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Gilded cages were pretty, they were comfortable and elegant, but freedom?
That was priceless.
We rode home, a penthouse that was starting to feel more and more like that word, not just a label but a feeling, and the second we were out of the car and heading for the elevator, his phone was out and he was texting people. His brothers, I assumed, but I didn’t pry.
The business wasn’t my place, and neither did I have the desire to know.
I plucked at my bottom lip as we soared to the top floor, and when we exited into the lounge, and I saw my pretty furnishings, a smile blossomed.
The world might be in an uproar, but this, here? A sanctuary. No longer my prison, but a haven of my own making.
Eoghan, surprising me, snapped his hand around mine and jerked me against him. His phone was now forgotten as he reached up and traced my smile.
He stared at my mouth, at the curve on it, then he connected our lips, a groan escaping him as he thrust his tongue inside me, forcing me to accept him—except there was no force. I needed this just as much as he did.
Somehow, when we were like this, everything made sense in a world founded on chaos.
I groaned back, loving his taste, loving the flavor of him.
I was panting when he pulled back, stating, “I had to taste that smile.”
Feelings flooded me. So warm and hot and overwhelming that my heart started to pound like mad. It was a wonderful feeling, good and positive, making me feel like I could climb Everest and vanquish a thousand foes—so long as he was at my side.
I didn’t know what to call it, didn’t know if I could even put those vague feelings to a name, it just enabled me to reach around his waist, hold him tight, and breathe him in.
My husband.
Mine.
