He dumps me back into the plush, and I stare up at him backdropped in the fairy lights. His fingers toy at my waistband. “You own me, mistress,” he says, lowering to kiss my stomach through the fabric of my black cami. “Act like it.”
Shuddering, I grip his hair, drag him up to my mouth, and bury myself in his smile. “Promise?” I ask, hoarse and breathless, once our lips are raw.
“Promise.”
And then he paints his promise into my flesh and bone, until very little of me remains, and I cannot peel apart the point where I end and he begins.
?
I wake first, bleary, sun-washed, warm. Kyran’s scent consumes me, and I lie in our bed, staring at his dark hair for the longest time. He continues sleeping, steady breaths drawn through him like an ebbing tide. Face buried against me, arms unrelenting even in slumber.
Last night was…
I have never come out of being touched in those kinds of ways feeling likemorefor it. They have never been an action that relays care or love. Last night was a new creature, something I’ve never experienced before, something he—apparently—had never tasted even in lackluster before.
I will never, in all my life, be able to forget the drunk way he looked down at me and said,Dearest? Remember when I told you that you were my first love? This is something I would only ever do with someone I love. Please have patience with me.
Hands shaking, he treasured me.
I was his first. He’ll be my last. We’ll be one another’s forever.
And nothing is going to get in the way of that.
Steadily, my husband wakes, body shifting around me as a low sound leaves him.
Unnatural bliss grips my heart. “Morning, e-boy.”
The smile that overwhelms him heals something inside. Reverent, he cups my cheek, settling on his arm to look at me. “Morning, mistress. Did you sleep well?”
I nod, because I think it would be impossible to sleep poorly after whatever insatiable whirlwind transpired last night. I just about lost consciousness from the exertion, and Kyran—so sweetly—kept coaxing me into more, and more, until my memories abandoned anything that wasn’t him and his heat and this bone-deep feeling of beingwanted. Beyond flesh. To my very soul.
Letting love pour off him in droves, he laughs and cuddles me. Delirious with joy, he sinks against my body, whispering, “My wife. All mine. Forever and ever.”
My nerves flutter, and I comb my fingers through his hair.
If he keeps loving me like he did last night, I don’t think I’ll get a spare moment to doubt that things between us will ever end. He redefined everything I know about intimacy. He showed me why it’s calledmaking love.
My heart feels so full right now it could burst.
“You hungry?” he whispers into my shoulder.
Mm. Clara breakfast. “Yeah.”
“You want me to bring you some of whatever’s out there?” He kisses and draws away, reluctant with every centimeter he gains as we come apart.
I’m halfway to agreeing when I recall that I live here, and my family’s out there, and if I let Kyran serve me breakfast in bed, I’ll coax him back into it, and we won’t be leaving it for the entire day. Which won’t get us much farther along on the plans for our trip to my parents’. Which is becoming somewhat ever more dire.
Yeah, I really need to introduce them to my husband and apologize for being the worst daughter on the planet.
Sadly, I slip from the sheets and his warmth to begin searching for wherever my pajamas wound up so that I might make the trip to my room in decency and get ready for the day. “We should probably mix our wardrobes,” I offer, locating my camisole on the floor.
Turning when Kyran doesn’t respond, I locate starvation in his eyes as they run over my body. He licks his lips as his gaze consumes the way his fingerprints have spackled me.
“Kyran?”
He blinks, finds my eyes, reboots. “Clothing. Yes. I’ve already made room in our closet.”
Already, huh?
