Chapter 20 Where You Go, I Go #2
Despite the heat and need that commanded me, I was not immune to the desperation in her voice or the way her eyes lost some of their heat. A game quickly turned real by the thoughts that bounced around in the chaotic mind.
My Rosamund. My Fiancé’s soon, my wife. Moreover, she was my life, my reason for existence.
I ran my hand through her hair and cursed my other useless arm. It was a special kind of hell on earth to need to touch her, and one had one working hand. I brushed my thumb over her porcelain cheek.
“Where you go, I go from now on. You are the compass I worship.” I said.
Silver glistened in her eyes, and I knew then that I would never understand what I’d done to fall into her orbit. That she chose to allow me was a feat worthy of the history books.
Her lips gave way to a smile that stole all air from my lungs, but even that gave way when she took me into her mouth, finally satisfied with her negotiations. The urge to throw my head back radiated through me with the pleasure of her mouth, but I didn’t want to miss a fucking second of this.
Her head bobbed as she took me deeper, working me with effortless ease.
My grip in her hair tightened as my spine tightened, working into a ball of energy that was as chaotic as her mouth.
God, she was beautiful and perfection incarnate, the way she used her tongue while her hand gently squeezed my shaft.
I was going to lose this battle quicker than I’d have liked.
Like the demon she was, she knew and picked up her pace. A moan broke from my mouth against my will. I shouldn’t let her finish me off like this. I should make her stop and throw her against the bed, finishing inside her warmth.
Clearly, she could sense my internal battle because she groaned around my cock, sending all thoughts of anything except her mouth from my mind.
“Rosamund,” I begged, pleaded, worshiped.
She moaned once more, and this time she released my shaft in order to take me deeper.
She was brilliant, intoxicating. That pulsating pleasure unraveled, and without any more warning, my body gave way to her ministrations.
Power erupted along my spine as my cock stretched with release.
Everything I gave, Rose swallowed down like she was marooned on an island and I was the first drink of water in a week.
Despite my need to hold her gaze and memorize every second, my vision blurred, as if I were seeing the heavens themselves. I swear I praised her name, but it might have been incoherent ramblings for all I knew.
For just a moment, one tiny sliver of time, I was weightless. Devoid of damage or even purpose.
I was simply hers.
My grip in her hair tightened a fraction as she pulled away, and a rush of something dark ran through me. Fear. Like if she moved even an inch from her, I would lose her again. Did it matter if it was a symptom of obsession if I didn’t care anymore?
Refusing to release my hold on her, I watched as she stood, stepping into me and licking those swollen, perfect lips.
There was nothing in the world that compared to her.
No siren or mermaid that could even come close to her chaotic beauty.
I’d kneel at her feet every damn day just for the chance to look at her.
“When you look at me like that, I feel like I might die,” she confessed.
Stepping into her, I cupped her cheek while she leaned into the touch, sighing contentedly. Her eyelids fluttered before she shut them and breathed in a deep breath, like she was savoring the moment.
“I would follow you into Davy Jones’ locker or hell and drag you back to the living,” I said, voice raspier than normal.
The truth was, this feeling that was breaking through my chest wall was foreign and terrifying. Facing a kraken would have been preferable to this. At least I could fight back, but this pain was a tsunami and all-encompassing. I was helpless against it, against her.
Green eyes like the forests of the north opened, and she was ferocity itself. Steely reserve in the set of her jaw. She was magnificent.
“I know you are ridiculous and think you aren’t capable of love, but you are wrong.
You loved Billy. You love your ship and your crew.
You want people to think you are cruel and like him, but I see you, Edward, you are good and kind.
Whatever you inherited from him was lost beneath what your mother and Billy gave you.
I don’t care that you can’t say it back because you refuse to acknowledge who you are— I am not going to stop telling you how I feel.
I love you. I love you, and I have done terrible things to be able to tell you that.
I would do them all again and more if it meant being able to tell you one more time.
You are mine, and even if you never say it back, even if I die without hearing you say—”
“I love you.”
They came out as a rasping whisper barely audible, but they ripped through my chest and demanded to exist in the same world she did.
If I allowed it, I could convince myself I was back in Newgate, delirious with dehydration and malnutrition, imagining all of this.
As was her nature, Rosamund Bailey would not allow it.
Silver glittered at the bottom of her eyes, and her chest rose with a shaky breath that threatened to break the heart I’d only just grown.
Gripping my hand in hers, she stepped backwards toward the single bed at the center.
Once she was seated at the edge, she released me and slowly began undoing the clasp of her cloak.
It fell around her like midnight silk. Captivated within the pull of her orbit, I stood transfixed while she slowly undid the buttons of her blouse before pulling it over her head.
My hand itched to touch her, but I was hers to command.
Even when my body lurched and rolled with need as she rid herself of the rest of her clothes, I waited. Denied myself the pleasure of her touch. Despite having just come, my cock was hard and eager to be embedded inside her.
I grit my teeth together, forcing down the need to possess her.
I loved her wholeheartedly and unequivocally.
Maybe I would never banish the dark parts of me that were made of the man I hated, but I would spend the rest of my life striving to be worthy of the sacrifice and love she bestowed upon me.
This was the first step. Letting her lead. Letting her dictate how much I took.
“Shirt off, Captain,” she said, voice quivering despite the command.
I did as requested, even though it took longer than it should have, given that the shirt caught on my wooden arm and refused to give way.
I pulled and grunted out a curse, hating what I’d become.
Most men would have been grateful it was just an arm and not the life that I lost, but I wasn’t most men.
I was a sailor. Life at sea was a two-armed sort of job, and where I once would have boasted being strong and capable, I was reduced to fighting with a goddamn shirt.
“Let me,” she ordered.
God, I wanted to pull away. Wanted to tell her that this was over. Leopards didn’t change their spots, and not two minutes into my attempt at decency, I’d failed. She leaned into me and pressed a gentle kiss over my heart that felt like it would burst through my chest at any moment.
When she lifted her eyes to mine, more silver glinted, making her green eyes sparkle.
“Let me,” she said, gently.
I nodded my head and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking this silent tenet between us.
My throat clogged with emotion that I hated with every fiber of my being as she worked the shirt over and let it hit the ground.
Fist clenched at my side, I stared at the pale paint-peeled wall over her shoulder as she unclasped the fabric around my neck.
The sharp metallic bite of blood coated my tongue as I drew blood while she gently removed the prosthetic and took in what was left of my arm.
Her touch was light and gentle as she traced the ruined skin. I was too weak to watch her while she did it. If I saw the disgust I expected to be there, it would destroy me.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
I pursed my lips and shook my head, not trusting my voice to work as it should. She ran her hands over the rough skin before skating them up my arm and over my shoulders.
“Look at me,” she demanded.
I’d done a lot of difficult things in my life.
Fought sea monsters, killed, stole, lost, but none of it compared to what it cost me to force my eyes to hers in that moment.
If I could banish the tear that slipped from the corner of her right eye, I would have, but at the end of the day, I wasn’t a god, just a man.
There was no getting over the lump inside my throat that prevented words from forming. Not that anything I could say would make it better.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save your arm, but I’m not sorry that it meant you would live. It doesn’t change that I love you; it doesn’t change how devastatingly handsome you are. It doesn’t change how much I want you,” she said.
“I’m half of what I was. I can’t hold you the way you deserve to be held. Touch you the way you deserve to be touched.” I barely recognized my own voice, quiet and broken.
She slid into the crook of my broken arm and lifted my hand to her cheek, pressing into it.
“I decide what I deserve. Not you.”
Pride warred with self-loathing. A year ago, she wouldn’t have spoken those words with an ounce of confidence. Even though emotion coursed like a river over her beautiful face, she didn’t doubt herself or the words she chose.
“I guess I wasn’t there after all,” I said, running my thumb over her cheek.
Her eyebrows pulled in, furrowing. “What?”
“In Brazil, I said that I hoped I’d be there when you found yourself, but it seems I missed it,” I said.
She sucked in a breath, lip quivering beneath it. I realized then that one year with her, ten years, thirty, no matter the count, she would always be the most fascinating and intoxicating woman I’d ever know.
Pulling at my hand, she guided me to the bed and stood in front of me, command clear. I sat down, bed squeaking with my weight. Gently, she pushed at my shoulders, and a small chuckle broke through me.
“So bossy,” I said.
The woman had the audacity to wink at me as she climbed above me.
I licked my dry lips as she lowered herself over me, my hand gripping her waist. Bracing her hand over my chest, she dropped onto my cock with aching slowness, throwing her head back as she did.
God, she was everything. More than that, she was mine.
Her warmth slid over me and seas, I fit inside her like she was made for me. If there was a God or a slew of them, it didn’t matter, because they’d made her for me and I for her. I’d pray in thanks every fucking day for it.
“Rosamund,” her name was honey on my lips, the purest sound I knew.
“Say it again,” she panted, riding me harder.
I knew her better than I knew anyone or anything else. There was no doubt about what she was asking me for.
“I love you,” I said in worship.
Her moan was a symphony rising and filling my chest with its sweet music. I’d spend the rest of my life coaxing that sound out of her. Pleasure built once more. Chaotic energy that was a product of her.
“Again,” she said.
Mouth open, hair wild from my touch, eyes sparkling, she was a sight to behold. If I didn’t have to cut out the eyes of the painter who rendered it, I would have commissioned this moment. Instead, I’d have to memorize it.
“I love you, Rosamund Bailey, you are mine,” I promised.
A whimper broke from her, and her pace grew frantic, desperate. Without warning, she dropped her mouth to mine, and god, I wasn’t ready for the taste of her. The way her tongue flew into mine, hungry, claiming. Without saying a word, she was screaming, mine, mine, mine.
I met her with equal claim, refusing to allow her a moment’s respite from the knowledge that she belonged to me just as much as I to her.
She tasted of cherry and wine, sweet and addictive.
Grinding my hips against her, she cried out into my mouth, but it was mine for the taking.
I swallowed it whole and lifted into her hard enough to see stars.
She pulled back, but I held her with my hand around the back of her neck. I wanted to see her break. To fall over the cavern of our making when the words hit her.
Her eyes pleaded with me, begging me for the release she danced over. The only one I could give her.
“I love you,” I said.
Her pupils dilated as she clenched around me, falling with the sound of my name on her lips.
She was stunning when she came. It was in the way her mouth fell open and her cheeks flushed, the uptilt of her nose.
She was everything, and before I knew it, I was falling with her, pleasure erupting throughout me like the stars at midnight.
When we landed together, she collapsed into my arm and fought to catch her breath while my own chest, slick with sweat, heaved. I wrapped my arm around her and pressed a kiss to her forehead. I was a man lost and found.
Wherever she went, I’d be beside her.
She was mine, but more than that, I was hers.
For better or for worse.