12. - – Amelia
CHAPTER TWELVE
-
AMELIA
The scandal breaks in late October, a week before the elections. Preston's face plasters every news channel and his corruption spills across every headline. Campaign fraud. Illegal surveillance. Financial ties to organizations that make reporters stumble over their words.
Christian watches the news from the kitchen, coffee mug in his hand. He doesn't react when my father's name begins to surface two days later. Theodore Whitmore, Alabama's disgraced governor, the affair, the payoffs. It's all exposed.
"Did you do this?"
Christian meets my eyes, "yes."
I should ask how, but instead, I kiss him.
The lake house has changed too. I painted the kitchen walls the sage green color my mother loved, and planted herbs in little pots that line the windows. I hung curtains in the living room and put down a matching rug.
Most of all, I've learned to exist without apology. I say no now and know it's okay to want things. I claim my space in the world now without waiting for permission.
One evening, I find Christian on the dock. The water in the lake reflecting light across his shoulders.
I wrap my arms around his waist, "You've been out here awhile."
"Thinking."
His arms instantly wrap around me.
"About what?"
"About how long you'll want this."
"This?"
"Me. Here. All of this." He waves his arm around. "You don't need me or all the bullshit that comes along with me."
I pull back just enough to see his face. "I'm not going anywhere, Christian. With you is exactly where I want to be."
I thread my fingers through his hair and whisper, "I want you."
He cups my face, his thumb tracing my jaw, guiding my mouth to his. His lips are hungry, leaving no doubt about the depth of his desire.
Christian lays me down on the weathered planks of the dock.
I reach between us and fumble with the button of his jeans.
He helps with impatient hands shoving his jeans down just enough to free himself.
The rough denim scrapes against my thighs as I wrap my hand around his hard length, feeling him pulse against my palm.
I stroke him once, slowly, then again, watching the way his throat works like he's swallowing down the need to take over.
In one smooth move, he flips us over, my legs falling to either side of his waist as I straddle him. One hand slides under my skirt, rough callused fingers skating over bare skin, then finding me soaked through the thin fabric of my underwear.
He groans, then hooks his fingers into the damp fabric and pushing it to the side. He slides two fingers inside, deep, curling them just right. I gasp, my hands clutching at his shoulders for balance.
He works me like that, building the pressure, then pulls his fingers out. I watch, breathless, as he brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving mine. The sight of him tasting me like that sends another wave of heat through me.
Then he's positioning himself beneath me, the broad head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I lower my body slowly, sinking down onto him inch by inch, feeling myself stretch around him, taking him deeper until he's buried inside me.
I rock my hips forward, drawing a low, moan from his throat. The stretch is perfect, too much and not enough all at once. His hands grip my waist, guiding me as I glide up and down on his cock.
I lean forward, bracing my palms against his chest, feeling the thunder of his heartbeat under my fingers. The motion changes the angle, dragging him deeper, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out. One hand snakes up my neck, his thumb gently pulling my lip from my teeth.
"No hiding, I want to hear you."
His hand slides between us, thumb circling my clit in tight, relentless strokes. My back arches, my breath coming in sharp gasps.
“Come on,” he growls. “Let me feel it.”
I cry out as the first wave hits, shaking, my body clenching around him.
He doesn’t slow down, his hips buck up into me, driving deeper with every thrust. The dock creaks beneath us, the wood rough against my knees as I move.
His hand tightens in my hair, pulling just enough to tilt my head back, exposing my throat.
“Again,” he demands.
I can’t think, can’t breathe. His cock swells inside me, the friction unbearable in the best way, and I feel another orgasm building before the first one has even faded.
He shifts us, lifting one of my legs higher, opening me wider, and suddenly he’s hitting a spot that makes my eyes roll and my mouth hang open.
I’m gasping, trembling, clutching at him like he’s the only thing holding me to this earth. “Christian.”
“Look at me,” he says.
I do. His eyes are burning into me like he’s memorizing every second.
He rolls us again in one fluid motion, pinning me beneath him on the dock, never breaking contact. His thrusts grow harder, deeper, each one driving a gasp from my lips. He braces himself over me, one hand beside my head, the other gripping the back of my thigh.
When he comes, it’s with a low groan that starts in his chest and spills into my mouth. I feel his cock pulse inside of me, hot and deep, the sensation dragging another orgasm out of me, shuddering through me in waves.
We lay there, tangled together, sweat-slick and breathless, the lake lapping gently at the dock. Christian is first to break the silence.
"You could go anywhere now. Do anything you want. You don't need to hide out here with me anymore."
"I'm not hiding."
"Then what are you doing?"
"I'm choosing you."