Chapter 29 #2
“Dean?” Leo appears on the screen, and his piratical grin suggests that he hasn’t been worried, and he knew all along that the treatment would work and he’s simply been proven right, though I know for a fact that none of this is true.
Many times he and I stayed up talking late into the night, sharing our hopes for him, worrying whether or not he was OK and getting any sleep. “Girls!”
Sadie and Em squeeze into the frame, and it’s a tight fit for all four of them, but they make it work.
I watch Dean grin at them as he pulls me closer, answering their flurry of questions.
Em wants to know how he’s feeling; Sadie can’t get over how good he looks.
Everyone gets to speak with him, and love pours back and forth between the screens in a way that makes me grateful to be a part of this group, this family.
The fierceness with which they love is uncomplicated, sincere, and complete.
Can’t wait to see you all, he says, and I can feel how much he means it. And I know that if he didn’t love me so much, he’d be with them this very second. It’s humbling to be his priority.
When I hang up the call, he puts a hand on my thigh to ask me to stay put and not move further away. I just want to be clear about something.
“Sure,” I answer, feeling a pulse of trepidation. Is this where the other shoe drops?
He takes a breath. I want to do this right with you.
And if you need some time to build trust back with me, after everything that happened, I totally understand.
We’re not in any rush, because now, I’m not going anywhere.
So don’t feel like we have to jump straight in, or that you owe me anything.
I pause, considering his words, drinking him in.
He’s got smooth, clear skin, and his body looks amazing through his t-shirt, bulkier with a hint of abs showing through.
His eyes are brighter than I’ve ever seen them, and he looks, purely and simply, healthy.
It’s as though the sun has come out after his years of darkness, and you know how that makes me feel?
It makes me feel wet .
“The second we get back home,” I say slowly, “I’m jumping you. I want you so much - ”
Thank god, he signs, and takes my lips with his.
His tongue glides against mine, and the feeling causes a pang in my heart.
I’ve missed his kisses, the way they made me feel like the most unimaginably adored creature in existence.
I’ve missed nestling in his arms, feeling the warmth of his skin close to mine.
This is so good that I’m sure I’m going to burst into flames, taking Dean, the bench, and half the pub with me.
Finish your drink and let’s get out of here , he tells me. It’s not a request.
“Yes, sir,” I say, draining my glass. I’ve hardly touched it, but we need to get back in the car and finish the journey home.
Liaden … He gives me a sad look. I’m so sorry I abused our sex life for my own ends, and used you to run away from my problems. That was really shitty of me.
“I forgave you a long time ago,” I tell him honestly.
And that’s terrific of you, but I need to actually tell you I’m sorry. And that I’ve done the work in therapy, and I swear to you, here and now, that whenever I fuck you going forward, it’s going to be about you, us, and how much I fucking love you. Because I do. I love you more than anything.
“Get in the car,” I choke out.
We’re on each other before my front door even closes behind us.
But it’s not a fast and furious flurry the way it was before.
This time, he’s savouring me. There’s reverence I wasn’t expecting in the way he wraps me in his arms, holding me tightly as we kiss on and on, the fire escalating until I’m breathless.
He’s not devouring me; he’s tasting everything that is me and letting the different flavours fill his senses, apparently content just to do this indefinitely.
Eventually, I can’t stand it any longer.
Moaning and whimpering with insistent need, I pull him into my bedroom until I’m sat on my bed.
He’s standing before me, the way I’ve longed for ever since I was driven away from him at Hazelwood Hills.
I look up at him, leaning my face into his hand as I fumble with his belt.
He catches my hands and kneels before me, placing them on the mattress with a commanding look.
Message received: I’m not to move them from this spot until he wants me to.
A glow of anticipation spreads through my abdomen, and burns brighter still when his hands move to take my sandals off.
He smiles and runs his thumb over the purple nail varnish on my toes, before his gaze returns to mine.
My breath catches when he lifts my left foot, running soft kisses along my ankle bone, the arch of my foot, and up my shinbone, before repeating the same process with my right leg.
Parting them to allow him to hold me closer, he kisses me as he lifts the skirt of my dress, stroking his tongue slowly over mine as he pulls down the zip at the back.
The fabric slips down my body, tickling my already sensitised skin, and with a lift of my hips, it’s discarded on the floor, leaving me in just my pink lace knickers.
I treated myself to some Agent Provocateur, and I have no regrets when he calmly rips the side seams, looking me in the eye the entire time.
“No fair,” I protest lightly, “you’re still fully clothed.”
He shakes his head, looking me up and down until I feel his look like a light but confident touch all over my body.
Eventually, he dips his head and runs more kisses and soft bites along my knicker line, going methodically from left to right, moving up until he’s caught both my wrists in just one of his hands, holding them down above my head as he grazes his teeth over first one nipple, then another.
My back arches. I’m completely beside myself with a powerful yearning to feel him filling me, making the lonely, aching void inside me whole and complete again. But I know that’s not what he’s going to do, not yet.
He’s atoning .
He’s making love to me slowly, perhaps to prove that he can, that he’s over his need to lose himself in me and can appreciate each moment, each touch of his lips on my skin. And perhaps to apologise to me, as well.
He needn’t.
I open my mouth to tell him so, to beg him to get naked and slam into me as hard as he can, but before I do, he slides down my body and grips my thighs, locking his mouth onto the core of me.
His tongue swirls, tastes, and tortures me all at once, and I can’t help crying out.
I can feel how wet I am for him after his tender ministrations, and I can tell by the way he flattens his hand on my belly, holding me down, that he’s in heaven right now.
It takes practically no time for me to climax all over his mouth, screaming out my pleasure until I’m sobbing, the tears falling down the side of my face onto my bed spread.
The dam has broken, and I find myself clinging to him as he shifts up to hold me, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt and letting go.
I was so afraid this would never happen. Deep inside my head, a voice I’d tried my best to ignore had been afraid that he was lost to me. But he wasn’t, and now I can finally breathe again.
“Mine,” I say in a firm voice tinged with my tears. “ Mine .”
He lifts his head and looks me dead in the eye. Yours to keep , he mouths.
He pulls my legs apart again and resumes, licking and touching me until I have his hair grasped in my hand so hard that it must be hurting him, but he makes no objection.
Indeed, he reaches up and makes me hold on tighter when I relax my grip.
I lose count of how often I peak, maddened by the throbbing and fizzing pleasure he forces me to feel over and over.
I have no idea of time passing. I pull his face up to mine, biting his lip and tasting myself on him as I yank his clothes off.
His need for atonement is all very well, but I need his cock, and I need it right the fuck now.
Thankfully, he acquiesces, seeming to understand that this is what I need; and besides, he’s rock solid and throbbing in my hand, clearly having reached his own limits as well.
I place him at my entrance, and he grips my jaw, kissing me feverishly, hesitating to push inside me until I cant my hips and take him.
His own hips take over then, crashing into me again, again, overwhelming me as he continues looking me straight in the eye.
We’re anchoring each other at this point, and this, this is what we are now. This is what we’re going to be.
And that’s when it hits me: he’s bare chested.
He let me pull his shirt off, willingly and without hesitation.
I glance at his scars, feel the knotted skin of his bullet wounds with my fingers, and tears prick my eyes at this gift.
He kisses my forehead, feeling the moment as sharply as I do.
He’s mine. He’s given himself to me in a way he hasn’t with anyone else, and not just because I’m his only lover. This is true trust. He’s home.
He tries to hold on for as long as possible, but I don’t want him to. I have my own atonement, my own all consuming need for him to find that pinnacle and stay there, and our foreheads are pressed together hard enough to hurt as he finally lets go, filling me with everything he has.
And when I wake up later, not having realised I’d dropped off, he’s sleeping peacefully next to me, his hand clasping mine.
It’s the most beautiful sight in the world.