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She tilts her head. “I will, but not for the reason you have in mind.”
That’s not what I was implying. I don’t have the stamina for sex right now—and it’s a damn shan. I’ve missed being with my Bonny Bleu. “Give me a few more days and then we’ll make up for lost time.”
She comes closer and hooks her hands behind my waist. “I look forward to that.”
“No more than me.” I kiss her mouth. “Mmm … I’ve missed that.”
“Me too.” She squeezes my midsection. “I’m happy we’re home.”
“How did you make out at my parents’? I mean, the times you weren’t holed up with me.”
A look I can’t identify crosses her face. “Your parents were very good to me—exceedingly so. As a guest, I’ve never been treated so well. That’s saying a lot since I’m from the South.” She laughs. “We’re very hospitable people.”
“I’ll need to thank them later.” I think I should probably tell her about them overhearing us at the hospital. “They know about me claiming you.”
She’s clearly surprised. “And?”
“They’re okay with it but both agree it’s a good idea to keep it to ourselves.” Especially from Abram.
She laughs and shrugs. “I don’t have anyone to tell.”
“Do you miss the friends you made at the bar?”
“Lorna was the only girl I’d consider a friend and that’s a maybe. I don’t think she cared for me much.”
She better not have mistreated my lass. “Why is that?”
“She’s in love with Leith.” Lorna has shagged Leith plenty of times but I can’t believe she has romantic feelings for him.
“Aah … and he was making moves for you.”
“Then you see the problem that made for our friendship.”
Makes total sense. “Clearly.”
“I can’t be friends with anyone within The Fellowship because they believe I’m an outsider and I can’t tell them about the one thing that designates me an insider.”
That makes for a problem in the friend department. “I see your dilemma. I’m sorry.”
“But I’ve grown close to your mother. That’s a good thing.” I like Bleu and my mum being friends.
“She taught me her version of shepherd pie and now I have a crazy craving for open roast beef sandwiches with gravy. Maybe with potatoes and carrots?”
“That sounds really good.”
“I was thinking of cooking tonight. I’m tired of hospital food and I’m guessing you are too.”
“I’ll never turn down your food.” Everything Bleu cooks is fantastic.
“You like my southern cuisine?”
“Very much.”
“To the couch with you.”
My flat has an open floor plan so I can easily lie on the couch and watch Bleu.
She’s a tough lass. Scraps as well as any man I know, probably better, yet knows how to cook a delicious meal. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“I can’t knit worth than a damn. My grandmother tried to teach me once. I got so frustrated I wanted to stab someone in the eye with the needle.” Why am I not surprised by this?
“Remind me to never ask you to knit me a sweater.”
She laughs and makes a stabbing motion with the fork in her hand. “Good thinking.”
* * *
We finish dinner and then watch TV until bedtime. We’re side by side doing our nightly routines, preparing for bed. It feels domestic—and comfortable.
It’s odd the things a man will think of when he believes he’s toeing the line between life and death. I was terrified to surrender to my body’s exhaustion; I believed if I closed my eyes for even a second, I’d never wake again. It was in those last moments before everything went black that I looked at Bleu and recalled the simple things—holding her after one of her nightmares, kissing the top of her head as I leave for work, listening to her breathe in the dark. Of all my fleeting thoughts, this one was my favorite—standing side by side getting ready for bed, me wearing my sleep pants and her in one of her soft, flowing nightgowns.
Bleu notices me watching her reflection. She goes still and looks at me, her toothbrush hanging from her mouth like a stogie. “What?” Her mouthful of toothpaste foams and spatters on her lips when she speaks. She spits and rinses.
“I missed this.” My eyes roam over the simple, satin nightgown clinging to her body. “Especially when you’re wearing something like that.”
She closes her robe, tying the belt at the waist. “You should probably stop looking because there will be none of that. Your body has been through hell. It needs time to heal.”
I know what will cure me. “I don’t want to stop looking.”
“This is the least sexy gown I have, but I can change into a T-shirt and yoga pants if this is going to be a problem.”
“Never.” I move over to hug her from behind, slipping my arms around her waist. “Absolutely not. I’ve missed seeing you in your pretty bedtime things.”
I kiss the side of her neck and she shudders as she leans into me. She moves her hand down my forearm and laces her fingers through mine. “I was so afraid. I thought I was going to lose you.”
“I know.” A confused look comes over her face. I decide to let that one sink in for a minute so I kiss the back of her head and leave the bathroom.
She comes out a moment later massaging in her lotion and crawls into bed next to me. She turns onto her side and looks at me. “How did you know I was afraid of losing you?”
I place my hand on her thigh, rubbing it in a circular motion. “I heard the things you said to me.”
She scrunches her brow. “What do you think I said?”
“You told me you weren’t letting go, that it wasn’t time for our story to end. ‘Let me be the reason you stay.’”
She neither denies nor confirms my account, but I don’t need her validation. I know everything she said.
She rises to a sitting position and entwines her fingers in mine. “How do you feel about the things you heard?” I think that’s an admission.
“I want to know the rest of the story.”
She rises and moves one leg over my pelvis so she’s straddling me. She leans forward, her elbows pressed into the pillow on each side of
my head, and kisses my mouth. I place my hands on her thighs and move them upward until they reach her bare cheeks. “Miss MacAllister, I believe you have forgotten your knickers.”
A mischievous grin spreads. “It seems I have.”
She moves to kneeling between my legs. She hooks her fingers into my waistband and tugs. I lift my hips and she drags my sleep pants downward.
She lowers her body to mine, bringing us close enough to touch, but she isn’t pressing her weight against me. Her nightgown is slick when she climbs upward to straddle me again. She arches back and my erection presses against her warm entrance.
I place my hands on her stomach and glide them up her silky gown. I palm her breasts, her hands covering mine, and her nipples become erect beneath my touch. Her hands move up her chest, to her shoulders, and then to the back of her neck. She lifts her long hair and holds it in a messy pile as she rotates her hips, grinding her groin against mine.
I slip my hands under her gown and she releases her hair to reach for the bottom. She pulls it over her head and discards it.
She is, without doubt, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Everything about her is perfect to me.
She holds the tip of my cock and positions it at her warm, slick entrance. She sinks down until I’m completely buried inside her. She leans back, placing her hands on my thighs for leverage, and begins moving up and down in a slow, deliberate rhythm.
I rotate my hand, palm side up, and use my fingers to find her clit. I know I’ve hit the perfect spot when a moan escapes her mouth. I start with a slow, spiraling motion and increase the speed as she moves faster. “Ohh … right there, Sin.”
It isn’t long before I realize I could be doing this too well. She may beat me to the finish line. “Are you already close?”
“Yesss!”
I won’t ask her to slow down so I begin thrusting with her. A moment later, I’m there with her when my orgasm approaches.
She sinks deep and groans, “Ohh … ohh.”
