Once he was fully seated inside, my body tight around him, Royce began to move. His hips drew back and pressed forward, pushing the small of my back against the wall. It didn’t take long for our gasps to sync. I banded my arms tighter around his neck and dropped my forehead against his shoulder, letting moans pour from me freely.
The position was taxing on him, but he didn’t set me down. He struggled for breath, and it fluttered the loose ends of hair beside my neck, and his muscles quickly began to shake with fatigue. But he kept going. He wasn’t able to tell me he loved me, and maybe it was foolish to believe he did, but he affirmed his feelings for me with each slow thrust and deep kiss.
The edges of the beam bit into my back, and he’d become so slippery with sweat it was hard for me to hold on to him, but I wanted it to last forever. I wished we could freeze time and exist the rest of our lives here where we were just ourselves, connected to each other.
“Marist,” he uttered against the shell of my ear. The single word was loaded with so much emotion, it was nearly the same as the three words I hoped to hear from him someday.
The hands supporting me lowered until I could put my feet on the floor, and then I was turned in place, so my back was against Royce’s toned chest. He used one hand to steady himself, and the other grasped my hip to guide him back inside me, and as soon as it was done, he folded our arms together over my chest, lacing his fingers on top of mine.
His mouth latched on to the sensitive spot just below my ear and sucked gently, and it made the muscles inside me clench on him. He groaned his satisfaction.
It could have been hours or minutes before the pleasure became too much and we neared our end. When he trailed his fingertips down my stomach and pressed them to my aching clit, it set me off. I slapped my hands against the beam in front of me and gasped through the onslaught of my orgasm, which was so strong my legs threatened to give out on me.
Once I had come, he let himself loose. He moved at a faster tempo. The hand on my hip squeezed until my flesh dented around his fingers. Behind me came the sounds of his approaching orgasm. The slew of tight, short breaths followed by a lengthy groan and shudder while his hips jerked to a stop.
It was quiet besides our heavy breaths and the soft hum of the gas fireplace.
“I love you,” I whispered in the silence.
He captured my chin between his thumb and forefinger and turned my head into his needy kiss. It was so powerful, it was overwhelming, and he carried me to bed.
Where I curled beside him and slept the whole night through.
The dining room of the Hale’s Aspen house was similar to the one in Cape Hill, only here it was warm and open and less formal. It still had high ceilings, a crystal chandelier, and a rectangular table big enough to seat twelve, but the back wall was a window, allowing for more light. It meant there were fewer shadows, both metaphorically and literally.
We’d assumed the same seating arrangement we’d used for our weekly family meals at the Hale house before Alice and her lily of the valley tea had shredded the dynamic. Macalister sat at the head of the table, his murderous wife to his right and his plotting eldest son to his left. While I wasn’t directly across from her, she was only a few feet away, and I spent most of the dinner looking toward my parents seated beside me, or down at my dinner plate.
The Thanksgiving meal was prepared by a Michelin star chef, but the food tasted bland in my mouth. There was too much tension everywhere I looked. Macalister’s gaze was always fixed on me whenever I made the mistake of looking his direction. Across from me, Vance was seated between his former and current lovers, although Jillian was oblivious to the undercurrent in the room.
My parents were for the most part too. They didn’t speak much during dinner, probably worried about saying anything that could draw Macalister’s attention or ire. I was glad they were here, but I wasn’t sure why he’d invited them. Was it to remind them who held the purse strings and make them feel small?
Plates of mini pumpkin pies were set before us on our chargers, and Jillian cleared her throat. Her voice was hesitant. “So, my family has a tradition when the dessert is served, and I was wondering if we could do it tonight?”
It came from me before I could think better of it. “I’m sure. Macalister’s a big fan of traditions.”
A choked, strained laugh came from Royce that he tried to play off as a cough.
Hot irritation simmered in Macalister’s question. “What is it?”
Jillian was visibly regretting her decision to speak up, but there was no going back now. “We go around the table and each say what we’re thankful for.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and straightened her shoulders. “I’ll go first. I’m thankful to the Hale family for inviting me to dinner.” When she realized that wasn’t enough, she tacked on more, but it wasn’t the least bit convincing. “And . . . for being so welcoming to me.”
I pressed my lips together to stop my mouth from running away.
She turned toward Vance expectantly, who gave her a blank look. When she didn’t break, he reluctantly shifted in his seat. “Yeah, okay.” He wiped a hand over his mouth while he struggled to come up with something. “I’m thankful Professor Robuchon didn’t call on me in class on Monday because I didn’t do any of the required reading.”
Cold annoyance wafted down the table from Macalister, but Vance was indifferent.
Jillian scrunched her mouth to the side. It wasn’t the answer she was hoping for, but she wasn’t going to say so. When the table went quiet, she peered around. “Um . . . anyone else?”
Awkward silence answered, and I scrambled to save her. “Sure, I’ll—”
“I’m thankful for my husband,” Alice announced, her chin lifted high as her gaze zeroed in on me, “who knows what we have is unique and special, and will always be my partner, no matter what happens.” Her smile was devoid of emotion. “And, of course, this family too.”
It was Alice’s classy way of spitting in my path, marking her territory, which was totally unnecessary. I wanted nothing to do with her husband. Beneath the table, I dug my nails into my thigh, letting the pain distract me from losing my head.
“Then, I suppose I’m next,” Macalister said. “I’m thankful for Marist.”
If there had been a record playing, the needle would have dragged loudly across it. I could hear the what the fuck echoing through Royce’s head, and see it visibly on Alice’s face.
Macalister wasn’t finished. “For her upcoming union with my son and uniting our families together as the mother of my children had always hoped for.” He cast his inescapable gaze on me. “You’ve brought me great happiness by coming into our lives.”
I nearly heaved the contents of my dinner all over my dessert, but Royce’s hand found mine and held me together. His tone was casual, ignoring the bomb his father had just detonated, or how the fallout was currently washing over his stepmother. Color drained from her face and emptied into her neck, turning it a violent pink.
“I’m also thankful for Marist,” my fiancé said.
He lifted our joined hands out from under the table and kissed my knuckles, his eyes twinkling. It was a silent message telling me not to let them get to me. To do as he did when others were around. Play a role.