Chapter 32
CHAPTER 32
CALLIOPE
A groan slips out of me before I’m fully awake, driven by the deep ache that’s devouring my body. The bed next to me dips, and Arlow’s concerned face comes into focus as I blink away the grittiness.
“Hey, how do you feel?” His soft voice wraps around me.
“Like I was strangled in the woods.”
“You aren’t funny.” He brushes my hair back, gazing down at me.
“Sorry. I’m sore, but I’m okay.” It’s a bit of an understatement. I’m sure nothing is broken but I’m so stiff and full of pain. On top of the injuries from the attack, I’m not used to hours of shoveling heavy dirt.
Arlow lays a large hand on my back, supporting me as I sit up with a wince. I reach up to touch my cheek under my eye where Carl’s fist landed. It’s tender but not terribly painful. A spot on the back of my head is sore, but there’s no bump like last night.
“What time is it?” I ask. The dim light coming through the windows makes it look like it’s late in the evening, but surely I haven’t slept all day.
“Just past three.” A sudden wind howls, whipping ice against the house with a thousand little ticks, and the lights flicker for a moment. “It’s been storming for a while.”
Damn, I slept almost eleven hours straight. Not even alcohol and weed knock me out like that. Trying not to die then burying a body is tiring. The reality of what we did last night slams into me. “Is everything okay? Did Lee…you know…has anyone been here...our clothes, we have to?—”
Arlow stops my panicked words by palming my face. “Everything is fine. I burned the clothes. No one has been here, and no one will be able to come for days with the storm. I talked to Lee. He did what he promised. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure we can trust him? How did he know what to do so quickly?” I’m not giving him a chance to answer one question before I fire off another but it’s terrifying that there’s someone who knows what we’ve done.
“Yes, we can trust him. His past isn’t mine to share or discuss, but I promise you he’s a safe person. He understands that sometimes you have to do things yourself.” Amusement seeps into his tone. “I think he was as proud as I was at your plan to shove him off the cliff.”
The heavy feeling on my chest lifts for the first time since I found my cabin ransacked. “We’re safe.”
He nods and plants a gentle kiss on my lips. “We’re safe.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“A good eight hours that went by in a blink.”
I link my arms around his neck. “How are you doing with…everything?”
A small smile accompanies his response. “I’m good.”
For a long moment, I only look into those soft brown eyes, trying to find the right words. What do you say when the sweetest, most peaceful, kindhearted man in the world kills for you?
A man who once captured a bug in the bathroom to set it free instead of squashing it, who was broken hearted at the death of his bees, who has never shown an ounce of aggression in any situation, just shot a man while he begged for his life. Then buried the body on his property. All to protect me.
The sobs well up from so deep inside that my entire body shakes as I choke out the words. “Thank you.”
“Oh sweetheart,” he rasps, pulling me gently into his arms. “Don’t. You don’t have anything to thank me for, or to feel bad about. He was fucking with both of us and he was never going to stop. I did what I had to do.” He pulls back and wipes the tears from my face. “ We did what we had to do. I have no regrets, understand?”
My emotions are all over the place, but I nod. “I’m glad he’s dead. It’s over.”
He holds me for another minute until we both compose ourselves, then asks, “Are you hungry?”
The question makes me chuckle because how can life just go on normally after such an eventful night? “Starving.”
“Good. Let’s go eat. We’ll watch the storm updates and see how long you’re going to be trapped with me,” he teases.
“Forever wouldn’t be long enough.”
The genuine smile that rises on his lips assures me everything is going to be okay. Not only with what we’ve done, but between us. He meant what he said last night in the heat of such an emotional moment. For what it’s worth, you’ve got me.
He’s ready to let me love him.
The next week passes in a blur. The sky dumps ice and snow on us—living up to the shutdown storm prediction. We lose power for a couple of days, but it doesn’t matter. Curling up together in front of the fire is all either of us wants to do. My aches and pains slowly improve. Arlow fusses over me constantly, trying to make me comfortable, making sure I eat, drink, and rest. We don’t talk a lot, and not at all about everything we’ve just been through.
We’ve always been comfortable with silence between us. Our actions speak for us while we sort through our own thoughts and come to terms with what we’ve done. His hand always finds its way into mine. I scratch at his scalp the way he likes, and he runs his fingers lightly up and down my arm. We can’t pass one another without some kind of reassuring caress or touch. If we’re sitting in the living room or lying in his bed, we’re wrapped around one another. The constant affection is healing in a way I can’t begin to explain.
There’s no more need for a security guard or anything like that. I let my private investigator know that he doesn’t need to look for Carl after all. He doesn’t ask why, and I don’t elaborate.
After the first week, my face is completely healed—good thing it was only a glancing blow—and the marks on my neck have faded considerably. A little makeup will cover them easily now when we’re ready to venture out again. We still have over a foot of snow on the ground, and plenty of ice under it, but the roads have been cleared. My plan to ask Arlow if he’d like to go with me to trade in my library books and pick up some snacks is stopped short when I spot him on the couch.
He’s absorbed in the book he’s reading, giving me an opportunity to drink him in without his notice. Dressed in jeans and a dark gray sweater, he sits with his long legs outstretched, his feet propped on the edge of the coffee table. The sunlight from the nearby window illuminates his white lashes and emphasizes the pale patch of skin on that side of his face. He’s so handsome.
He raises his eyebrow when he catches me. “What’s that look for?”
“What look?”
His book is set aside as I walk toward him. “You’re staring.”
I straddle his lap, and his hands land on my hips. “You’re gorgeous. I can’t help it.”
That sweet flustered smile never gets less adorable. I love catching him off guard with praise or a compliment just to see it surface. He presses a soft kiss on my jaw, keeping his lips there as he murmurs, “Are you trying to start something with me, beautiful?”
“That obvious, huh?” I run my hands over his chest. “Blame the sweater. It does something to me.”
His lips crease in amusement as he pulls back to look at me. “The sweater?”
“Mm hmm. It makes you look so soft.”
His hands travel around, cupping my ass. “And here I thought you liked me better hard.”
“I like every part of you.”
He leans to feather his lips over my neck. “You aren’t healed. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I assure him, running my hand under his sweater to feel his warm skin. “I feel fine.” I flex my hips, shamelessly rubbing against the growing crotch of his jeans. “Except for this ache for you. I need you inside me again.”
“Jesus, Calliope,” he growls. Sitting up, he suddenly tosses the throw pillows from the couch down to the rug in front of the fireplace. I pull his sweater off, and he removes my shirt. His hand gently kneads my breast as he kisses me, and I unbutton his jeans.
When I scoot back to kneel on the floor with the intention of blowing him, he shakes his head. “Not this time.” He grabs my hand and rises to lead me over to the pile of pillows in front of the low burning fire then slides my leggings and panties off. “Lie back.”
No arguments here. The rug is plush under my bare body and my mouth dries as I look up at him. Shirtless, his jeans unfastened to show the waistband of his boxer briefs, he slowly drags his gaze over me, up and down, making a blush warm my cheeks. He doesn’t say anything until he’s stripped off the rest of his clothes and crawled over me.
His lips brush my skin just below my navel. “Calliope.” God, how his deep smooth voice caresses my name. I never want to hear anyone else speak it again. Only him. He drops hot kisses up my stomach, over my breasts to my neck as he continues, “My gorgeous muse.”
When his tongue slips between my lips, my hum of pleasure is involuntary. My hands wander through his hair, over his back, everywhere I can reach. He takes his time, caressing and kissing my body until I’m desperate for him. My head falls back when he slides one finger inside me to stroke over the spot that sends fire crawling over my skin.
“Oh, please.” I turn toward him, and he rolls onto his side so we’re facing one another. I hook my leg over his and he looks me in the eye as he eases his cock in deep. His large hand rests on my ass, gently urging me toward him as we move together. This time is different. It feels so intimate and emotional. There’s no dirty talk between us. No frantic movements.
Every stroke is deliberate, drawn out, unhurried. The world fades as I succumb to him, to the warmth and comfort our bodies create together. His gentle touches, the way he keeps coming back to search my face. He isn’t fucking me, he’s loving me.
His slow, deep thrusts and passionate kisses overwhelm me. “Arlow,” I whimper.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. His words fade into the distance as the slow, pulsing pleasure rolls through me, the intensity growing until I feel like I could happily die from it.
Both sated, we cuddle together in front of the fire, trading an occasional soft touch or kiss. I run my finger over his brow, through the white stripe of hair.
“Is your vitiligo because of the Marfan Syndrome? Does it come with it?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not related. I lost the DNA lottery twice.”
“No. I love it.” He closes his eyes as I brush my fingertip over the ivory lashes. “They’re beautiful. Like delicate feathers. Fairy lashes.” I get a flash of his sheepish smile before he forces a frown and shakes his head. “Sorry, I meant big, tough masculine lashes.” His chest rattles with a chuckle that I can feel as I press my lips to the scar. “You’re perfect.”
His Adam’s apple bobs on a hard swallow, and he looks down at me, running his hand through my hair. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
My answer is caught in my throat as I gaze at him. What a tragedy it would’ve been for him to never allow himself to be loved again when he loves so much. His friends, nature, art. And me. He hemorrhages love. “I don’t know,” I tease. “I might need to hear more about it.”
He rolls toward me and scoots down until we’re face to face. “You’re so sweet and funny and beautiful, but it’s more than that. I’ve always been a solitary person. People don’t come easy to me. They never have. But you…” He brushes his fingers down my cheek. “Loving you came as easy as nightfall.”
A lump grows in my throat. “Okay, stop, you’re going to make me cry.” His soft lips land on mine for a brief moment, and we cuddle close again. After another minute or two, I break the silence with a silly question. “Would you love me if I was a worm, though?”
His instant answer makes me giggle. “Absolutely. I’d get you a nice big flowerpot full of nutrient rich soil.”
“That’s true unconditional love. I’m touched.”
“What about you? Would you love me if I…” He pauses, giving it a moment of thought. “Turned into a vampire?”
“I’d put out the sun for you and thrive in darkness by your side.”
“Good, that’s all I’m asking for, really.”
“If vampires drink human blood, aren’t they just cannibals with extra steps?”
His laughter rolls over me. “Says the girl who bites.”
“Yeah, I should probably stop that.”
“You’d better fucking never.”