Chapter 8 Malena #2
“I won’t forget it, but I won’t talk about it, if that’s what you want.
It changes a lot for me, and it’s going to take a lot of getting used to.
I want to build something with you Leif.
More than I’ve ever wanted anything else.
You’re the first thing I’ve ever let myself desire to this…
degree.” I sit down, keeping my gaze distracted with the breakfast plate.
“My life has taught me to keep my expectations low. Self-preservation and all that.” He must understand that.
Leif has told me of the sacrifices he’s had to make over the years.
Creature comforts are zilch when you’re overseas living in a dirty hut for months at a time.
Leif sits down next to me, picking up his fork. “I’m here. I want to be here,” Leif says, pausing, waiting for me to meet his bewitching eyes. When I do, he goes on, “Set your expectations higher. I have.”
Grinning, I stop any sort of word vomit from arriving by shoving toast in my face.
It makes him laugh. If I’m selecting expectations for myself, then I want Leif.
All to myself forever. I want to keep his kindness in my pocket as a defense mechanism against the cruel world.
I want him to only ever want me in return.
His emotion-filled gazes. His touches filled with fire.
All of him. He seems to know what I’m thinking, which I hope isn’t true, or I’d crumble under the weight of my own desires.
Leif licks his lips and tips up his chin as he surveys me, watching him. “What should we do today?” he asks.
“We?” I blurt out, my mouth full of food. “You have work.”
“There wasn’t anything going on in the office today.
They don’t need me. We’re skydiving tomorrow, so I wanted to make sure your first day…
alone, well, wasn’t really alone. What do you want to do today?
I figured we could do something now and then visit your mom later on this afternoon.
That’s when there’s free time and when most guests visit.
” He backtracks. Almost as if he doesn’t want me to know how much he knows.
“I think that’s what they said when I called. You can call to check and be sure.”
I choke on the bread sticking to the roof of my mouth.
Banging a fist on my chest, I make an exaggerated unpleasant noise.
“Are you even real?” I ask. “I slept for fifteen hours and am time warped. Maybe I’m still sleeping.
” Pinching myself on the arm, I sit back in my chair.
“Definitely awake. You’re definitely real. ” I shake my head.
“Touch me. Find out for sure,” he growls, chewing slowly, eyes on mine. Oh, the ways in which I want to touch him.
We both eat, looking at each other, back and forth, like a game of wits. “Please tell me I’m not some charity case. This bubble is going to pop when you realize you can’t fix me.” I’m half joking, but Leif’s smile falls from his face completely.
Swallowing food, he pauses, then says, “Who said I wanted to fix you?”
“That’s what people like you do.”
Leif scoffs. “People like me?”
“The perfect ones,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I’m so far from perfect, the word isn’t even in my vocabulary. I don’t think you need to fix anything about yourself, Malena.” Leif puffs out his chest and stretches a bit. “It seems you’re not used to others helping you.”
The father-sized lump in my heart pounds a bit, a jagged reminder. “You’re right,” I say, casting my gaze downward.
“And all my family does is help. Even when I don’t want it, but that’s the price I pay.
When I’m far from home, they send care packages filled with my favorite things—trying to make my life easier and more comfortable.
” He pauses, and I try to put myself in his shoes, shoes that seem gilded in comparison to the tattered ones I’ve been forced to wear.
“They moved to be closer to me when I decided to make Bronze Bay my permanent residence. Mom has always wanted to retire in Florida, so it wasn’t a crazy stretch, but that’s just another example of how we help each other. ”
“I’m not your family though,” I say, narrowing my eyes. “Why me?”
He seems taken aback by that question. He takes a bite of toast and chews, nodding his head, looking at me up and down.
“I’ve spent some time thinking about this,” Leif says, tilting his head to the side.
“It’s a combination of things. You’re beautiful, and I want you.
You’re caring and compassionate, and I want you.
You tell me things most people wouldn’t dream of saying out loud, and I want you.
The thought of your lips on anyone else drives me mad with jealousy, and I want you.
You look like that,” he says, jutting his chin in my haggard, wet direction.
“You taste like heaven. You seem to enjoy spending time with me. One last thing,” he says, taking my hand in his.
He nods his head as he says, “I know for a fact I’ll never not want you. ”
My heart stops as my hand automatically clasps around his. “You can’t know that for sure. People change. Grow. Move on. Move out.”
Leif repeats, “I’ll never not want you.” His confidence is unwavering.
I can’t accept that answer. It turns everything I’ve believed about humans on its head. It’s backward. Nonsensical. Coughing, I take a sip of water. “Want me in what kind of way?”
“Every kind of way,” he fires back. “Why don’t you go change your shirt and we can get out of here?”
I’m still reeling from his confession, my mind spinning and my stomach flipping. “What? My shirt?”
“If you want to wear that any other time, I’m cool with it, but I can see your nipples, and it’s distracting me from any sort of gentlemanly plans I had for today.”
Waiting for my response, he pops a few blueberries in his mouth.
“I don’t want gentlemanly Leif,” I say. “Actually, after all of the nice things you just said, I’m kind of thinking I want the opposite of nice to balance it out.”
“Is that so?” Leif replies. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and slides his chair back, his knees wide.
“Opposite of nice?” He fishes. “I just finished telling you how good you are. Why don’t we see how bad you can be?
” He holds his big, muscular arms out to the side—an invitation.
“Do your worst, Malena Winterset,” he says, raising one brow.
“I know your last name this time, and in case you had any doubts…I do want you.”
He is a picture of pure masculine perfection. Leif says he’s not perfect, isn’t intimate with the word, but in this moment I see no faults in any way, and I recognize that for what it truly means. It’s terrifying, but not so much that I’m not willing to give in to my feelings.
“I want you too,” I return, standing from my chair and approaching him. “You know my last name, you’ve proven you’re not a serial killer…I think…and you’re so charming I can’t even see straight.”
His gaze is on my chest and the offending shirt, so I wiggle it down to expose more cleavage.
He licks his lips, and I sit down on top of him, straddling his narrow waist. A sigh of relief and built-up desire vibrates his throat as I nuzzle my face into his neck and inhale his clean scent.
My head feels fuzzy, and my face heats with nervous energy.
Without thinking about how I feel, I grasp his cheeks in my hands and bring my lips to his.
Leif wraps his arms around my lower back and pulls me tighter against his body.
It’s hardened with muscles and coiled from the act of holding himself back—letting me guide this kiss.
He tastes like blueberries, and I know that I’ll never be able to smell or taste blueberries again without thinking about Leif and this exact moment.
The moment of clarity and understanding—the moment of truth.
Working my lips against his sends waves of pleasure throughout my body.
I remember Shirley telling me once that you can make out with a man and not get turned on.
That’s how she controls the mood and the pace when she’s with a man.
I don’t have that option. Being this close to Leif, our tongues entwined, our bodies rubbing against each other renders me useless but for what he’s making me feel and how I’m touching him.
Sliding my fingers into his hair, I pull him closer—until the kiss is almost painful.
There are no sounds but for our jagged exhales and wet lips taking each other hostage.
I grind myself on top of him, feeling his erection pulse beneath me.
He breaks our mouths to run his lips and tongue across my jaw and down my throat.
Gently, he bites the skin on my neck and groans—a sound that ricochets directly between my legs.
I throw my head back to give him better access and to better control my breathing, which is completely out of my control.
“My room?” I say, my words aimed at the ceiling.
“Not yet. Right here for now,” Leif growls, lifting my shirt over my head and tossing it aside.
He leans his forehead on my bare chest while cradling my back.
His warm breaths puff against my skin, creating a wild sensation of being warm and cool at the same time.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, palming my back, dragging his fingers over every inch of exposed skin. “I want you so badly.”
Chuckling, I say, “You’ve mentioned that.” There are usually those few seconds of bashful insecurity when you expose yourself to a new person, but strangely that doesn’t come. Being with Leif like this seems right—like this is how it’s supposed to be, what I’ve waited for.