Chapter 35 #3
“You happy?”
I nod, so happy that if I let myself think about it for too long, I’ll be terrified.
But the fear doesn’t stop me from swinging my legs over his as we continue to eat this childish comfort food.
His gaze is so intent, my heart pounds like it will explode if I don’t look away, and still—I can’t.
“I wish this was going to be easier,” I say in a small voice.
“But Gil, I can’t leave her— because I know how that goes.
No more stopping by her place after work or our Saturday morning coffee dates.
” I’ll see Grams every weekend, then every other, then once a month—holidays.
I know how it works because I’ve seen what happens to the residents when family moves away.
I don’t want to exist in sometimes-visits, phone calls, and letters. For Grams, I need to be more than a maybe-when-I-have-time. I want to be an every day.
“I know, darlin’.” His voice is sad but no less determined. “I can stay—”
“Gators aren’t covered by many pet deposits—and by many, I mean any.”
“How much money would you need monthly for your grams to keep staying here?” he asks, his persona shifting into work-Gil, and I can practically see the spreadsheets and numbers floating in front of his eyes.
And I’ll admit—it’s pretty hot.
“The check she wrote should cover…” I let out a sigh. “A few months in this place.”
“Months—with all those zeroes?” he says, letting out a low whistle. “Alright—give me a number, and I’ll make it happen.”
But we can’t, he can’t, and that’s too much…
“I don’t know—and I can’t ask you—”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” he says, “and an offer doesn’t mean you have to say yes… but there’d be no strings. I can promise you that.”
My face warms. One thing I’ve learned is Gil is good at keeping his promises.
I think—I know I’m in love with him, and the most terrifying thing is he feels the same way. Not only has he told me, but I can feel it in the way he wraps his arms around me so tenderly, the way his webbed fingers reach up to stroke my face, and more than anything the way he listens.
Patient, strong, and so sweet.
I want to tell him but worry the moment the words leave my lips it’ll be over. Each second we spend together, it swells in my chest, but when his yellow eyes blink at me like that, it’s a secret I can’t keep anymore.
“You look so far away,” he says, his voice quiet as his dark claws work through the tangles in my pink hair.
“Oh, thinking about how much I love you—you want ketchup?” I say, wondering if it will feel less weighty when slipped in a casual sentence. I don’t look to see how he reacts, only slip off the couch, walk to the kitchen, and open the fridge.
“You gonna act like you didn’t just say that?” I just know he’s smiling, but I don’t turn around to see it for myself. Gil walks closer to me. He tries to move to get a look at my face, but I continue to dodge.
“Offer you condiments?” I ask, and when his hand captures my waist, a giddy laugh rushes up from my lungs as I face him.
“Say it again,” he orders, and the smooth of his scaley forehead presses down on mine.
“Would. You. Like. Ketchup?” I tease, inches away from his lips.
“The other part,” he says. His voice is a whisper, suddenly husky in a way that makes my knees weak. “Tell me.”
“I was thinking about how much I love you,” I repeat the whole sentence. While looking into his eyes, there’s no laughing now, only an intensity as the two of us stare. Heat pools in my lower stomach the longer we look, and in tandem, our lips rise into smiles.
“And I love you,” he whispers against my lips. “I would have waited a lifetime to hear those words.”
“You have my whole heart.” My fingertips fall onto his chest, and he holds them steady, his palm flat as he guides me to his heart.
“I won’t break it,” he says, the sentence so tender, splaying his own hand out so it covers mine, and I wonder if he can feel how fast my heart is beating.
“But you could,” I say, snuggling into his arms. “Or I could break yours…”
“It’s worth the risk,” he says softly, and I nod because nothing has ever felt so right.
“I love you, Gil,” I say, willing myself to be bold and not shy away from his gaze.
“I love you, Marina,” he says, smoothing out my hair. “My sweet, beautiful Marina.”
His webbed hand finds the small of my back, and I moan, clutching his shoulder. There’s a coolness to his scales, which soothes the rough spots of my skin when his legs tangle in mine.
He holds me tight, pressing me against the doorway, and I wonder if we’ll make it to bed—and at the same time, I don’t care. His thigh is between my legs, and as the kiss deepens, I find myself grinding against him—what is it about Gil that makes it so hard to control myself?
“Oh darlin’,” he croons as the pad of his fingers trace along the worst places my skin has flared, “It’s been hard, hasn’t it?”
I nod, letting myself relax into his body. For two people who appear so different, we fit together like puzzle pieces.
He rubs circles around my neck, and I nuzzle into each touch.
It’s so much worse than the last time we saw each other, but he doesn’t hesitate to touch me.
His mouth is hot on mine, and our lips meet with need and hunger.
His hand trails up the inside of my shirt, and I moan, savoring the way the cool feeling of his scales soothes the rough spots of my skin.
I don’t ask if he minds the cracks and bumps—I know he doesn’t.
I groan. There’s no amount of Gil that would be enough.
The need for more—more of his touch, more of his taste, more everything, grows with each moment.
His hands continue to slide up until they cup my breasts, and I shiver against him, melting forward until the kiss breaks and my mouth finds his shoulder, kissing his scales as his webbed hands continue to explore my body.
“Hold onto me.” His voice is husky, firm—but kind in a way that makes me instantly comply, wrapping myself around him tighter.
By the way Gil chuckles in response, maybe I’m a little too eager.
There’s something undeniably inhuman about this strength—he wants this just as much as me, and it feels effortless.
“Perfect.” Gil’s voice vibrates against my ear. Heat pools in my lower stomach as I savor the sound of that word from his lips.
And that need for more intensifies with every agonizing second.
More heat.
More praise.
I’ve always been too scared to ask, to take, to want—but not with him, not ever.
Not anymore.
“Marina.” His voice is a low song that sends shivers up my spine. I moan, careful to hold diligently to him with every strong step he takes toward the bedroom, which is a bumpy ride considering I’m feeding him directions between kisses.
My fingers graze along the fins on the side of his head—they’re smooth with grooves I can’t help but stroke as he carries me to bed.
The moan he emits is so low in his chest it vibrates against me, the sound guttural and wild—like a gator deep in the swamp.
Gil tilts his head, leaning into my fingers, and I continue to touch as I trace the fins that jut out of his neck and arms and feel him shiver in response.
He’s salt and sunshine and life: everything I’ve craved, and now he’s in my grasp. He’s mine at this moment—all mine.
“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice deep, and I wonder if the light from the moon is enough for him to see that I’m blushing from head to toe.
“I’m not.” I want to argue—I try, but the words and thoughts tumble from my head the moment he leans his muscular body down, caging me to the bed.
His lips find my shoulder, then collarbone, and he peppers me in praise and kisses until his tongue is met with mine.
Between broken kisses, he says, “You are.”
And any argument I had is swiftly stolen by kisses.
We fall into the low orthopedic bed in Grams’ room—I’m struck for a moment by how wrong this is—but even more so how little I care. She’s not supposed to be back for another hour, and by then I can—fuck.
Grams is always telling me to be reckless, but probably not on her bed…
Too late.
I bump into one of the knobs, and the top of the mattress slides forward, forcing a laugh out of me as our lips and hips meet.
I love him.
I need him.
Despite the rollercoaster of the motorized orthopedic bed, our bodies join in seamless pleasure, and I clutch onto his shoulders, holding him along with my breath.
The tense urge to scratch at my neck builds with my pleasure—it’s embarrassing but persistent with every moment.
But Gil is Gil, so of course he notices. His eyes meet mine, and I wonder if he’ll tell me to stop.
But no—his claws drag across the back of my neck, satisfying the need and sending a pulse of pleasure through me. I moan into him—never judged, never unwanted. I’m seen and treasured in the arms of this man, and I never want to let him go.
My tongue trails along the fins on his neck, and his throaty gasp is all the encouragement I need to keep going. Gil fumbles to get out protection as we bump yet another knob on the bed and the entire mattress starts to vibrate.
In between laughter, he slips on a condom.
Suddenly, my giggles turn to moans as Gil begins to tease me, up and down, letting me feel each and every ridge slowly and slowly, ’til we’ve melted into each other, fully and completely.
All of him. Right here—right in my arms.
“Gil—” I moan, and he drives me closer, pleasure claiming both of us in waves until we’ve fallen into the depths, trembling and weak. Gil claims me with another kiss, and with a deep moan, tenses before melting into soft bliss alongside me.
In this room, in this bed, together again. Finally. We’re quiet for a while—breathing heavily as my head drops onto his chest, and I relax into the feeling of his claws.
I lean forward, planting a kiss on his lips, when light from the hallway creaks into the room.
“Mari, why is your bra—Oh!” Grams’ voice breaks into the room, and I scream, throwing the blanket over Gil as I stare at her.
She is standing in the doorway to her bedroom with the bra that was cast aside in the living room swinging from her hands.
We should explain.
I should explain.
Then Clawrece wiggles her way past Grams’ legs and hops onto the bed, taking this all as an invitation to a cuddle puddle—
“Oh my god!”
“Oh my god!” I echo back while Gil shouts muffled apologies from under the blanket, but his webbed hands are on full display, and there’s already a gator in the middle of the bed. I don’t think much is going to save this situation.
“You two!” Grams says with more authority than I’ve ever heard in my life. “Dressed. Living room. Now.”
Grams is usually forgiving. Someone who’s easy to get along with and understands little snags in a plan.
But as far as first impressions go, I’m worried there will be no coming back from this.