Page 67 of Eternally His

“No,” I finally said. “No, I didn’t love her. But I’m still responsible for her death.”

“You’re not the one who killed her,” Isabel pressed, her eyes flashing with fierce determination. “You’re not responsible, Sebastián.”

My heart squeezed painfully. I wanted to believe what she was saying, but I’d spent too many years mired in my guilt.

“I feel guilty,” I admitted on a rasp. I’d never spoken about this to anyone, not even Rafael. I didn’t talk to anyone about my feelings; I barely stopped to consider them myself. I spent my days working for the cartel, my brotherhood, and that was enough for me.

Or it had been, until I’d been forced into this marriage with Isabel.

This marriage that I’d so deeply resented might not be a punishment, after all. It might be my own personal miracle. This beautiful woman I’d married—my young bride who’d floated down the aisle looking like my personal bloodstained angel—might be my salvation.

If I let her in. If I accepted her for everything that she was, just as she was accepting the darkest parts of me. I wanted Isabel. Not the ghost from my past.

I wanted my pure, sweet wife, who insisted on showing me the care and tenderness I’d always denied myself. This was more than a primal desire to claim her beautiful body; I wanted to possess all of her. I craved to accept what she offered me: absolution, hope, and something deeper that I didn’t dare put a name to.

Isabel was my future. That’d been decreed on the day we’d been forced to marry. But I could choose to truly make her mine. I could choose to be her husband in all ways.

When she’d become my wife, I’d accepted that it was my responsibility to protect this delicate young woman. But at some point, she’d become more than a responsibility; she’d become my purpose.

I’d never be worthy of her, but I was selfish enough to take what she was offering: herself. Isabel had claimed me as her own, and the vulnerable hope I saw shining in her golden eyes told me that she wanted me to claim her too.

I cupped her cheeks in both hands and drew her close. “You’re mine,” I promised. “Only you, Isabel.”

Tears spilled down her cheeks, but a brilliant smile illuminated her face. She truly was my miracle, my angel.

My Isabel.

Her dainty fingers found the top button of my shirt, slowly unclasping it as she searched my eyes. “Trust me?” she breathed.

“I do trust you,” I promised, my own hands moving to the zipper at the back of her dress.

We undressed one another slowly, as though this was our first time. I’d already memorized every curve of her beautiful body, but I finally allowed her to explore me. Each brush of her fingers over my bare skin burned me like a brand, and I welcomed the searing heat. I wanted to belong to her. I wanted her to belong to me in every way. No barriers between us, no secrets.

By the time we were both naked, we were breathing hard, as though we’d been sprinting for a mile rather than standing in my bedroom. The strain of this intimacy was new for both of us and terrifying in its intensity. But I could bear it for her. I could allow myself to be vulnerable with my wife. Even though she was so achingly fragile in my hands, she possessed an inner strength that I’d never known before.

And the desperate hope shining in her eyes was so keen that it sliced at my heart. She’d been alone for so long, neglected by her cruel family for her entire life. She was putting everything on the line for me, putting her very soul at risk by placing it in my hands.

“Stay here with me,” she beseeched, touching my face with tenderness that I was coming to crave from her.

I placed my palm over her hand, holding it against my cheek, showing her that I accepted her touch, her trust. “I’m with you, Isabel. Always.”

I looked into her glittering eyes and saw only her: my perfect bride, my sweet wife.

All mine.

She brushed a kiss over my lips, my jaw, my neck. Her hands skimmed down my torso, learning the shape of my muscles as they flexed beneath her gentle touch. She worked her way lower, sinking to her knees before me as she trailed her soft lips over my abs, her fingers tracing the dark dusting of hair that led to my cock. It jerked toward her, aching to penetrate her wet heat.

But my wife didn’t intend to offer me her tight cunt. She shot me a shy glance as she pressed her lips to my hard length. I hissed at the soft, silken contact, and desire rippled through my entire body in a slow shudder.

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