35. How It Works #3
I can see the strain in his posture, the tension in his body that is barely contained. I refuse to give him what he is asking for. “No.” My voice is soft but firm. “I won’t leave you, not here, not like this.”
He is silent for a long moment, and I think for a second he might argue, but he doesn’t. He just lets the words hang between us, the weight of his unspoken pain filling the space.
“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” he mutters finally, his tone like a plea, as though he is begging for a reprieve from the thoughts that have been eating him alive.
“You don’t have to,” I respond, my voice gentle, trying to offer him the comfort of silence. “You don’t have to say anything. We can sit here for as long as it takes.”
Another long pause stretches between us, the air heavy with everything he isn’t saying. Finally, he speaks again, his words are bare. “I don’t want you to see me like this,” he confesses, his voice low, almost breaking as he speaks.
“Like what?” I ask, my heart aching for him. I have never heard him sound so lost, so defeated.
He drops his hands from his face, only for a moment. His eyes, haunted and tired, meet the ground instead of mine. “Broken,” he whispers.
I reach out and gently touch his arm, a light, reassuring touch, to remind him that I am still here, that I haven’t gone anywhere. “You’re not broken,” my voice full of conviction. “You’re hurting, but you’re not broken.”
He lets out a bitter laugh, a sound that doesn’t carry any humor. “I don’t deserve you,” he says, his words heavy with guilt. “I’m not good. You deserve better than me.”
I squeeze his arm, my fingers pressing into his skin, grounding him. “You are good,” I say softly, my voice steady despite the angst in my chest. “You may be lost right now, but you’re good.”
For a moment, he says nothing, his eyes downcast, as if he doesn’t believe me. I see the struggle in him, the raw, aching vulnerability that he tries so desperately to hide. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he whispers to himself. The weight of everything has become too much for him to carry.
I lean in closer, pressing my forehead gently against his, trying to offer him the strength he can’t find on his own. “You don’t have to fix it. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”
He doesn’t answer, but I can feel the tension in his body starting to ease, even just a little. Maybe it isn’t much, but it is something.
And for now, that is enough.
After a long while of sitting in silence, Oberon shifts beside me, his body still tense but his presence now familiar.
Then, without warning, he turns to me, his lips curling slightly in the kind of smile I haven’t seen in far too long, a smile full of dark amusement, like he has a secret he isn’t quite ready to share.
"I promised you something before I left," he says, shifting the conversation, his voice thick with an emotion I can’t place, but laced with something teasing, something that feels almost . . . wicked.
My heart skips a beat, not out of uncertainty, but out of that familiar thrill I always feel when he speaks like that.
A promise, one I have been waiting for, even if I don’t know exactly what it is.
His eyes carry a hint of something dangerous yet playful, and I can’t help but lean forward a bit, anticipation rising.
“What promise?” I ask, eager for the answer.
His smile widens just a fraction, and there is a flicker of dark amusement in his eyes as he stands up, extending his hand toward me. “Come with me, and I'll show you.”
I don’t need to be told twice. I take his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch, a comfort after everything we have been through. The weight of his words still lingers between us, but there is something lighter now.
We move together toward our room, the silence between us now rich with the tension of unspoken things, of promises I didn’t fully understand until this moment. When the door clicks shut behind us, the world outside seems to disappear.
I can’t stop the smile that tugs at my lips. “You’re still teasing me with this promise, aren’t you?” I ask, stepping closer to him, my body responding to the sudden change in the air.
He meets my gaze, his smile darkening, as if he enjoys the way I respond to him. “I did say I had something planned for my return,” he says, his tone low, the dark amusement still evident.
I feel the heat rush to my face, but I don’t back away. Instead, I step closer, heart pounding in my chest, every fiber of my being drawn to him. “Well, let’s see you make good on it then,” I whispered, my voice trembling with anticipation.
Without another word, his hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss that is all heat and hunger. His lips are firm, demanding, but there is something gentle underneath an unspoken promise that he will never let me go. Not now. Not again.
He lifts me off the floor, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he finds a wall. My back presses against it, the cool stone contrasting with the heat of our bodies. The kiss deepens, driven by pure need and primal instinct.
I part my lips, urging him deeper.
He answers, exploring the inside of my mouth with a hunger that matches my own.
He sucks my tongue into his mouth, offering the same in return.
Our movements are a clash of teeth and passion, raw and unrelenting.
I can feel him, hard and ready, pressed against me, and the sensation sends a shiver of anticipation through my body.
I want to rip the clothes from both of us, to feel his skin against mine.
I need him everywhere.
He must read my thoughts because, in an instant, my feet find the floor again. He kneels before me, unstrapping my shoes and tossing them across the room before moving on to my pants, pulling them down with a sense of urgency.
I tear my shirt off as he kicks his own shoes away, and I fight with his shirt as he hurries to unfasten his pants. It is rushed and intense, and in mere moments, we are both bare. Exactly how I want us to be.
He lifts me again, moving to the table. My bare skin hits the hard surface as his fingers find my slick fold, wet and ready for him.
He lets out a low growl of satisfaction and starts thrusting his hands with a rhythm that sends waves of ecstasy over me. I arch my back and gasp at the pleasure, rolling my hips in sync.