Kissing me gently, she walks me backward to the bedroom. When the back of my legs hit the bed, I lift her into my arms. She wraps her legs around me without breaking our kiss, keeping that point of contact I need, giving me the reassurance she’s not going anywhere. Never again.
I sit, holding her in my lap. We’re wearing too many clothes. I want to press every inch of her naked skin against mine. She eases up a little, tearing her mouth from mine to take a breath. I let her breathe for a couple of seconds before chasing after her lips like a kite lifting to a breeze. When I finally catch her mouth again, I unclasp the bra at her back and brush the straps from her shoulders, taking special care with her injured side. The cups fall free, baring her perfect tits. I pull the straps from her arms and go for my prize, kissing each nipple and tasting them with my tongue. Fuck, I missed kissing her tits. They were made for my mouth and my hands.
We grind our groins together, initiating a mating dance as old as time itself. It comes naturally for us, this dance of give and take. It’s not about procreating or simple lust. It’s more than fucking or having sex. Not even making love is enough to describe it. It goes even deeper than that. It goes soul-deep. She’s the girl I want to wake up with for the rest of my life. She’s the partner I want by my side, but she’s so much more than that. She’s the missing link in the chain that holds me together.
There was a time, in this very bed, when the roles were reversed and I was the one who bore the stitches. We both have scars, but they heal when we’re together. When we’re in each other’s arms, they become just that—flesh bearing evidence of suffering, but it’s just flesh. The feelings in our hearts haven’t changed. We belong together, like Adam and Eve.
Yet I’ve never told her that. I’ve never told her she means more than every word I’ve inked on my skin.
Cupping her face, I turn us over. I look into her eyes as I pin her body underneath mine. “I love you, Cas. Only you. Always.”
A smile flirts with her lips. “It took you long enough.”
That’s where she’s wrong. “I’ve always loved you, from the very first moment.”
Threading her fingers through my hair, she pulls me down for another kiss. I deliver gladly. For the first time in my life, I feel pride. Real pride, not the shallow kind of satisfaction you get from winning a bet or fixing a stubborn generator, but the kind you feel as a man when the most beautiful, strongest woman ever created loves you.
I kiss my way down her body, grazing my lips around the gauze on her shoulder and over the hole that has mended in her side. She’s been extremely lucky. Maybe God had mercy because he made her with a weak heart and decided to save her not once but twice. Whatever the case, I’d rather take a bullet in the heart than let anyone shoot at her ever again.
“Ian,” she says, moving under me, dragging me back from my dark thoughts to the moment.
I trace the scar Ruben’s bullet had left one last time with a thumb, imprinting its embossed feel and shape into my heart before I kiss her stomach and hook my fingers into the elastic of her thong. I drag the scrap of lace over her hips slowly, unwrapping her like she’s my belated Christmas gift. She still waxes, leaving only a landing strip. I pull the thong down her pale thighs and free her legs before spreading them. It’s been too long since I tasted her.
One lick, and I’m lost. She’s wet for me. Just for me. She lifts her hips as I part her with my tongue and swipe the tip over her clit. She grips my hair and keeps my mouth where she wants it, but this is happening at my pace. Taking her wrists, I plant them at her sides and go back to licking my treat. I take my time, until she squirms and moans.
When she says, “Please,” I fuck her with my tongue. It only takes a few pumps and a hard suck on her clit for her to come. Clamping her legs around my face, she climaxes in my mouth, giving me those sexy sounds I missed so much. I lick her through her aftershocks until her thighs quake and she fights to get away.
I make quick work of getting rid of the last piece of clothing, the last barrier between us. Naked, I crawl back over her and angle my hips between her thighs. I don’t bother with a condom. We don’t need one. Bracing a palm next to her face, I lift on one elbow so I don’t crush her with my weight and grip the base of my cock in my other hand. I shiver with anticipation when I drag the head over her folds, lubricating the crest with her arousal. She wraps a hand around my nape as I align our bodies and drive home.
There’s no time for gentle. I’ve been withholding for too long. I want to go slowly but she’s wet and tight, sucking me deeper. I don’t kiss her. I want to see her eyes. I want to see what she feels when I pull out and sink balls-deep again. I drown in the little noises she makes when I start moving. She rocks with me, matching my pace. Her gasps are soft and sweet. There’s something pure and ethereal about those sounds. I watch and listen, sinking a little deeper and drowning a little more in senses and feelings.
She rakes her nails over my back. The bite of pain almost makes me come. I grind my teeth, holding out for as long as I can. She brushes a palm over the tattoo I got to eternalize in ink the way I love her, tracing the petals of the flowers on my shoulder. I don’t want this to end, but already pleasure twists around my insides, roping me in.
A few more thrusts and I come so hard I see stars. Between ejaculating and flying higher than a helium balloon, I slip a hand between our bodies and take care of her pleasure. She follows seconds later like a tail burning after a comet in a midnight sky. Her sparks draw pictures of happily-ever-afters in the dying embers of my fire. Behind my closed eyes, I see the infinity signs Leon and I drew as children with burning sticks in winter nights. If you wave the stick fast enough, it makes a picture, an uninterrupted loop. The red coal on the glowing end of the stick would draw pictures in the dark for as long as we could keep up the movement. I’m not planning on dropping the stick, not in forever and certainly not when we’re facing Wolfe.
My phone pings from the lounge.
Speak of the devil.
Regretfully, I pull out. “Don’t move.”
I go to the bathroom, open the faucet, and wet a facecloth when the water runs warm. Cas waits obediently. I kneel between her legs and clean up the spillage. The euphoria of our lovemaking doesn’t last long. It’s replaced with survival instinct and the habitual adrenaline that comes before a fight.
I kiss the juncture of her legs and close her thighs. Unable to resist, I kiss her stomach, nipples, and lastly her lips. Taking her hands, I pull her into a sitting position. She winces.
Concern eats into my gut. “You okay?”
“It’s nothing.” Her smile comes easily. “Every now and then the stitches pull a little.”
“It’s a normal sensation. It should go away when they start to dissolve.”
She wraps her arms around her knees. “I’m good.”
Outwardly, she appears calm, but her hands tremble a little when she checks the time on her watch.
Roughly an hour must’ve passed. It’s too soon for Wolfe to arrive. Still, I prefer to be ready.
I don’t rush her. I run a shower and wash her hair and body. I take my time with her, using the warm water and a massage to help calm and relax her. I need this too. I need this time with her.