62. Gwen
Gwen
“You sure you want to stay here?” Dad asks from the doorway of my suite. “You don’t want to fly back to The Sapphire with us?”
“And be there to deal with Zoey’s punishment? No, thanks. I’ll leave that to you all.” Chills slip down my spine at the mere thought of her. “I also want to leave Singapore with some good memories, so . . .” Please don’t ask how I’ll be making them. You won’t want to hear that.
Easton pulls a pack of gum from his pocket, unwrapping a piece with the kind of concentration normally reserved for disarming explosives.
Probably nervous my dad will know exactly what our plans are.
It’s one thing for him to approve of our relationship, it’s another for him to picture his friend with his daughter in any way other than innocent.
And oh, the things I want Easton to do to me are far from innocent.
The dirty words he whispered in my ear on the flight here, when we stole a quick second to make out in Carter’s bedroom, promise to be hotter-than-hot.
But probably the sexiest thing he said to me was that he can’t wait to have me fall asleep in his arms.
“Yeah, okay,” Dad finally says, cutting off my thoughts before my imagination runs away even more. He points a finger between us. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
I snort-laugh, then decide to close my mouth and leave well enough alone.
Dad adjusts his jacket, seemingly more interested in the floor than me.
“Are you bothering them?” Natasha for the save, thank you. She fills the doorway alongside him.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he grunts.
Laughable.
“They want to stay. Fly commercial back in a few days,” he lets her know, securing an arm around her waist.
She tips her head, leaning against Dad’s shoulder. “They deserve time.”
Time. Right. That’s one word for it.
“Take care of my baby girl, will ya?”
Oh, Dad. Like seriously, you had to go there. It’s time for me to be Easton’s baby. I manage to keep all those thoughts trapped behind my lips—for Easton’s benefit.
“Of course,” Easton says firmly.
Dad lets go of Natasha and steps forward to draw me in for a tight hug. It’s the kind that presses the air from my lungs and says everything he can’t out loud. “See you at The Sapphire soon, yeah?”
I back up, glancing at Easton. “Actually, I was thinking maybe that commercial flight we take will be to Kansas City. Easton needs to get his stuff from his dad’s that he never had sent.”
Easton closes one eye. Guilty. Mm-hmm, knew it.
“I also promised Elaina a visit. Least I can do after keeping all this from her.” Maybe Juliette in New York, too. “Why don’t we meet you in D.C. after you wrap things up at The Sapphire?”
“Yeah, sure, I’d like that,” Dad agrees before I hug Natasha goodbye.
“This really is over, isn’t it?” I murmur into her shoulder.
“It is,” she promises.
“Until someone tries to fill that power vacuum again,” I grumble at the memory of what Molly said.
“We’ll cross that bridge if we ever come to it.” Natasha brings her mouth to my ear a beat later and whispers, “Have fun with your man.”
Ohhh I plan on it.
I’m grinning like a fool when I stand tall again, and she winks.
Once the door closes behind them, I spin around to face Easton, who’s standing there staring at me with a knowing glint in his eyes.
There’s no radios. No footsteps en route. No danger breathing down our necks. And for a minute, neither of us moves.
Then Easton lets out a slow breath. “I think he knows what we’re about to do.”
A laugh slips out of me, shaky and soft. “Oh, he definitely knows.”
His gaze lifts to mine. Dark, intense, and almost disbelieving. Like he’s still not convinced this is real. That we made it. That we’re standing here together alive and finally alone.
The air between us changes, and my heart stutters. Not from nerves, from how much this means to us. We’ve been circling around this for over two years.
He tosses his gum and erases the space between us. His hand comes up slowly, his fingers brushing my cheek, and the touch is reverent. Warm and grounding. I lean into it without a second thought. He traces his knuckles along my lower lip, and my pulse goes wild.
“We’re going to make love first. Then we’ll do those other things I promised on the plane,” he says roughly, voice tight with need.
“Shouldn’t you hear me tell you I love you first?” I muse.
He pins me against him and tips my head back with a gentle hand at my jawline, commanding my gaze on his.
My breaths quicken as we stare at one another. As the words climb from my chest up into my throat. “I love you,” I breathe out. “I think I knew as far back as the accident, when I woke up and you were the first person I thought of. The first one I wanted to see.”
His brows tighten.
“I should have told you then. I should have told you how much you mean to me.” Tears fill my eyes. “But I’m not scared anymore.” One tear slips free, and he catches it with his thumb. “I’m ready. For you. For the next chapter in our lives.”
He drags his thumb along the line of my lips. “Good, because I’ve been right there waiting for you for a long damn time.” His palm skates down my throat and around to the nape of my neck. “I love you with all my heart and soul.”
“Forever?” I cry as another tear falls.
He nudges his nose against mine. “Forever. Even when you drive me crazy, which I think will be a lot.” He smirks, and I kiss that handsome smile, sighing as his tongue slips between my lips to find mine.
Once we’re in the bedroom, the world and all the bad in it ceases to exist. It’s just us, and we’re finally allowed to be together.
Easton moves like he’s memorizing me, like every second matters, and it always will.
His hands slip beneath my shirt, and he pushes it up slowly, giving me time to change my mind.
Time I don’t need and never intend to take.
I lift my arms to help him pull it free, and the look on his face when I’m fully naked, and he sees me bare, steals the air from my lungs.
Not hunger. Not conquest. Just awe. Love.
“Gwen . . .” His voice breaks on my name.
He kisses me again, slower this time, deeper. One hand cups the back of my neck while the other traces down my spine, mapping every curve like he’s been dreaming about this for years. Probably because we both have.
His mouth closes over my breast, and heat pours through me, sharp and electric. My fingers tangle in his hair, holding him there. When the sensation is nearly too much, I return the favor and help him strip, my palms gliding softly over his warm skin, charting every scar amidst taut, corded muscle.
When we make it to the bed, we collapse onto it together, limbs tangled, mouths searching, and breaths uneven.
His forehead rests against mine. “Still okay?” he asks softly.
I nod. “More than okay.”
Our next kiss tastes like something permanent. Not forever in a human way, but an eternal one.
His mouth travels downward, patient and worshiping instead of self-seeking pleasure. By the time he settles between my thighs, I’m trembling, already undone.
This isn’t sex. This is something sacred.
My hands fist the comforter as his tongue finds a perfect, devastating rhythm, pleasure building until it spills over in a rush, leaving me shaking beneath him.
Gentle kisses and caresses map his path back up to me as my heart rate syncs with his. His lips linger on my cheeks, my forehead, as if he can’t stop touching me.
When he enters me with otherworldly care, he goes slowly, giving my body time to accept him, his eyes never leaving mine. The stretch makes me gasp. My nails dig into his shoulders as instinct takes over.
“I’ve got you.” He presses a kiss to my temple.
I wrap my legs around him, anchoring him closer. “Don’t stop.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
The first full movement pulls a broken sob from both of us.
After that, everything blurs. Heat, pressure, the slide of skin on skin, his mouth on mine swallowing every gasp, every whispered yes.
It’s overwhelming in the best possible way.
Like falling and flying at the same time. We’re finally reaching that place we’ve been fighting toward for two years. Suspended together in something bigger than either of us. Until all that remains . . . is us.
“Sweetheart?” Easton’s sleep-rough voice draws me from a doze.
We’ve barely rested since we closed that door two days ago. Too busy discovering each other in ways that don’t involve bullets or body armor.
“Mmm . . . say that again.” I arch into his touch as his thumb traces slow circles over my nipple.
“Troublemaker is more accurate.”
I turn my head on the pillow to meet his gaze, my lips curving. “Pretty sure I earned naughty after what you let me do to you at oh dark thirty.”
His eyes close, a groan slipping free like the memory alone is enough to undo him.
Yeah. Definitely earned it.
“Sweetheart,” he repeats, softer this time.
I climb onto him, bracketing his hips with my thighs, palms sliding over warm skin and hard muscle that I’m still not used to being allowed to touch like this. Mine. All mine. “Yes?”
He lifts his hips just enough to let me feel exactly how awake he is. “Careful. You’re putting yourself in a very dangerous position.”
I rock against him. “Worth the risk.”
A low laugh rumbles through his chest. He lifts up on his forearms to brush his nose against mine. “I think you’ve corrupted me. The things I still want to do to you . . .” He squeezes my arse, letting me know exactly where his head is at.
“Ha! How about the other way around?” I poke his chest. “You’re nowhere near innocent.”
“All your fault, I swear.” He winks, dropping flat onto the bed. He cups my breasts, and I shiver at the contact.
“Sure it is,” I tease.
His gaze darkens, heat replacing the amusement. Flipping us, he cages me beneath him, forearms braced on either side of my head. His weight settles over me. Solid, protective, and intoxicating.
“I’ve had a long time to think about what I want to do with you,” he murmurs against my mouth.
“Not done with me yet?” I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve made love already. Each experience was blissful, perfect, and, at times, deliciously dirty.
His eyes flash to mine. “Hardly.”
My pulse jumps in anticipation. I suspect it always will when it comes to this man.
“You’re not walking out of this room without remembering exactly who’s yours.”
Heat coils in my stomach. “What if I can’t even walk after all the naughty things you still have planned to do with me?”
His expression shifts, from hunger to something deeper. Possessive, but in a way that makes me feel safe. Treasured. “I’ll pick you up before you ever have a chance to fall, and you know it.”
“E?” I fist his hair with both hands, a deep breath leaving my chest.
“Yes, my naughty, troublemaking sweetheart?” He catches my laugh with his mouth, turning it into a kiss.
Coming up for air is a challenge when something feels so good. “When we get to the States, I want you to take me to the place that feels the most like home for you, even if that’s not your dad’s place. I want to go wherever you’re—”
“If I’m with you . . . I am home.”