
He finally says in a weak tone, "You shouldn't be here."
"I know," I answer softly, falling into the innocent virgin with the forbidden, older man role.
"That doesn't make this okay." His jaw tightens, but he takes a step closer.
"I know," I offer, my breath hitched and coming out in a hush.
Every inch he closes sets my nerves on fire. My body leans toward him without permission, like it's already decided whose gravity it belongs to.
He gently asserts, "I think you're confused, Bluebird."
"I'm not confused," I say, my voice steadier than my insides. "I'm ready now."
His gaze snaps to mine. "You're ready when I say you are."
I exhale slowly, the breath shaking as it leaves me. I reach for him, my hand trembling and landing on his bicep.
Control blossoms with hunger, burning in his irises to the point he looks possessed. The moment I see it in his gaze, something inside me locks into place.
Control isn't supposed to look like hunger. I know that. And I've seen Red controlled too many times where he's cool, distant, and composed to the point of cruelty.
This is different. This is our future burning so hot, it sharpens instead of containing itself, lighting the edges of every nerve ending I have.
And I did that.
The realization hits first in my chest, a slow, spreading warmth that steadies me instead of rattling me.
Whatever doubt lived there evaporates. I'm not imagining this or projecting.
I reached something real in him, and it's something he doesn't hand out lightly.
He usually keeps it locked behind rules and restraint.
Right now, his look tells me I've been allowed in.
My thoughts narrow, laser-focused. The room fades at the edges. There's no space left for second-guessing or fear. Just the knowledge that I'm standing in front of a man who wants control badly enough to hunger for it, and I'm what he wants to control.
My body reacts without warning. Heat unfurls low and slow, with heavy purpose, then settles exactly where it belongs. My muscles soften without me meaning for them to, even as something deep inside tightens and coils, bracing for impact that hasn't happened yet.
My breath shortens, not because I'm overwhelmed but because my body is preparing and making room. It opens in a way that doesn't make me vulnerable, but receptive, tuned, and more awake than ever.
He slides his knuckles down my cheek.
Tremors hit me so fast, I close my eyes, pressing my palm against his beating heart.
Air thickens against my skin. Every inch of fabric suddenly registers, every seam and brush too noticeable, like my nerves have been turned up just to prove a point. A faint tremor runs through me, subtle but undeniable, the kind that comes from holding too much energy in one place.
I don't want to move. That's the part that surprises me most. That look in his eyes doesn't make me want to escape or distract or tease my way out of it. It makes me want to stay exactly where I am. To let him see what his control does to me. To let him understand that I'm not shaken.
I'm ready.
I meet his gaze and don't look away. Inside, a thrill blooms quietly and dangerously, with knowledge I've stepped into something that won't let either of us pretend anymore. But I want him to take responsibility for that just as much as I do.
His expression casts shadows from a darkness so alluring that another wave of endorphins washes over me. The faint trace of his cologne wafts between us. My skin hums, my body buzzing like it's been wound too tight for too long.
He murmurs, "You have no idea what you're doing to me, Bluebird."
I tilt my head back slightly, exposing my throat, my body arching toward him instinctively. "I do."
His hand lifts, hovering inches from my arm, fingers flexing like he's fighting the urge to touch. His restraint is almost worse than contact.
My breath stutters. The air, fabric, and the space between us electrifies hotter.
Silence stretches, thick and unbearable.
Then he exhales, long and controlled, as if sealing a decision. He orders, "Come closer."
I obey, letting the distance disappear. His presence wraps around me, grounding and overwhelming all at once.
He turns and leads me down the hallway, his hand hovering just behind my back.
Each step makes my legs weaker. The hallway feels too narrow, the air too charged. My senses scream from every shadow, every sound, every brush of movement amplified.
He opens the bedroom door, and my breath catches.
The room feels intimate in a way that has nothing to do with what happens here and everything to do with who he is when he's alone. The bed, the low light, and the quiet all press in on me, making the moment feel enormous.
He turns to face me again, eyes dark and unreadable. He quietly states, "This changes things."
I nod, my throat tight. "I know."
He studies me for a long moment, like he's memorizing something he won't ever forget. Then his hand finally touches my arm, sending a fresh jolt through my entire body.
I gasp softly.
His thumb presses lightly into my skin, grounding me, claiming my attention. "You're shaking."
"I've been shaking all day," I admit, voice barely more than a whisper.
Danger and protection flicker across his expression. It's beautiful, scary, and sacred.
He eliminates all space between us, and my body turns to fire, sensations layering on top of each other until I feel dizzy with it and the realization I'm not afraid or unsure. I'm standing exactly where I chose to be, in a moment I know will divide my life into before and after.
As his hand tightens slightly on my arm, steady and certain, I realize another truth with startling clarity.
I didn't come here to be taken.
I came here to be claimed.
His mouth finds mine without warning, no gentle prelude, no hesitation. He kisses me deep and deliberate, stealing my breath and returning them hotter. His tongue slides against mine, tasting, demanding, and I open for him instantly, a soft sound escaping my throat as he takes everything I offer.
His hand wraps around the back of my neck, fingers threading into the loose strands of my updo, tilting my head exactly how he wants it.
The other palm presses flat against the small of my back, pulling me flush against him so every hard line of his body presses through his shirt.
And the evidence of how much he wants this, thick and unmistakable against my stomach, makes my knees buckle.