“Don’t come at my husband,” I warned. “Or I will flag down the two police officers right over there who are strolling toward us. I’m sure they’d love to learn how you and two accomplices stole this book from the Central Park Library.”
He scrubbed a hand down his reddening face. “What the fuck?”
Henry closed the box. “Let’s go. Carl, it’s been swell. Darling?”
He extended his arm and I took it.
Carl took another step toward us.
“Now what did I just say?” I crushed my heel into his toe. He yelped, bent over, and I took that as our cue to leave as discreetly as possible.
My long skirt dragged on the ground behind me as we strode confidently toward the limo, book in hand. Once in the limo, I texted Freya the good news, and she sent back a string of silly messages in response. And I called Abe but left a voicemail. Something that had been happening more recently—he was no longer working as late, and no longer as available, in the best way possible.
Everything had been changing at Codex—all of us were happier than ever.
“Well done, wife,” Henry said.
I crossed my legs, winked flirtatiously. “Same to you.”
“I’ve brought my earplugs tonight, Ms. Barrett,” Dorran called through the privacy glass. Henry laughed as I blushed, slapping a hand over my mouth.
“That’s not necessary,” Henry said through the window. “But thank you for letting us know.”
Dorran knew there was one specific thing my husband and I liked to do after we closed an exciting case. And as the limo neared our row home in Rittenhouse Square, I was already breathless with anticipation, dizzy with longing. We were completely silent as we crept through the narrow streets. Henry held my gaze with his dark, teasing one, slowly palming his hardening cock through his suit pants.
Fuck, I mouthed. His expression told me it was just what he had in mind. With a dominant grin, he waved his finger through the air.
Open, he mouthed back.
I bit my lip. Lifted my skirt just like I’d done a year ago, as we’d been speeding toward Victoria’s mansion. I kept lifting until I was exposed to him. Another flick of his finger and I spread my legs obediently.
His nostrils flared, palm moving more quickly. I cupped my breasts through my dress, arching a little when my nipples hardened.
Henry could only shake his head at me. And as the limo rolled to a stop, he caught my wrist and yanked me forward.
“You are exquisite.” And then he kissed my cheek.
Cherished and debauched. Filth and tenderness. That was my husband. It never changed between the two of us—this adrenaline-fueled electricity that spurned on some of the hottest sex I’d ever had in my life. Made only more beautiful by our love.
We bade farewell to Dorran, and Henry cradled the recovered book as I led us inside. We’d moved in here barely a month ago; a historic, brick row home with as many stories embedded in the stones as there are stars in the sky. We filled it with books and flowers, novels and plants, and our kitchen was big enough for us to slow dance in it most nights. Framed on the walls were pictures of Henry with my dads, climbing trees with my siblings (not well, but very sincerely), trips I’d taken with Jeremiah and Joelle, lectures with Henry’s parents. During one spur-of-the-moment trip, Henry had taken me to all of his favorite places in Europe, and we’d spent it on cobblestone streets, drunk on wine, kissing in bookstores.
In a single year, our love story was already shaping up to be quite the adventure.
Dimly, I heard Henry secure the book, but I was already waiting for him in our bedroom. Wall-to-wall bookshelves held his favorite novels, and fresh lavender grew in our windowsills. Henry was striding into the room; passion, lust, yearning, craving. He spun me around, lifting me up onto our table and stepping between my spread legs.
“Rings, please,” he said, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to my neck. I held my left hand up, and just like every night, he slowly removed the gaudy ring with four diamonds. And I removed his thick gold band. They went in a small glass near the other ones. Behind it was a framed picture from our wedding day—Abe, Freya, our families, all were cheering wildly as they showered us with rose petals. Henry was smiling like he was positive he was the luckiest man alive. I was beaming in my white wedding dress, short veil. Red heels.
Behind us was the grand, awe-inspiring Long Room at the Trinity Library.
Only Abe and Freya knew the significance of the Trinity Library, the whimsical, spur-of-the-moment tale Henry and I had stumbled through for Victoria one year ago. It felt right to have it at a place that had brought us together—from fake elopement to real wedding. I’d almost sent a copy to Victoria but thought better of it.
Some books were better left closed.
With absolute reverence, Henry replaced my fake wedding ring with my real one—a rose-gold band with an opal. His wedding band was silver titanium. They fit us, the real us; two people whose ultimate trust in each other had paved the way for this very moment. Engraved on the inside of each ring was the phrase thank you for catching me.
The kiss Henry gave me promised a lot of things, and as I tightened my legs around his waist, he tilted my chin back. The only thing that existed in my world was Henry. The sun was the center of our universe, but Henry would always be the center of mine.
Henry gave me that slow, crooked smile that never ceased to make my toes curl.
“I love you, Delilah,” he said, caressing my temple. “You are the only star in my sky.”
“I love you,” I repeated, pulling him close. “Now will you please make me the happiest woman on this earth and have your way with me in a utility closet somewhere? Preferably a crowded gala?”
That laugh—Henry’s laugh. Every time I heard the sound, it imprinted on my heart.
“I’ll do anything for you, wife.” His kiss was sweet, then firm, and then he was biting my bottom lip. My sexy librarian husband. My partner, my soul mate, my everything.
Our love was rare and singularly beautiful—and all our own.
I was never letting go.
THE END