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Because easing the ache inside her will ease the ache inside me.
She moans. She shouts. Not in words but in pure emotion.
I crawl upward, kissing her nipples, her chest, her neck.
Then my cock is inside her, and I’m thrusting, pumping, making glorious love to her as her climax continues.
Still she grasps the headboard, her bindings only my will or her own. I don’t know which, because they’re bound together tonight. Her will and mine. Bound together…
The thought should frighten me. Plague me.
But it doesn’t, and in this moment—this splendid moment inside her—I’m not disturbed that it doesn’t.
I meet her gaze, our eyes locked, as sweat protrudes from my forehead, making my hair stick to my face.
“I love you, Skye,” I pant. “I fucking love you.”
Chapter Forty-Seven
She doesn’t return my sentiment—not in words.
She can’t.
I’ve forbidden her to speak.
But I know she loves me. I feel it inside me. Inside my heart and soul. Viscerally and completely.
I thrust harshly—releasing—and stay embedded in her.
The moment overwhelms me—this closeness, this joining with the woman I love.
But it’s more.
It’s something I never imagined. Something I never knew I wanted.
And this time… For the first time… I give in to it completely.
I sink myself into Skye, not just physically but emotionally and spiritually as well.
I give myself to her.
And for this moment, I allow myself to enjoy it.
But only for this moment.
I roll over. She’s still grasping the headboard.
My breath slows after a few minutes, and I turn to her. Still, she doesn’t speak.
“We have another serving of dessert,” I say.
She doesn’t respond. I haven’t given her permission.
Sometimes she overwhelms me.
“You may speak now.”
She loosens her fingers from the headboard and wiggles them. “Yes, we do. Do I get to eat it off you this time?”
I growl. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but I have something else in mind. Excuse me for a minute.” I rise, wrap a robe around my body, pick up the second serving of mousse, and leave the room. Marilyn isn’t here, since Skye sent her home, but Christopher has already set out the containers of food, opened the Beaujolais-Villages, and placed two red wineglasses next to the bottle. Good man. I inhale the fragrant aroma of hot pepper, seafood, and savory sausage.
I grab the wine and glasses, head back to the bedroom, and open the door. Skye still lies in bed, her eyes still red and swollen.
Still so beautiful to me.
“Our dinner is here,” I say.
Skye rises—I eye her svelte body, my cock already responding—heads to the bathroom, and returns wearing a robe.
“I had Christopher get us Cajun. It won’t be as good as yours, but at least we can kind of have the dinner you planned.”
She smiles. Sort of. “That was a nice thought.”
“I decided against shrimp étouffée, though. I want the next shrimp étouffée I taste to be yours. I got crawfish étouffée and gumbo with andouille. I hope you like it.”
“It smells wonderful. Will the wine you chose still work?”
“Absolutely. It’s already opened. Would you like a glass?”
She nods dreamily, and I pour two glasses and hand one to her.
“To…possibilities,” I say.
Will she realize the significance of my toast?
I want her to know that anything is possible.
She can fix what’s wrong in her life. It’s not always easy, but it’s always possible.
She clinks her glass to mine.
She follows me to the dining room, where the table is still set for the dinner she prepared. I bring our meals and gesture for her to sit down. We quietly fill our plates.
The meal is delicious.
We’re silent as we eat, allowing me to ruminate.
I learned something new about myself tonight.
Skye’s sadness, Skye’s desperation—it breaks me. It breaks me more than anything ever has—and I’ve been broken before.
I opened up to her tonight, more than I’ve ever opened up to anyone.
We clean our plates, and I rise, taking them to the kitchen. I return with the remaining chocolate mousse and a spoon.
I sit. “Come here.” I point to my lap.
She doesn’t hesitate. She rises, comes to me, and sits down on my thighs. She feels good on my lap. So good.
I take a spoonful of the chocolate mousse and hold it to her lips. “You haven’t gotten to taste much of your confection yet. Try it.”
She opens her mouth and lets the creamy mousse sit on her tongue for a moment before she closes her eyes and swallows.
“You’re a good cook,” I say.
“Thank you. I wish you could have—”
I press two fingers to her lips. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll make it again sometime. You can make it when we go to New York if you’d like.”
“I’d like that.”
“We never have to leave the building if you don’t want to.”
She widens her eyes. “That would be amazing.”
I feed her another spoonful of the mousse. “I want to give you what you need, Skye, just as you give me what I need.”
