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“And?”
“They didn’t believe her.”
He draws his eyebrows together. “Did you speak to them?”
“I did, and they told me that my sister and I were dirty little liars.” My gaze drills into his. “The next morning, when everyone was at work or school, Jeannette set the house on fire.”
He exhales sharply. “So, that was her first arson. That’s why you knew she was no pyromaniac.”
“Yes.”
He stares at the wall for a while. “This story explains a lot about you.”
“When I confessed to Jeannette, her reaction confirmed what I already knew deep down. That game had been wrong, and those boys had taken advantage of me.”
Louis says nothing, just strokes me gently.
I watch his big hand over mine. “I couldn’t believe what a fool I’d been for allowing it. I felt utterly disgusted with myself.”
“And so you made a vow.”
I bury my head in his chest.
We stay like that for a long while, until the bad memories and feelings recede, and all that remains is my husband’s exquisite body. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him into a deep, desperate kiss.
The second we break it, he removes his pajama pants and settles between my legs again. This time around, his face is at the same level as mine. I grope between our bodies for his cock. Once I’ve seized it, my fingers savor the now-familiar hardness. I wrap my legs around his hips. His hand joins mine and we guide him into me.
And then we rock into each other. Our breaths mix. Our moans, too. Every time he thrusts, I rise up, wanting more. Making love like this, skin to skin, is a first for me. It blows my mind how much I enjoy it.
I come first.
When he follows me, I relish the rush of his hot release almost as much as I did my own. My body clenches onto him, sated and happy.
He stops throbbing inside me but doesn’t pull out.
“You know,” he says, “I never thought I’d fall in love. But then I met you. And I sure as hell didn’t think I’d fall in love with you.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Yet you chose me over Magdalena.”
“Thing is, you were made for me. No man has the strength to resist a woman that was made for him.”
I plant a kiss on his throat. “Is it because opposites attract?
“Yes and no. In a way, we’re very much alike.”
“Do you mean our hurts and hang-ups?”
“Yours made you shun physical intimacy,” he says. “Mine, emotional intimacy. But we’ve been helping each other heal.”
I slant him a suspicious look. “Did your therapist tell you that while I was shopping for Christmas gifts?”
“He just found better words for what I’d come up with on my own.”
“What were your own words?” I ask.
“You really want to hear them?”
I huff out a breath. “I’m ready. Bring them on!”
“I told him, ‘I’m a drunkard’s son. She’s a junkie’s daughter. We were meant for each other.’”
I cup my cheek in a theatrical gesture, like a fifties movie star. “Oh, Louis! Oh, darling! You are such a hopeless romantic!”
He beams. “I fucking love you, Camille.”
