Joining her on the mattress, I seek out her mouth once more, desperate for another taste of her sweet nectar.
“I need you,” she murmurs breathily.
“And I need you. Need to bury myself deep inside you.” I pull back, framing her face in my hands. “But I need to taste you first. Need your cum on my tongue.”
“Fuck, Anders.”
She writhes beneath me as I snake down her frame. I take one of her nipples in my mouth, gently nibbling. “Can I do that?”
“God yes.”
“Mmm…,” I moan as I inch farther south, my tongue trailing down her torso. Her stomach rolls through her increasingly ragged breathing, especially as I grow closer to her center.
When I settle between her thighs, I steal a glance at her, a look of delicious anticipation on her face. She squirms and pulses, her body telling me to give her what she craves.
The instant my tongue makes that first contact against her, she moans, temporarily relieved as she loses herself in my touch. I start slowly, teasing and torturing her, slightly pressing a finger inside her before retreating, which only frustrates her.
“Please,” she begs, her plea sounding like a combination of a mewl and a pant.
I grin, inching my finger a bit farther inside her as my tongue circles her clit. When I finally push all the way in, she whimpers, begging me to go deeper and faster. I continue my ministrations, adding another finger, then another, stretching and massaging her.
“Anders…,” she moans again, lost to the sensations.
I love watching her like this. So sexy. So needy. So out of her mind with lust.
“Do you want to come?” I ask, increasing my motions.
“Yes.”
“That’s my girl.”
When I nip her clit, she releases a noiseless gasp. Her motions grow more frantic and desperate until she cries out, her body pulsing through her orgasm. But I don’t pull away. Instead, I do everything I can to draw out this sensation of bliss as long as possible.
Once her tremors have subsided, I crawl up her frame and slam my lips against hers. “God, I love watching that. Love being the one to make you come like that.”
“And I love when you make me come like that.” She waggles her brows. “So why don’t you go for two.”
I chuckle, reaching down and stroking myself, but my dick doesn’t seem to get the message that there’s a beautiful woman in my bed.
“Oh, come on. Not now.”
“What’s wrong?” Nora hoists herself onto her elbows.
“Nothing,” I grind out, frustration forming in my throat as I stroke myself harder, to no avail. “Goddammit!”
“Here.” Nora sits up, reaching for me. “Let me.” She presses her hand against my shoulder, pushing me onto my back.
I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to focus on the warmth of Nora’s fingers wrapped around me, not the fear that this is yet another one of the side effects of MS coming to rear its ugly head at the worst possible moment. I push down the thought, remembering Nora posing on the balcony, so confident and sexy. But nothing seems to work, not even this incredibly provocative woman attempting to jerk me off.
“Fuck!” I roar, shooting upright. “It’s useless.” I bolt off the bed, grabbing my jeans and sliding them on.
“It’s okay. We’ll try again in a little while.”
“No.” I tug at my hair as I pace. “It is not okay. I’m fucking useless, Nora. I can’t even keep my goddamn fiancée happy because of this bloody disease.”
She scrambles to her feet, placing a hand on my bicep. “You don’t have to sleep with me to make me happy, Anders,” she says with all the sympathy I’ve come to expect from her.
It still makes me feel inadequate, though. Like I’ll end up not being able to give her what she needs. What she deserves.
Like I’m less of a man.
I shrug her off, making her gasp, the sting of my rejection seeming to burn her hand. But that doesn’t make me stop.
“Today, I can’t get an erection. Tomorrow, who knows? Maybe I’ll start pissing and shitting myself. Is that really what you want? You really want to be saddled with someone who can’t even control his own fucking body?”
“Yes. A million times yes. Like I’ve told you repeatedly. I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is you. And I love you, Anders.” She grabs my hand in hers, not bothering to cover up. Instead, she exposes herself to me in all her raw vulnerability, as if hoping I’ll do the same.
But it’s different. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me. I’m going to be king one day. How can I lead an entire nation if I can’t even control my body?
“Anders, talk to me. Don’t shut me out.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. Do you honestly think I haven’t noticed something off lately?” she retorts. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. You need to take time for yourself. For your health. You don’t have to be everything for everyone.”
“Yes, I do!” I roar, my voice louder than I anticipated. “That’s exactly what I have to fucking be, Nora!”
Breath hitching, she straightens, eyes wide in surprise. And a hint of fear. It’s this fear that hits me hard. I scrub a hand over my face, my mind cloudy as I attempt to collect my thoughts.
Stepping toward her, I cup her cheek. “I’m sorry. I just… I can handle the occasional tremor and dizzy spell. But what happens when I can no longer walk? Can no longer fuck?” I choke out, my frustration turning to despair.
She places her hand over mine as I continue to hold her face. “I’ll still be by your side.”
I pinch my lips together, shaking my head. I should find comfort in her reassurance that she loves me regardless of whether I’m able-bodied or bound to a wheelchair. And a part of me does. But there’s this other part of me that thinks it’s selfish of me to ask that of her. To force her to stay by my side while my body slowly deteriorates.
To force her to watch me die a little more every day.
She’s already lost so much.
Can I really ask her to lose even more?
“I need to go for a walk.” I retreat from her.
“Anders, please. Don’t push me away,” she begs again.
This time, I respond a bit more calmly. “I’m not. I just need to take a minute to clear my head. Try some of your meditation exercises. They always seem to help,” I lie. “Maybe by the time I return, the general will finally be awake.” I blow out a laugh, hoping my joke will console her, but she still looks at me with sympathy. And perhaps even a little pity.
I hate it.
“I won’t be long.” I place a soft kiss on her forehead, then tug on my shirt.
Once I slide on my shoes, I grab my wallet and mobile, firing off a quick text to Creed before walking out of the suite. I don’t even acknowledge him when he steps out of the next room and follows me toward the elevator. He doesn’t say a word the entire ride down to the lobby, being the good friend he is. Or perhaps trained protection officer.
I’m about to make my way onto the sidewalk when I spy a lounge in the corner of the lobby. I haven’t had a drink in nearly a year. Controlling my diet was supposed to help slow down the progression of my MS and prevent any flareups.