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Later that night, after she put Jules to bed, Geraldine came and found him. She slipped her arms around him from behind as he stood at the glass windows of his favorite room and looked out into the dark.
Though what he saw was her reflection, superimposed over this land he’d been raised to believe was, truly, the whole of the world.
“Geraldine,” he said, because his heart was pounding at him, and he refused to interpret that as anything but a warning. To disengage. To step away from her. To end this, whatever it was. He told himself it could mean nothing else, even if the thought of doing any of those things did not exactly fill him with happiness.“Mi media naranja...”
My other half.Why did he keep saying that? Had he made it so?
But she tugged on him so he turned to look down at her. And she smiled up at him, the heat in her gaze so bright that he found he could not resist.
That he did notwantto resist.
“Tonight,” she told him quietly, her green eyes dancing, “you will not speak at all, unless it is my name in your mouth. Do you understand?”
Everything inside him stilled. Then...hummed.
“You play a dangerous game—” he began.
“Lionel,” she said, and shook her head as if saddened when still her eyes gleamed with laughter. “That is not my name.”
And then, as he stood there,undone, she ran her hands down his chest. She took her time. Then her green eyes held his with a kind of solemnity as she knelt down before him.
Then, never looking away from him, she pulled him from his trousers, thick and ready. She wrapped her hands around the base of him, then leaned forward and sucked him in deep.
And she loved him like that, slow and hot, fire and need, undoing him with every low sound she made.
With every stroke of her tongue. With the suction, the heat.
She loved him past the place of no return. She ignored him when he said her name in warning.
And when he finished, despite himself, he shouted out her name.
While inside him, it felt like a song.
She sat back, looking up at him with a smile on her face and what looked like sheer, uncomplicated joy in those green eyes of hers.
And it was as if something in him broke open.
Lionel didn’t know what it was. He didn’t want to know.
He reached down and pulled her to her feet, then straight into his arms.
And he carried her into the bedroom. Once there, he laid her out on the bed and looked down at her, his heart setting up such a clatter inside his chest that once again, he had to press his own hand to it.
Because it felt as if it might break his ribs.
And for a moment, he could do nothingbutstand there, his breath coming in too fast. The blood inside him too loud.
For once, he didn’t know what he was meant todo.
Because Lionel did not feel. He did notfeel thingslike this, with an overwhelming need so powerful and so enduring that he was beginning to suspect there was no amount of time spent with her that would ever be enough.
That he would always be caught up in this spell of hers.
But tonight, there was only one word that he could say. And perhaps there was a part of him that was grateful for that, because otherwise he could not trust that he would not say things that he knew he shouldn’t.
That he had always vowed hewouldn’t.
So he crawled up next to her, into her open arms, and then he set about making her his.
