Chapter 56 #2
I swallow, feeling the velvet weight of it settle behind my ribs. The sensation is like I’ve been captured. Like I'm drinking him in, taking a piece of him into my very marrow, becoming dangerously intertwined with the man standing over me.
"How does it taste?" He scoops up a drop which has dribbled down my chin and brings it to his mouth, sucking it.
"Like you," I say honestly.
A look of lethal contentment settles across his face. "Good." He bends and captures my mouth with his. My scalp tingles. My toes curl. Promptly, I melt into him.
He kisses me like I’m dessert after that amazing meal. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back. The next moment, he swings me up in his arms.
My lips cling to his. I press closely to his obscenely wide chest. And when he swipes his tongue over my teeth, I feel like I’m coming apart.
I’m sure he’s going to carry me off to bed. Instead, he heads for the settee in the living room and lowers me down amongst the cushions.
He follows me down. I part my legs without being told, and he settles his wide hips between them. The column at his crotch presses into my pussy. It feels so good. I whimper.
Color smears his cheeks. "The sounds you make drive me crazy."
"Oh?" I ask breathlessly.
"And your tits." He cups my breasts with his big palms, weighing them. "They’re magnificent."
He drags his thumbs over my nipples, finding the tight peaks even through the material of my sweatshirt.
Heat scalds my cheeks. I begin to squeeze my thighs shut but, of course, his lean hips stop me.
He settles his palm on my stomach.
Warm. Possessive. Appreciative.
I stiffen for half a second on instinct. Not because I’m ashamed. I’m not. I’ve always owned my curves. But that small softness there has never been anyone’s focus before.
His thumb strokes slowly over the gentle curve of my belly.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he murmurs.
“I’m not.” I totally am.
Heat scalds my cheeks. There’s a dawning realization that he truly sees me. He desires me exactly like this.
“You’re beautiful.” He looks deeply into my eyes. “You keep me sane, Ember. You remind me of everything good and real in this world. You’re mine, Ember. Only mine.”
Hearing him say this in such an unguarded way cracks something open in my chest. I bite the inside of my cheek, focusing on the sting to ground myself.
This is the first time I've felt married.
Not from the sex. Not from the contract. Not from the ring weighing down my finger. It’s from him being open with me.
And vulnerable.
And sharing without censoring himself. For a few seconds, we hold each other’s gaze.
The temperature in the room heats. The air between us shimmers with so many emotions, my breath catches. Why do I feel both happy, but also so unguarded? Why does what happened between us feel so monumental?
He must read some of the conflicting thoughts, for he brings his hand back to my cheek. "You okay?"
I nod. "I was wondering why we're on the couch?"
"As opposed to…?"
"The big bed upstairs."
I run my fingers through his thick hair and tug.
A rumbling sound from the back of his throat makes me weak. This man is so alpha, so male, I simply want to lick him up, then ask him to fuck me all over again.
Again, he seems to guess what’s on my mind for he shakes his head. "No more fucking, not tonight."
"What?" I pout.
"You’re sore." He cups my pussy.
"I’m fine. The painkiller you gave me earlier worked like magic. I feel amazing." I push up into his pelvis and rub up against the column of his cock.
He shudders. The planes of his chest ripple. Then he sets his jaw. "You’re testing me. But I’m not giving in on this one."
"Oh, boo." I turn down my lips. "You’re no fun."
He chuckles, then lowers his chin and kisses me. "I’ll make it up to you, I promise." Then he rolls off and adjusts us, so I’m stretched out with my head on his shoulder.
He grabs the throw from the back of the sofa and places it over me. "Cozy?"
My insides tremble at the gesture. He’s taking care of me again. Making sure I’m warm and protected and safe. It’s like he’s wrapped me up, not in the throw, but in his tenderness, his attention, which I pull around myself like cashmere.
I could get used to this.
I snuggle into the blanket.
"Are we going to watch a movie?" I glance toward the massive flat screen taking up most of the opposite wall.
He picks up a remote from the side table and presses a button. He navigates to a well-known streaming service, then hands it over to me. "You choose."
My breath hitches.
Until now, our relationship felt structured. Distant, even. We went to work, came home, had a nightcap, and went to bed.
He was gradually thawing toward me, but there had been little softness between us. No real warmth.
But this. Him taking care of me. It changes everything.
It feels intimate. Personal. Weird and delightful, and every dream I never let myself finish having. It’s also destabilizing enough to make me wonder if I am going to wake up and find none of it was real.
This is not just sweet. It's scary.
I didn't think I could fall further for him. But my pulse is knocking against every point in my body, my blood is running hot, and I know, I'm closer than I ever intended to get.
Not with the ghost of what we could have been, but with the solid, undeniable proof of what he is when he shows up for me.
When he sees me. When it feels, for one terrifying moment, like I have found exactly where I belong.
I settle against him and let myself breathe. I like this domestic closeness more than I should. It feels easy and natural and devastatingly right. Right enough to make my stomach bottom out.
I could get used to this.
I should not get used to this.
Because this is fake. Our marriage is only an agreement. A contract with an expiry date.
So why does every part of me feel like it is the realest thing I have ever known?