35. “Burn” - Ellie Goulding
“Burn” - Ellie Goulding
There’s a quote by Charles Dickens: “The broken heart. You think you will die, but you just keep living, day after terrible day.”
It’s been seven days since Henry left. An entire week.
Adelaide said if they come back, they’re yours. But what’s the time frame on something like that? Is there some kind of deadline? Are they officially marked “never yours” once a hundred days pass without their return? Two hundred? Five years?
Everyone knows that the first few days are crucial in a missing person’s case. After that, clues start to dry up and hope starts to disintegrate. You tell yourself to get used to what may be your new normal.
The days are starting to pass in a blur, each bleeding right into the next like watercolors on a page.
I get up and go to my office or whatever event is scheduled.
I do my best to smile for any cameras that might be there, but I don’t worry about whether they’re getting the shots that will help my image the most.
I just don’t care anymore.
After I’ve made it through the day, I either face a full table of dignitaries and other select guests or I face dinner alone. I haven’t yet decided which is worse. I force myself to eat because I know it’s important, not because I have an appetite.
I take a shower to clear my head and wash the day off before going to bed and starting the whole day over again.
Which is what I’m doing now when the bathroom door opens. A strangled shriek flies out of my mouth, and I move to cover myself. Through the fogged glass of the shower stall, I can make out a figure moving through the space. Innately I know who it is, but my muscles are locked into place.
Henry steps over my pile of discarded clothes until he’s past the glass partition. I’m not sure if I would rather launch myself at him or pummel his chest with my fists.
He doesn’t smile, doesn’t say anything, just keeps his eyes locked on mine as he slowly undoes the buttons of his shirt. The seconds grow long, expanding and stretching between us. My chest heaves with every breath I take. Water sluices off me, but I don’t move out from under the spray.
When he’s finished, he shrugs the shirt off and lets it drop. I let my gaze fall from his just long enough to skirt over his bare chest, those gorgeous tattoos, and that rock-hard set of abs.
When his fingers reach for his belt, my eyes dart back to his face. He’s still expressionless, and I’m dying to know what he’s thinking, what he’s doing here, but my lips are glued together.
I jerk as his buckle hits the tile floor. His hands move to his zipper, and nothing could stop me from watching this. He slides his pants off, letting them puddle around his ankles, revealing muscled thighs that make mine suddenly weak.
He strips off the boxer briefs he’s wearing and tosses them aside. A tiny gasp slips past my lips as he steps into the shower.
I don’t dare move for fear this apparition will disappear. Is this what happens when you’re left alone with grief? You start seeing things? I’m dying to know how real it will feel if he tries to kiss me.
I don’t have to wait long. He grabs my wrist and jerks me toward him. It feels more real than normal life, his touch searing through my wet skin. I land against his chest with a thump, and he lets out a halting exhale.
Using his body, he presses me against the cool shower wall. I suck in a jagged breath as he sandwiches me between himself and the tile, two hard and unrelenting surfaces.
He still hasn’t breathed a word. I’m glad, because I’m not sure what he would say, and I don’t want anything shattering this right now.
Grasping my jaw and tilting my face up, he presses his mouth against mine, saying things no words could express. My body floods with heat, the kind that leaves you breathless, anxiously anticipating the next dose.
His teeth skate over my lower lip, and I groan as his tongue pushes inside, which only makes him more aggressive.
Digging his fingers into my hair, he uses the leverage to move me where he wants me.
His hand closes around my throat, slowly sliding up and down my slick skin.
Then he gathers my strands into his fist and yanks my head backward.
He swallows my gasp and deepens the kiss, pressing into me even harder now that he has full control of both of us.
This whole time I’ve had my hands resting on his hips, but now I slide them around to palm his ass. He pulls back and swoops them up between his fingers, pinning them against the wall above my head. Then he wraps my wet hair in his fist again and leans in close.
His mouth hovers right above mine, warm breath brushing me as he exhales. I try to meet his lips, but he keeps a tight hold on my makeshift ponytail, preventing me from moving more than a centimeter.
“Hi,” he breathes into my mouth.
The sudden urge to sob rises in my chest. “Hi,” I say back, swallowing it down.
Then he kisses me again. Only this time, it has none of the decadence from a few seconds ago. This kiss is the desperate lunge for a lifesaver. Reaching for the last drop of antidote. Clinging to the edge of the cliff. Crawling the last foot to the doorstep of safety.
I struggle to release my hands from his grasp—I want to touch him—but he holds them firmly, like they’re nothing more than twigs. He swallows my groan of frustration and growls in response.
His body is hard and slick, the statue of David in the rain. Without breaking the kiss, he releases my jaw and slides his hand down to cup my breast. I cry out as he rolls my nipple between his thumb and finger, the sensation so powerful I nearly sink to my knees.
He keeps me upright, his body still pushing me against the wall. I ache to touch him, to slide my body down his, to take him in my mouth. He doesn’t allow any of it. The only thing I can do is feel.
And feel I do. The rollercoaster of emotion is so strong, I want to cry until there’s nothing left.
I’ve been wrung out and hung in the sun to dry.
As if he can sense my desperation, he releases my hands and slides his mouth down.
Down my neck, down my chest, down my stomach, settling on the crease between my thighs as he crouches in front of me.
I silently beg him to meet my gaze. He finally looks up, the words he hasn’t spoken clear in his eyes.
This is sorry.
I splinter into tiny little fragments as he tastes me. My body takes over and arches into him. He responds by cupping my ass and angling me toward him. He puts me back together as he licks and sucks me into white-hot pleasure.
I bury my fingers in his wet hair, urging him on with gentle tugs and small thrusts of my hips. When I know I won’t last much longer, I tug him harder and say, “More.”
He trails hot kisses up my stomach as he rises, lingering to make sure each one brands me. Grabbing my thighs, he lifts me until he’s positioned at my entrance. Right before he slides me down onto him, he stops and leans his head against my shoulder.
“Shit. I don’t have a condom, babe.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want one.”
“You sure?”
I moan and tilt my head up, eager for him to be inside me. “Yes,” I manage to get out.
With a sudden thrust, he enters me, filling me to the brim. Using his shoulders for leverage, I push up so I can feel him sliding in again, making him swear as he meets my thrusts with his own.
Our shower-slicked bodies glide together, eager for the release we both crave.
With my legs snaked around his waist and him seated deeply inside me, he lifts me up so slowly and so far I’m afraid he’s going to slip out, but right as I reach his tip, he brings me back down with sudden force.
I cry out, and he does it again, his eyes never leaving mine.
“I was a shit,” he says, yanking me down once more.
I press my forehead against his and shake my head, not sure if it’s shower water or tears blinding me.
He lifts me again, then thrusts upward as he brings me down. “I promised I’d never leave you again.” He buries his face against my neck. “I broke that promise.”
Now I know it’s tears running down my face. I curl myself over him, wanting to take him even further inside me, but he’s already as deep as he can go. “I wasn’t exactly easy to live with.”
“That’s no excuse.” He drives himself in again. “From this moment on, I’m in, one thousand percent.”
I tighten my grip on him. I appreciate what he’s saying, but my body wishes he would save the talking for later.
“You believe me?” he asks.
I nod against his shoulder.
That is all the answer he requires to finish the job he set out to do. With the next hard ram of his body against mine, I fall apart, crying out as waves of pleasure whisk me away to heaven. He follows right behind me, a deep, low growl tearing out of him and into my neck.
We stay like that until it passes, then he slowly extradites himself and lowers me to my feet. I’m surprised when they manage to hold me up.
“I meant everything I said.” He cups my face tenderly.
“I know,” I tell him.
“You deserve so much better than that.” His voice is husky with emotion.
I lay a finger across his full lips. “I’m done trying to control you. Bea. The media. Our children.”
He blinks. “Children?”
I can only nod, not trusting my feeble voice right now.
“I love you,” he says against my finger. “Forever and always.”
“Forever and always.”