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He blinks and thinks about it for a moment. “It wasn’t here, was it?”
“No, I was living with Tori.”
“For every minute that comes back to me there’s an hour that’s still blank,” he sighs. “But I know who I am now. There’s no emptiness inside of me. I couldn’t figure out why my name didn’t fit me. No matter how long I was called Oliver, it didn’t feel right.” His small smile brims with adoration as he looks down at me. “You felt right. Being with you, talking and laughing. Touching you. Kissing you. You were the only thing that felt right.” His lips tilt into a smirk. “And the bikes.”
“The bikes, of course,” I chuckle, turning to face him.
I run my fingertips over his stubble. “I dreamed about you almost every night. A lot of them were like this. Just sitting together, talking. Being us.”
His lips brush over mine and a long look is exchanged between us. I’m the one who breaks the spell, leaning forward to kiss him fully. He pulls me into his arms. The kiss is slow and soft, reassuring. It goes on and on, neither of us wanting to pull away.
His warm hands run up and down my back, under my sweatshirt. I drag my lips from his to kiss his jaw, working my way back to his ear. I nibble at his lobe—something that’s always turned him on—and he hums. God, his hands. They feel amazing.
I pull off my sweatshirt, glad I didn’t put a bra on. He looks me in the eye and kisses me again, while his hands explore my breasts. Every move we make, every touch, is slow, drawn out. I’m turned on, and I can feel his hard cock under my ass, but there’s no frantic drive to fuck. It’s more about being close to each other. About our desperation to touch and be touched. To love each other.
Neither of us speak. Our hands and lips communicate everything that we can’t put into words. I undress him and he does the same for me. I’m underneath him and the sight of the desire in his dark eyes when he slides inside me makes my entire body burn.
“Oh, Den,” I moan, dragging his head forward so I can kiss him again. We can’t keep our lips off of each other. Each of his languorous strokes are met by a flex of my hips. My hands cup his ass, and he bends one of my legs upward, angling his next stroke to hit just right.
Slow is the word of the night. Slow and sweet and passionate.
I wrap my legs around him and move with his leisurely pace. His hot breath is in my ear once I get close. “Ella, fuck you feel so good.”
“You’re going to make me come,” I whimper, already tipping over the edge.
His steady strokes continue and waves of pleasure roll over me, building slowly until I moan with abandon, grabbing his ass.
When his movements begin to stagger, I open my eyes to watch him fall apart. I’ve always loved that moment right before he comes, when his face is slack and full of vulnerability. Before his brow furrows and his eyes squeeze shut. It’s the sexiest thing. He groans with his release, his body relaxing onto mine.
After a few sweet kisses, he moves to lie beside me, and we hold one another. That’s where we stay for a long time, caught in our little bubble while the snow falls, keeping the world at bay.
We don’t talk much. I imagine his thoughts are even more scattered than mine. There’s no need for words. There are a million things we’ll need to talk about. A plethora of problems and issues wait for us, but for now, this is all we need.
* * *
Night sneaks in slowly, dimming the room until I have to find some candles and an electric lantern. Alden and I have spent all day wrapped around one another on the couch. The temperature has plummeted—outside and in the rest of the house—but the fire keeps the living room from being too cold.
We haven’t eaten since yesterday. Alden volunteers to build up the fire and bring more wood inside while I make us something to eat. I’m thankful for having a gas stove and hot water heater at times like this. The big container of vegetable stew I made is still cold when I pull it from the dead fridge, but I’ll have to put my food in a cooler on the porch if the outage goes on much longer.
While the stew is warming up, I put some rolls in the oven to bake. When I made the stew, I was anticipating spending the storm with Oliver. It still makes me reel. Yesterday, the love of my life was dead, and I was dealing with guilt over falling for his brother. Today, everything is different. The guilt is still there. Of course it is. I’m now face to face with the person who would be hurt the most by what I did.
The one who never should’ve known. We’re going to have to talk about it. I can’t imagine his outlook on it because he knows now, that if he had been the one to die, I would’ve gone to his brother. How can he forgive me for that? Plus the baby and—
The baby! Holy fuck, it’s Alden’s baby. God, I hadn’t even thought about the pregnancy since he told me who he was. My heart swells at the thought. I’m having Alden’s baby. We’re getting the family we wanted despite all the turmoil. My hand drops to caress my stomach absently, until Alden pulls me out of my reverie.
“Something smells good.”
The lights flash on for about five seconds, then go dark again. “Well, they’re trying,” I chuckle. “Let’s eat in the living room. It’s freezing in here.”
Alden has made a pallet on the floor in front of the fireplace. We sit cross legged with the plate of rolls between us and eat.
“Nothing from the lawyer?” I ask when he checks his phone.
“No, I’ll try again in the morning.”
“Towers might be down near him, and he can’t get a signal.”
He nods, swallowing his last bite of bread. “My timing for life changing epiphanies is impeccable.”
