Chapter 46 Spencer
FORTY-SIX
SPENCER
She said yes.
To what? I’m not sure. And I don’t care. Whatever it is, it’s a start. It’s our start.
And she’s kissing me now in a way she never has before. It’s no less passionate or urgent, but somehow, it’s more vulnerable. Like she decided to let me in.
Really let me in.
Her hair is damp in my hands, and when I pull her close to me, I feel myself already getting hard. I don’t want her to think this is what I came for, and I wonder if I should stop. Make sure. I don’t want to screw this up.
But instead, I back her against the wall, so I can press myself against her, without knocking her over.
She looks me right in the eye, holding my gaze, so serious, so somber, and then she says it.
“Je t’aime. Je t’aimerai toujours.” I love you. I will always love you.
“Rhea, God help me, I have waited so long to hear those words.”
Then I add, “Je ne connaissais pas l’amour avant toi.” I didn’t know love until you.
She pulls me back to her, her mouth on mine. I put my hands to her waist and slide them up her sides. She has no bra under her sweatshirt, and my hands are on her breasts.
I hold one in each hand, knead them, her nipples hard and irresistible. I use my fingers to flick them in unison. Then come her moans, those soft, irresistible moans of hers, as her hand finds her way to my cock and strokes me through my jeans.
She takes her mouth from mine and nibbles my ear, finally whispering, “Papa et Maman devraient aller dans la chambre.” Papa and Mama should go into the bedroom.
I laugh right out loud.
I’m a parent now. I guess the thought of taking her right there in the hallway or on the kitchen table is ill-advised.
Inside her bedroom, she scoops up a wet bath towel and what appears to be a pile of unfolded laundry and tosses it all on the floor. I chuckle again.
I even love this woman’s unfolded laundry.
She’s across the room, standing in the soft halo of lamplight, when she stops. Without a word, she pulls the sweatshirt over her head, letting it fall to the floor. Then the sweatpants.
She steps free of them and stands before me, naked and unflinching, every inch of her breathtaking. My chest aches with the sight of her.
The strength. The softness. The courage it takes to bare your body and your soul.
I stay where I am, steps away from her, and follow suit. I strip off my shirt and drop it. Then the rest. When I look up, she’s watching me with a heat that’s more than desire—it’s knowing.
It’s a kind of invitation that is a mix of pure vulnerability and trust.
She crosses to me slowly, eyes locked on mine. Then, in a whisper, low and deliberate whispers, “Rends-moi tienne… entièrement.” Make me yours… completely.
I guide her to the bed and lower her onto the sheets.
And then I begin—kissing her ankle, her calf, the soft hollow of her knee. The inside of her thigh. The place where she carried our daughter. Each of her lovely full breasts. Her heart, the place where she carries all her strength. Her neck, her ears.
I take my time. Every movement is devotion. Every touch is a vow.
When I reach her lips, I pause. “Je veux passer ma vie à te découvrir,” I whisper.
I want to spend my life discovering you.
And she responds, “Je suis à toi. Corps, c?ur et ame.” I’m yours. Body, heart, and soul.
She pulls me close, and when our mouths meet, the rest dissolves. There’s no line between surrender and salvation. Between past and future. Only this moment. This movement. This fire. This home.
Then she is rolling me onto my back, and straddling me, stroking me, placing a breast in my mouth. Sliding herself over the length of me, her warmth and her wetness bringing me right to the edge.
“Please,” I say, “Let me be inside you. Let me fill you up.”
And with that, she lowers herself onto me, bringing me deep inside her, and we are all breath and rhythm, moving as one. Back arched, her breasts in my hands. My name on her lips. Her need mingling with mine.
And just before we give in completely, she whispers, “Tout de toi. Je veux tout de toi.“ All of you. I want all of you.
Her words wrap around me, raw and sacred, as her body clenches, trembling in waves of release. The moment crashes over us—fierce, holy, unstoppable.
And as I follow her into that blinding surrender, my body answering hers with everything I am, all I can say—broken and breathless against her skin—is:
“Je suis déjà à toi.” I am already yours.
She presses her forehead to mine, covers my mouth with hers. Our breath shared. Our hearts thunder in sync.
And in the silence that follows, I know it’s not the end of longing or need.
It’s the beginning of everything.