He drank me in as I approached him. I stopped beside the bed and went to run my hands through his hair. He caught my wrist in his hand and pushed it straight down to his cock. “I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he said, and I caught the censure in his voice.
I stroked over his trousers, along his length underneath. Arthur growled under his breath. Then I stopped and pulled back my hand. There were questions in his gaze. “You’ve been acting strangely,” I said and, this time, did rake my fingers through his hair. Arthur stilled beneath me. His hands ran up the side of my legs, up to my thighs, skimming over the purple silk to rest on my waist. I felt my nipples harden. “Tell me,” I said. His grip tightened in response. “What’s wrong?”
“I want to fuck you, that’s what’s fucking wrong.” He yanked me closer. He wrapped his lips around my right nipple through my nightdress, and my eyes rolled back in my head at the feel. Pleasure fractured within me, sending warm currents of light through my body. Arthur moved his head to my other nipple, and I clenched my thighs together, my hands moving from his hair and down to his neck to feel his pulse. It was racing.
He broke away from my breast and pulled down the straps of my nightdress. The silk slipped from my body and pooled on the floor. He pulled me closer again by my waist—aggressively, dominantly. I adored him this way. But this time … this time …
“I want you to make love to me,” I whispered. Arthur stilled. He didn’t look up at me, though I knew he could feel my stare. With my hands on his cheeks, I guided his face to mine. His jaw was tight, eyes void of any emotion.
“I fuck,” he said, his hand leaving my waist and dropping between my legs. He pressed his finger against my clit. I stopped his movements with a grip on his wrist, and he told me, “I fuck and you scream, and that’s how it is.”
“And you fuck well,” I placated, pulling away his hand from me. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t make love to me too.” I saw a million thoughts run through his mind as his brow furrowed and his eyes narrowed. A million different burdens tormenting him, his many demons trying to dissuade him from meeting my request.
Dropping to my knees, I pulled the waist of his trousers apart and lovingly kissed along his lower stomach. Arthur hissed and his muscles tightened. My kisses were soft and sweet, and I tried to show him how much I cherished him. I ducked lower and lower until my lips kissed the bottom of his length. I looked up and saw him watching me. Watching me like I was an enigma, like he had never seen me before … like he had no idea what the hell to do with me.
It occurred to me that he would never have made love. Arthur had just told me himself that he fucked. He fucked hard and well, but he had never made love.
I sat back and ran my palms along his thighs. “I love you,” I whispered into the quiet room. “I love you, Arthur Adley.”
Arthur growled and went to yank me to my feet. I took hold of his hands before he could reach me. He froze. I met his burning and confused gaze and brought a palm to my lips, pressing the softest and sweetest of kisses to the rough skin. I did the same with his other hand. I lowered them to my shoulders and began to pull down his trousers. Arthur was bared to me, and I smiled at his stoic face.
Lowering my head, slow and steady, I brought his length to my lips. Arthur grunted as I swirled my tongue around the tip then took him inside my mouth. His hands left my shoulders and fixed on the side of my head. I expected him to be rough, to thrust inside my mouth and grip my face. But he didn’t. He let me take him as I wanted. And when I looked up, he was watching me. Watching me with a lost expression on his face. Gritting his teeth, skin flushed, but so, so out of his depth.
This was as unsure as I believed Arthur could get. My heart shattered for him. Had he only ever believed that sex should be rough and casual? Had he never craved the deep, meaningful connection that I knew existed between soulmates? That I believed could exist between us?
I got to my feet and pressed my hands on his hard chest. Arthur lay back on the bed, allowing me to take charge. I climbed over his muscled body, straddling his thighs, and I kissed him. I kissed him with a tenderness I knew he had never experienced. He kissed me back, and I wanted to cry at this man allowing me to take control.
My tongue slid alongside his, caressing… just feeling and tasting and kissing. I pulled back and searched his face. I smiled, but something dark flashed across Arthur’s face and he growled and flipped me onto my back. He caged me in his arms and glared down at me like I was the worst kind of rival. His eyes grew wide under his glasses. They closed, and I could see movement under his eyelids. I knew he was fighting with himself, fighting back the demons that lived within his darkened soul. His muscles were tensed, and I could tell he was struggling to relax, to let go.
To let us just be …
“I love you,” I murmured again, and Arthur’s eyes snapped open. I’d noticed that every time I said it, it was as though he couldn’t believe it. As though he didn’t believe himself worthy … he didn’t believe himself loveable …
I froze. That was it. That was why he only ever fucked. That was why he never showed a reaction to anything. He stayed hidden behind the safety of the high walls he had erected long ago because he didn’t think he was worthy of love.
Arthur’s skin was clammy—the only tell that this was affecting him in any way. That this, my words of love and adoration, were breaking through thickened, battle-scarred skin.
“I love you,” I said again, and he pulled back, sitting on his heels. He raked his hands through his hair, looking around the room as if he needed an escape, as if he needed to be anywhere but on this bed with me. As if he couldn’t stand to be told that he was loved.
I got to my knees and met his eyes. His neck was corded with strain, and the veins in his defined muscles protruded through his skin.
I cupped his face. He tried to pull away, but I held on tightly. He didn’t fight me as much as I’d feared. He grasped my wrists as if to throw me away. But instead his hands held me like a lifeline, the way Gene had gripped onto Charlie, as if he would plummet into freezing depths if he didn’t keep tight hold of me.
I moved in slowly, kissing along his stubbled cheek until my lips met his. I kissed him. I kissed him softly, showing him the love I felt for him. The love I now knew he had been denied for so long. A love I knew he had no idea what to do with.
I guided him on top of me as I lay back on the bed. He crawled above me, breathing heavily. I held Arthur’s face, then let him be the one to kiss me. He inched his face closer to mine, his breath stuttered and unsteady. Then his lips met mine, and he kissed me. He didn’t ravish me. He kissed me the way I’d always dreamed he could and someday would.
And once he started, he didn’t stop. Arthur kissed my mouth; he kissed my neck and over my breasts. He kissed down my stomach and reached between my thighs. I widened my legs, and he dropped his head and licked along my core. My head rolled back as his tongue licked my clit, then down to my entrance.
“Arthur,” I murmured, lost in the pleasure, lost in the gentleness, the softness. I stroked my fingers through his hair and looked down as he took me with his mouth. His hands were on my thighs, only moving to push a finger inside me. His tongue and finger worked me faster and faster until my back arched and I broke apart.