Stella
We come to a stop outside of the hotel. It’s the nicest Michael could find on such short notice—complimentary robes but no slippers.
Admittedly, I was a little worried about it, but it looks great from where I’m sitting.
Which, of course, is as close to Michael as I can possibly get.
I haven’t been able to stop touching him since he saved me.
I might never be able to stop touching him again.
He saved me.
I’m already trying to figure out ways that I can be near him for the rest of our lives. Maybe I’ll just become a doctor. No, scratch that, a surgeon. That way I can be with him even when he’s operating.
Michael moves to get out of the car, and I realize for the first time that I’ve been holding onto him a bit too hard. My nails have left imprints in his arm.
I love him even more for not saying anything about it.
I reach for my door handle, and he shoots me one of his serious looks.
“Don’t move.” he says, getting out and shutting his door behind him.
In a flash, he’s on my side of the car, opening the door and smiling down at me.
“You’ve done enough for one day,” he says.
“Me? You saved me!” I reply as he scoops me into his arms.
“It was nothing.”
“Michael,” I use my most serious voice, driving him to look me fully in my eyes, “you fucking saved me. It was not nothing.”
I swear I can almost see him blush.
Almost.
He carries me through the massive doors to the hotel, careful not to bump my head. I feel like a princess. Not that I’d tell him that.
He certainly doesn’t need any more reasons to call me princess.
I nuzzle my head into the crook of his neck, for the moment just content to be held by him.
The clerk at the counter probably thinks we’re newlyweds.
Is that really so far from the truth, though?
I mean, unofficially, I am 0his bride. Just of the mail order variety, is all.
I decide to keep those thoughts to myself.
“Checking in?” the clerk asks, customer service smile firmly in place.
“Yes. Michael Kirkwood.”
“Okay,” he replies, typing incredibly fast into his computer, “and this is Mrs. Kirkwood?”
“Yes.” Michael says, without missing a beat.
I smile broadly against his neck.
I never thought of myself as the type to take a man’s last name. I mean, my name’s pretty fucking great, why would I ever change it?
Now, though, I’m really liking the sound of it.
Mrs. Kirkwood.
I could get used to that.
I try it out in my head the entire elevator ride,
Dr. and Mrs. Kirkwood. Or, if my plan from earlier works out, Dr. and Dr. Kirkwood.
That last one makes me laugh.
Michael carries me all the way to the room, even opening the door one-handed. My feet don’t touch the floor until we’re safely in front of the bed.
Even then, I hesitate to let go, somehow afraid that if I do, I’ll realize that this was all my imagination. That I’m really still in that car. Still with him.
Michael gently unhooks my arms from his neck, guiding me into a sitting position on the bed.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He kneels in front of me and brushes his hand softly across my temple, over the cut that I got in the crash.
“You’re so beautiful.” he whispers, leaning forward to claim my mouth with his own.
His kiss is softer than I’ve ever felt from him, and yet somehow still more.
It’s a kiss full of relief and promise.
And love.
I kiss him back, my own promise.
He half-stands, leaning into me so that I lie on my back, him above me.
His kiss travels from my lips, making its way down my neck, past the torn silk of my dress.
Another one-of-a-kind garment ruined. At this rate, I’ll never be allowed to wear luxury designer again.
But considering the state of undress I’m planning on being in for as long as Michael will have me…maybe I won’t even mind.
I feel his hand on my breast, his thumb rubbing against my nipple.
His other hand finds the hem of my dress, slowly sliding it up and over my thighs.
I lift my hips from the bed, needing to feel his stiffness.
He’s rock hard against me.
“Michael.” I moan, grinding myself into him. “Give it to me.”
“Not yet.” he answers, torturing me.
He slides down onto the floor, head now between my knees, and grabs my thong on either side. I hear the flimsy fabric tear in his grip, feel the cool air that washes over me in its absence.
He spreads my legs gently, like he’s afraid of hurting me.
I guess I don’t blame him. Looking down, I can see more than a few bruises forming…
Still, though, I wouldn’t be opposed to him giving me a few more.
I’m about to tell him so, when I feel his mouth against me, banishing the words from my lips.
Fuck.
He drives his tongue into me like a man who’s lost all control. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me fiercely, possessively.
I hear him moan, and I let out a cry of my own, hips again rising off the bed toward him.
I reach down with both hands, gripping his hair desperately between my fingers.
His tongue slides over my clit, and I ache with pleasure.
It flicks roughly across me, and I moan louder.
His fingers slip into me, and I feel claimed.
His.
I’m his.
And he is mine.
My every nerve screams out at me. A symphony of sensations. Even the aches in my battered body seem like bliss.
His fingers drive deeper into me, and I push against them, fucking them the way I want to fuck him.
My hands are pulling insanely at his hair, my hips moving faster by the second.
His tongue moves along with me, matching my every need.
I feel my orgasm building, waves of pure electricity that seem to form in my stomach before exploding.
I scream, tightening around his fingers.
When I come, fucking angels sing.
Molten lava erupts.
The heavens weep.
I am rocketed off into an ecstasy purer than I imagined possible.
I scream his name the entire time.
After, I find myself once again in his arms, now my absolute most favorite place to be.
I’m so content here, I actually feel high. My breath comes in as gasps and leaves as laughter.
I have never felt so completely satisfied in my life. I doubt that anyone has.
I find his mouth, kissing him hard, reminding him that he is mine. That I am his.
Mrs. Kirkwood, I think.
Yeah. I like the sound of that.