Chapter Forty-Two #2
She closes the final distance between us. We are gentle at first, a question and an answer all at once. Her hands slide up my arms to my shoulders, drawing me closer. I can’t help but deepen the kiss. The careful control we’ve been maintaining dissolves into pure need.
The moment she straddles me, fire races through my veins. Every small movement of her hips sends shockwaves through me. I adjust to give her what she needs, my control hanging by a thread. The urge to claim her completely threatens to overwhelm me.
We kiss until we’re both breathless, until the need for air finally forces us apart.
When we finally break apart, I rest my forehead against hers. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“Same. I’ve been so busy this week, and even with the amazing success, at night in the quiet, everything felt empty, soulless,” she whispers. “Like a book with half the pages torn out.”
I laugh softly at her literary reference. Not to be outdone, I say, “For me, it was like bourbon that’s lost its spirit. All the right elements, but nothing worth bottling.”
She pulls back, a teasing glint in her eye. “Did you just compare me to liquor?”
“The highest compliment from a Blackstone,” I counter, grinning like a fool.
Her laughter fills the room. She looks around and says. “So this is where the infamous Sebastian Blackstone lives. All I’ve seen is his impressive…” Her smile turns playfully wicked. “Barn.”
I chuckle. “Would you like a tour?”
She bites her lower lip, her cheeks flushing as she looks at me through her lashes. “I’d like to see your bedroom.”
Heat rushes through me. “We don’t have to rush—”
She covers my mouth. “Sebastian. I miss you. I want you. I love you. Let’s not waste another second apart.”
I couldn’t agree more. Standing, I offer her my hand and walk toward the door to my bedroom.
Pushing open the door, she turns, looking behind her. “Well, that’s convenient. ”
“Indeed.” I turn and, in one fluid movement, scoop her up, earning a surprised laugh as I lay her on the dark green duvet. She raises onto her elbows and glances around my room. With a playful glint in her eye, she asks, “Did you read the Harry Potter books?”
“Of course.”
Her amusement bubbles into a laugh. “And were you team Slytherin?”
A hearty belly laugh erupts from me. After the divorce, I remodeled the bedroom, removing sterile colors and the minimalist design Tiffany had preferred.
And, okay, I might have gone overboard with the forest green accents alongside a dark oak bed, bookshelves, and flooring.
I was going for cozy. But with the curtains closed, the room is so dim it totally gives off a fancy-dungeon vibe.
I drop onto my side on the bed next, resting on an elbow. “Nope. Despite what this room says, I’m Ravenclaw.”
Her smile turns serious. She runs her fingers over my mouth, along my eyebrows, and then through my hair. “I’ve missed you.”
Cupping the side of her face, I kiss her softly, savoring, waiting for her to invite me in.
She does, and a surge of longing pulses through me.
The taste of her lips and the scent of her skin flood my senses.
With anyone else, I would calculate my next move, maintain perfect control.
But with Rosalia, I surrender to pure feeling, and the relief of it is staggering.
She presses my shoulder, and I roll onto my back, holding her hips, bringing her on top of me. I dig my hands into her hips, needing her as close as possible.
Rising slightly, she pulls her dress over her head in one quick movement, revealing red lace underneath, then lowers herself back down to straddle me like a goddess. I suck in a sharp breath. This woman steals my breath.
I cup her breasts, then run my hands down her sides to the lace edges of her panties. “My favorite fucking color,” I murmur.
My fingertips memorize the texture of the lace against her soft skin. Her name escapes me on a whisper.
I’ve seen her like this before, felt the weight of her above me, but tonight my chest tightens with something more than desire. The word “love” pulses between us, changing everything. It’s like seeing her for the first time all over again, but deeper, with every barrier between us finally fallen.
“Your turn,” she says, tugging on the hem of my T-shirt.
I sit, pulling the back of my shirt over my head, and tossing it aside. I kiss her until she rocks against me again. I wrap her in my arms, falling back against the covers—finally, finally home.
Rosalia slides down me, her fingertips grazing the inside of my legs. Every touch feels like a promise that this is real, that we’re really here together.
Reaching my waist, she tugs down my lounge pants, tracing her tongue along my length. My eyelids flutter closed. The heat, pressure, and perfect rhythm make my head spin. I barely manage not to thrust into her throat, my muscles lock with the effort. “Fuck—Rose—” the rest of my words fail me.
I tangle my fingers in the silky strands of her hair, gently guiding her movements, but also seeking a connection, a tangible reminder that this is real, that she’s with me. I can’t take my eyes off her. Need to see her. Need her to see me.
Before I come undone, I urge her up. When our bodies align, I look into her eyes. “I need to be as close as possible to you.”
We’ve danced this dance before, but never with everything laid bare between us. The words “I love you” echo in my mind with each pulse, each gasp, breaking something loose inside me.
She nods, her gaze mirroring my yearning. We undress each other, savoring each revealed inch. I ache to taste her, but she rolls, pulling me on top of her in a rush of heat, kisses, and hungry touches.
“You’re everything. Everything I’ve ever wanted,” I breathe the words into the curve of her neck.
Her soft sigh mixes with my moan. We move together like we were made for this, our bodies finding a perfect rhythm.
The heat between us builds slowly, each movement drawing us deeper into territory both natural and completely transformed.
Passion builds until it’s almost too much, until every nerve ending is alive with sensation .
With a shift of my hips, she cries out my name as she comes apart, and I follow her over the edge.
We collapse together, breathless and shaking. For a long moment, we simply hold each other, letting our racing hearts slow, letting the world settle back into focus around us. I brush damp strands of hair from her flushed face, taking in every detail of this moment.
When I look into her eyes, I see my future.
“That was…,” I search for the right words to describe the indescribable.
“Incredible,” she finishes, tracing patterns on my chest. “I’ve never felt this connected to someone.”
“When I’m with you, it’s like I’ve finally found my way home.” I trace the curve of her shoulder. “And the funny thing is, I never knew I was lost until I met you.”
She shifts off my chest, looking into my eyes. “I love you, Sebastian. You have all of my heart, and I promise to always protect yours.”
A surge of contentment fills me. “And I swear to do the same for yours. You are my forever,” I vow.
With her head on my chest, our breathing falls into sync. I imagine tomorrow, next week, next year. Our story won’t be perfect—real love never is—but it will be ours, messy and beautiful and true. And that’s better than perfect could ever be.