Chapter 60 #3
My fingertips dug into the soft skin of her waist, anchoring her to me as I began a slow, undulating movement that had her writhing against the leather.
I played with her limits, stopping the motion every time her moans became too loud, waiting for her to settle just so I could unravel her again.
I massaged her clitoris with a light, agonizing touch, watching the involuntary contractions ripple through her thighs.
When I finally released her waist, the vivid red marks of my grip stood out against her pale skin—a brand of my return.
I dropped to a crouch between her knees, pulling her closer until she was at the very edge of the chair.
"Oh, fuck... I missed this so much," I rasped, looking up at her. "You’re going to come in my mouth, do you hear me? And then I’m going to put you on all fours and mark every inch of that ass. Is that understood, beautiful?"
"Damn..." she whispered, her head falling back as my tongue finally made contact.
I circled her, savoring every part of her, my hands squeezing her thighs with a bruising intensity.
My licks were slow and deliberate, moving from the entrance of her heat to the very center of her pleasure.
She gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles turned white, her whole body trembling under the onslaught.
When I felt her reaching the precipice, I slid two fingers deep inside her and forced her to look at me.
The penetration was hard, fast, and unrelenting.
Megan’s eyes squeezed shut, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to keep from screaming.
I brought my face inches from hers, watching the mask of the Justice slip away entirely to reveal the raw, beautiful hunger of my Kitty.
"Come for me. Come now, Kitty!" I commanded.
Saturday morning arrived with the scent of French lavender—a sensory anchor that told me this wasn't another dream born of deprivation. I turned on my side, watching Megan sleep. Her expression was peaceful, a stark contrast to the rigid mask she’d worn during the hearings.
I pressed a few soft kisses to her cheek until a slow, sleepy smile transformed her face.
"Good morning, Kitty," I whispered.
"Good morning, Kels..." Her voice was a honeyed rasp, thick with sleep. "I don’t think I want to move today. The housekeeper is in the living room; you can let her know if you’re staying."
"Is that even a question? I’m staying with you until we leave for the island."
She opened one eye, looking at me with a mixture of surprise and hope. "Weren't you leaving for China in two days?"
"I sent Richard. He’s better suited for the cold, and I’m better suited for this." I ran my hand down her arm, grounding myself in her presence. "I’m staying the week. Can I occupy this bed for a few more days, Mrs. Woods?"
"It would be my absolute pleasure to have you here, Mrs. Calama."
I laughed, the sound light and unburdened. "Speaking of 'Ma'am,' where exactly is your husband? This apartment is a labyrinth."
Megan rolled onto her back, a playful glint in her eyes. "Don lives next door. The penthouse was designed as two independent homes connected by the social floor downstairs. If anyone walks in, they see one massive, unified residence. But in reality, we each have our own world."
"So you live parallel lives."
"Exactly. We only cross paths when the script requires it."
It was the perfect deception, a masterpiece of D.C.
camouflage. I kissed her, a slow, lingering seal on our new arrangement, before carrying her to the bath.
As I walked back into the bedroom to clear the "battlefield" of the previous night, I realized that for the first time since this madness began, we weren't just surviving. We were finally home.
The week in D.C. had been a quiet revelation—a domestic rhythm we hadn't known we were capable of. While Megan organized her new chambers, I worked from her office, our lives finally beginning to mesh. I traveled when necessary, but I always returned to the same sight: Megan, waiting for me.
Six months later, we finally made it to Cozumel.
The flight was a seamless transition from the grey marble of Washington to the turquoise expanse of the islands. On our first morning, I found myself in the exact spot I’d envisioned for years. I was lounging on the deck, watching Megan sleep on the chair beside me.
She was lying face down, her skin glowing under the tropical sun, naked and relaxed after we’d spent the morning losing ourselves in the pool.
The world was silent, perfect, and ours.
Then, my phone vibrated. Once. Twice. Three times. I saw Vanessa’s name on the screen and answered, expecting a logistical update or a joke about the honeymoon phase. Instead, I was met with a wall of sound, a jagged, hysterical sobbing that made it impossible to understand a single word.
When the meaning finally fought its way through the static of her grief, my entire world tilted. The paradise around me didn't just fade; it collapsed.
Vanessa managed to gasp out the truth: a plane accident. Total. Probably fatal. The women who were the heart of their home, the "moms" of the family Vanessa was so close to building, were gone.
I looked over at Megan. She was still breathing deeply, a faint smile on her lips as she slept, blissfully unaware that the foundations of her world had just been incinerated.
How do I tell her? How do I find the words to break the woman and tell her that her best friends are dead?