23. Chapter 23
Chapter 23
Elsa
I tiptoed out of the bedroom in my sleep shorts and a tank top that no longer covered my belly. Duncan was stretched out on the small, lumpy couch in the living room. He looked so out of place, his long legs hanging off the edge, his discomfort evident. It tugged at my heart.
Mamman always said that for a good marriage—though she never had one—you never went to bed angry, and you always slept in the same bed, no matter what.
I took a deep breath and walked over to Duncan, my anger softening with each step.
"Are you awake?" I asked quietly.
He opened his eyes and looked up at me, a blend of surprise and guilt in his gaze. " Ma douce. "
Merdé ! How was I supposed to harden my heart when he called me his sweet?
I sighed, sitting down on the edge of the couch, close to him but far enough to maintain the illusion of distance. "We're both upset about tonight. But I don't want us to go to bed angry. This isn't how I want us to deal with problems."
He sat up, his eyes never leaving mine. "I don't want there to be problems."
I smiled sadly at him. "You know that's not how life works, right?"
He reached out and took my hand. "I know, but I," he paused, "am not good with conflict."
It was something he had never admitted before, though I'd seen that in him. He'd rather walk away than argue a point, just like he had when we first married and he'd hidden in his suite at the Ritz.
I squeezed his hand, feeling the truth in his words, grateful he had opened up to me. "I don’t want to push you away, Duncan. I want to find a way to make this work."
He pulled me closer, his arms wrapping around me in a comforting hug. "I want that too. More than anything."
I leaned into him, letting the tenderness of his embrace melt away the remnants of my anger. "Let's go to bed," I said softly. "We can figure this out together."
He nodded, relief evident in his eyes as his hand caressed my belly under my tank top. " Ma douce , you have a big heart."
"That's my stomach, pal, not my heart," I joked, putting on an exaggerated American accent.
He cupped my breast then. "I'm sorry, Elsa, for hurting your feelings, for allowing you to deal with Fournier on your own, for being jealous of Arsenault."
I kissed him on his mouth softly. "And I'm sorry for being jealous of Giselle."
His eyes narrowed. "Who the fuck is Giselle?"
"The beautiful woman you were speaking with, the one in the blue dress and…." I could see he had no idea who I was talking about.
"I talked to some women, but, baby, you were the most beautiful woman there."
I rolled my eyes, but it felt good to hear him say that.
We stood up and walked to the bedroom, hand in hand. The tension that had filled the room slowly dissipating, replaced by a sense of understanding.
When we got back in bed, he continued to stroke my belly as I lay against him. He turned to kiss me, and I gave him access, wanting intimacy after an argument. I suddenly realized why make-up sex was so popular.
He undressed me slowly, his movements unhurried. He let me push his underwear down his hips but then lost his patience and took over, twisting his body to free himself of his clothing.
He kissed my nipples, suckled them, and then moved to my stomach. "You're like a fertility Goddess with this stomach and how you glow."
He moved down to between my legs, and I held my breath as he slid his fingers over my pussy. "You taste so fucking sweet. Sometimes, I don't want to wash your taste off—I want to feel it all day at work, know you're waiting for me when I come home."
I loved the way he said home , that this small apartment of mine was not just mine but his as well.
"I love to open up your sexy legs and taste you. I love to hear you come, ma douce , against my mouth—so I can taste every honeyed drop of your orgasm."
His words, along with his actions, aroused me.
"You always smell so good, like fucking vanilla." He looked up at me. "Touch your breasts, Elsa."
I felt self-conscious, as I always did when he wanted me to touch myself.
I massaged my breasts with slow, deliberate motions, and my eyes closed at the pleasure of it. I was so sensitive these days, the tips of my breasts hungry for Duncan's mouth, always.
"No, baby, keep your eyes on me."
He licked my clit and then groaned when I lifted up so I could look at him despite my big belly.
"It's not easy with your daughter," I joked.
His eyes softened. "My daughter. My wife," he whispered. "You've given me so many gifts, ma douce ."
I kept caressing my breasts, stroking my nipples.
"Now pinch your nipples hard so it hurts."
I did as he asked, and he clamped his teeth on my clit. My hips surged as I felt fluid release from me onto his tongue.
A moan escaped me as I started to all but maul my breasts. It felt so damn good to have him down there while my nipples were stimulated.
"Duncan," I whimpered.
He growled softly, sending shock waves through my system. He slid two fingers inside me, finding my G-spot as his lips close around my clit.
"Yes," I cried out. "More, more."
"You taste so good, baby. I can spend my life here."
My pussy clenched as he inserted a third finger inside me while continually licking and pressing the tip of his tongue on my clitoris.
"I'm almost there," I chanted. "Almost there."
He stopped, and I protested, "Duncan."
He smiled, wiping my juices off his chin. He crawled up to me. "I want to feel you come around my cock."
My pussy ached, demanding release, but I loved to come when he did. He caught my hands and pushed them up above my head as he leaned onto me, keeping most of his weight on his knees so as not to put any pressure on my stomach. He kissed me and then moved away.
Before I could yell at him, he patted my hip. "On your knees, baby."
I excitedly did as he demanded.
His hands massaged my ass, opening me up. "You look so delicious. So, fucking sexy."
I wiggled my hips, and he smacked me hard. My breath caught in my chest, and I felt desire uncoil inside me. His palm struck my ass a few more times, and by the time he entered me, I was so turned on that I was ready to burst into flames.
"Like that, love, just like that." He pounded into me, and the way he said love in English, so desperate, so real that I knew it came from his heart.
I let go.
"Tell me," he demanded as he pumped in and out. "Tell me, damn you."
" Je t'aime , Duncan."
He spurted inside me, groaning out his release.
Afterward, he cleaned me up as he always did with a washcloth, kissing my stomach, my pussy, and my thighs.
When we lay back down in bed, I nestled into his arms, feeling his heartbeat steady and reassuring. "I'm sorry I got so angry," I whispered.
He kissed the top of my head. "You had every right to be."
"I love you, Duncan," I whispered.
His arms tightened around me. "I'm honored, ma douce ."
It only hurt a little that he didn't give me the words back. Orgasms had a way to dull heartache.