Chapter 20 #2
It's a library. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes. But that's not what makes my heart stutter.
There's a worktable by the massive windows, positioned for perfect natural light.
Shelves hold supplies I've only dreamed of owning. Archival-quality materials. Professional-grade tools.
Everything a book restorer could want.
"It's not finished," Adrian says behind me. "I'll have more supplies brought in. Whatever you need. Leo's setting up a secure line so clients can reach you. But I thought—" He stops. "I thought you could work here. Build something that's yours."
I turn to face him, tears streaming down my face.
"Why?"
"Because you're right. You're not a problem to manage. You're my wife. And you deserve to have something that makes you feel like yourself again."
I cross the space between us and kiss him hard.
He responds immediately, his hands sliding into my hair, angling my head for better access. The kiss turns desperate, consuming.
"Sera," he groans against my mouth. "If you don't stop, I'm going to take you right here."
"Then take me."
He pulls back just enough to look at me. "You're sure?"
"Yes." I hold his gaze. "I'm sure. I want this. I want you. Not because I have to. Because I choose to."
Something raw and hungry flashes in his eyes.
"Say it again."
"I choose you."
That breaks him.
He lifts me onto the worktable, stepping between my legs. His hands slide up my thighs, bunching the silk of my dress.
"We should go to the bedroom," he says, even as his fingers find the edge of my panties.
"I don't want to wait."
He groans. "You're going to be the death of me."
Then his mouth is on my neck, my collarbone, the swell of my breasts above the low neckline of the dress. His hands are everywhere, learning, exploring, worshipping.
He hooks his fingers into my panties and drags them down slowly.
"Lean back," he orders.
I do, bracing myself on my elbows.
He drops to his knees.
"Adrian—"
"Let me." His hands spread my thighs wider. "Let me taste you."
Then his mouth is on me, and I'm lost.
His tongue works me with devastating skill. Not rushed. Taking his time. Learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes my hands fist in his hair.
"God, you taste incredible," he groans against my sensitive flesh.
He slides two fingers inside me while his tongue focuses on my clit, and the combination destroys me.
I come with a cry, my whole body shaking. He works me through it, gentling his touch as the aftershocks roll through me.
When he stands, his eyes are dark with need.
"Bedroom," he says roughly. "Now."
He doesn't wait for an answer. Just scoops me up and carries me out of the workshop, down the hall, to our room.
The door slams shut behind us.
He sets me on my feet and reaches for the zipper of my dress. It falls to the floor in a pool of emerald silk.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes.
Then he's kissing me again, walking me backward until my legs hit the bed.
We fall together, a tangle of limbs and desperate touches.
He strips quickly, and then he's naked above me. All hard muscle and dangerous intent.
But when he looks at me, there's nothing dangerous in his expression.
Only want. And something that looks dangerously close to reverence.
"I'm going to make love to you," he says, positioning himself at my entrance. "Not fuck you. Make love to you."
He pushes inside slowly, so slowly, until he's fully seated.
We both groan.
"You feel perfect," he whispers. "Like you were made for me."
Then he's moving.
Long, deep strokes that hit every perfect spot inside me. His hands tangle in my hair, cup my face, splay across my stomach where our baby grows.
"Mine," he breathes. "My wife. My Sera."
"Yes," I gasp. "Yours."
He picks up the pace, driving into me harder, deeper. I wrap my legs around his waist, taking him even deeper.
"Touch yourself," he orders. "I want to feel you come around me."
I slide my hand between our bodies, finding my clit. The added sensation makes me cry out.
"That's it, baby. Just like that."
The orgasm builds fast and hard. I clench around him, and he groans, his rhythm faltering.
"Fuck—Sera—I can't—"
"Come inside me," I urge. "Fill me up."
He buries himself deep and comes with a shout, pulsing inside me. His whole body shudders, and I hold him through it, stroking his back, his hair, whispering his name.
When it's over, he collapses beside me, pulling me against his chest. His heart pounds beneath my ear.
We lie there in silence, catching our breath.
"Sera?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you."
"For what?"
"For giving me a chance." His arm tightens around me. "For choosing me."
I tilt my head up to look at him.
"Thank you for trying."
He kisses my forehead. Soft. Tender.
"I'm going to keep trying. Every day. I promise."
I close my eyes, listening to his heartbeat slow, feeling his warmth surround me.
Tomorrow, reality will come crashing back. Gabe will still be out there. The danger will still be real.
But tonight, wrapped in my husband's arms, with my tools waiting in my new workshop and a vintage Winnie the Pooh book that says I see you, I let myself believe.
Maybe this could work.
Maybe.