Maybe she’s still upset about the things people say about her; that she’s on her way her out, that she’s getting rusty...whatever the hell that means. They’re blind if they can’t see her shine and their hatred makes me angry at them for her. Nobody touches her, not physically, mentally or emotionally.
“Dance with me,” I rasp, holding a hand out and her brows rise. She hesitates for a moment before quickly getting up and walking over to me. I open my arms up, holding her to my chest and her skin doesn’t feel as cold anymore. Maybe she was nervous about coming here...not that I understand why but most city girls have irrational fears about nature.
“This isn’t dancing,” Monique mutters against my t-shirt and I let out a low chuckle. “And there’s no music.”
I start humming and she shows me how to move. This isn’t the ballet but she knows just about every dance there is. Her eyes tint with something curious when looking at mine and she whispers, “You’re good at humming.”
“I should be, considering I compose for a living.”
“You do?”
I figure that I must’ve forgotten to tell her and she shakes her head, murmuring something about me not looking like a composer. I know what she means. Most composers look like twigs that struggle not to break but I’ve always had music in my veins. Even before I had Monique, I had music.
Burying my face in her tresses, I rasp, “I fucking love the smell of your hair, the feel of you...never been this fulfilled.” She squirms a little, letting out a breath and then she puts her face against my chest so I can’t see her eyes.
“Nero, if we get home, will you let me back up on the stage?”
Tracing her outer ear with my lips, I say, “What do you mean if? And of course, you’ll be back on the stage, my world. It’s not even up to me. Your life is yours.”
“Then you won’t ever...,” she lets out a pant, “you won’t...” she winces. Her nails dig into my arm, leaving little marks before she abruptly pulls away. “I need some fresh air. Alone.”
“Can’t allow that.” I clasp her elbow but let go when she suddenly tenses. “It’s alright during daylight but I can’t let you step out on your own when it’s dark. If you want I’ll come with you.”
Her lower lip quivers, anxiety flooding her eyes before she shakes her head. “Never mind...,” she stutters before grazing the same trembling lip with her teeth. “We should start with dinner.” She rubs her hands down her denims, before flashing me a smile and walks into the kitchen. Her hands tremble a little when she starts cooking and she glances at me over her shoulder. When she notices I’m watching, she gives me that smile again.
The smile that tries to appease. It bugs me because I’m not some dog that needs to be kept chained because I can’t stop myself from biting. I’ve never harmed anyone in my life, let alone a woman. Maybe it’s my size that troubles her, but I’m not enormous. Though, I guess that compared to Monique I am.
She turns on the stove, before crabbing a couple of cans and a casserole. “Soup,” she murmurs. “Low calorie."
I laugh, shaking my head at her but wince when I feel a sharp pain in my heart. Fuck, she’s really here. I finally found her after all these years, captured the swan and now she’s fully mine. I’ve had her, tasted her and there’s only more to come. Swallowing, I look away when a wave of emotions washes over me.
There were so many nights when I laid sleepless, begging I would find my way to her. Eventually I did...and as grateful as I am, I can’t stop thinking that I want more. More from her as if she can’t get enough of me the same way I can’t get enough of her. We should be busy fucking right now on the floor or the table, while she declares she can’t live without me.
But I’m not getting that. And I need it.
A wise person would probably tell me that I need to be patient and I’m trying but it’s fucking hard. Once she stops keeping parts of her to herself, it’ll be easier. Then I’ll get to take care of them and I’ll take care of them good. Tilting my head, my eyes go to her hips that are concealed by my clothes but I know what’s underneath them and my fists squeeze in longing.
“Do you know what I think about when I see you like this?” I rasp, standing behind her and nuzzling her neck. “I think about our future, when you and I cook dinner together like this and our kids are running around.”
“Kids?”
“You don’t want any.” I frown because I thought most women wanted them. “That’s fine. More of you for me.”
She lets out a low sigh. “Nero, have you ever thought that maybe you and I aren’t the best match? That another woman might be a better choice for you?”
Whirling her around, I narrow my eyes in confusion. There are no other women and we are the best match. “You’re the only one.” Her words upset me and I get a nagging feeling that maybe she doesn’t feel as strongly for me as I do for her. She was always elusive in the dark, fleeting...disappeared on me every now and then. “I want you.”
I clasp her face. “I cannot not want you. You’re in my heart, every beat is for you and it can’t beat without you.” I graze her lips with my tongue, wetting them and her lips part, allowing me to slide inside and taste her. “Without you there’s nothing, only agony and then numbness.”
Her face trembles. “You’re not supposed to talk like that...,” She inhales. “Don’t you dislike me even a little? Remember the way I treated you when you brought me those flowers?” She clutches me. “I didn’t even want them and I ordered you to leave and...”
“You’d had a rough time on the stage. I forgive you. I’ll always forgive you for anything you do.”
“What if I hurt you, physically, emotionally...?”
“Don’t care. Ruin me as long as you remain in my ruins.”
The protests end and they were weak to begin with. Groaning, I slant my lips across hers, pushing my hand under her shirt and cup her breasts. She whimpers a little before spreading her legs and letting out a sigh of relief, when I grind against her.
She lets out a curse, voice full of agony, “What are you doing to me...?” Her hips starts grinding back until we’re both chasing the friction. I’m about to blow, licking the roof of her mouth and her lips turns numb. Her hand is on the back of my neck, cupping me to her and she pushes her breasts into my hands. “I hate that you make me feel good...,” she whines but I’m busy enjoying her to pay any attention to what she’s saying.
I hear the word hate but there’s no hate here. Only love. I’m about to remove our clothes and fuck her up against the kitchen counter when there’s a knock on the door. Monique hears it before I do and she stills, putting her hands up against my chest with a stricken look in her eyes. Her mouth opens. Wide.