Chapter 8
Two hours ago, she wouldn’t even have considered getting into a bed with him. She wanted nothing but to call in some anonymous tip and get him locked up and then head for the hills and to a new future.
Now she was looking at a different man. He was stripped down completely, more so than he had ever been, despite the amount of time she’d seen every inch of him, stark naked in the low light as he hovered over top of her or lay beside her or woke up with himself wrapped around her. She’d seen glimpses of that man then, the one hiding underneath it all.
And now here he was, so complete and real. Roarke’s soul seemed to have carefully laid itself over the surface of his skin like a thin blanket over the body. It was beautiful to look at. She never wanted to go back to that time, that place where they were two separate people. They both shared something growing inside her and that was something they could never let themselves forget.
His bareness made her bare too. It made her want to be truthful. Had she gone first, she might not have been able to tell him the truth. Now she felt the utter relief of telling him the truth like a cold wave washing over a burn on the skin. They were open and one, the last barrier removed and no one was yelling, no one was glaring.
She’d moved in on him slowly, in staccato movements. She took a few brief, quick steps towards him, inching at him like a zookeeper approaching a lion. He didn’t move, he just watched her come towards him until they were breathing the same air. She could feel the heat from his breath, the shudder there. She could almost hear his heartbeat from there, sense it distorting the air around it, reaching out for her. He missed her just as much as she missed him.
She brought her hands up to cup either side of his face, feeling the softness of his cheeks under the pads of her thumbs. It was in such a contrast to the rest of him. He had callouses on his hands and burns all over his arms, grease stains that never seemed to come out. But this was soft and warm. This was where the realness was waiting, where it sat patiently underneath the hard exterior.
She moved in closer. He didn’t stop her. Their lips met for the first time in over a week. They were even softer than his cheeks and just as she remembered them. He kissed her back, though the rest of him did not move, his hands remaining at his sides.
“You’re okay with it?” she asked.
“Well, you know the answer to that question,” he said. “But I trust you. I trust what you make me feel, I trust your mind and your choices. However this started, whoever we both were at the beginning of this, those people are gone. I am okay with the ones who took their places.”
She smiled so wide even she could feel out radiant she must have looked. She felt her cheeks heat up in a way that had nothing to do with nervousness or blush but the color returning to her because she was so happy to finally be here, that place she hoped to be with him from the beginning. She allowed her thumbs to explore more of his face and she watched his eyes flutter shut.
“We’re a work in progress,” he said. “But hopefully we’ll be where we need to be by the time our kid gets here.”
Their child. Their kid. They were going to share this together.
She couldn’t stop herself from launching across the gap between them and making their lips one, their hands one, their bodies flush together so close that where one ended and the other began was a mystery. She didn’t want to know a time before him and certainly didn’t want to know who she was, what life was like, without him near. It was probably too soon for thoughts like that, but she was having a baby. Even if it somehow all ended in disaster and divorce and messy anger at the end, they would always be linked by that.
He accepted her energy, her body, and he gave it back in full force. She didn’t know how they’d both managed to be stripped of clothes. She vaguely remembered buttons being popped free, pants being opened, shirts being pushed off shoulders with force and no time for delay. She remembered stumbling, feet as one, into the bedroom because they both wanted to do this right. They didn’t want quick make up sex on the couch where crumbs from snacks were still hiding and they might sit on the TV remote. They needed isolation, a world of just them, a place where they could be together with only each other’s eyes to light up the world around them.
Her bedroom wasn’t exactly this magical fairy place she imagined in her head, but it was the best she had and so far the best they had seemed to be working fine for them.
They tumbled down together, she on top of him, hips straddling his own, moving already. Feeling him harden underneath her was the most beautiful thing to her, in that moment. There was nothing about it that was about teasing or pure pleasure or whispering dirty words in each other’s ears. It was all about how she could make him feel, what she could do to him, how she affected him. He wanted her in every way possible and that caused something warm to buzz inside her. She returned the favor with her own growing wetness between her legs. He did the same things to her, and she wanted to show him all night.
They were moaning together as their hips picked up the pace, her folds finding purchase as they moved so fluidly along his hard shaft. Eventually it stood very nearly at full attention and she knew she didn’t want to come unless he could feel it completely, from the source.
She grabbed him and lowered herself into him, relishing every single feeling, every bump, every curve, every place where it hurt or brushed and felt incredible. She wanted to commit it all to memory like a fingerprint on her brain that she could revisit in the night or in her dreams. She just sat there for a moment, once their hips were one, him inside of her. They felt it together, breathing together.
And then she moved and it was a moment of infinity that they repeated again and again during the night.