34
MITCHELL
I can’t wait to get her alone.
While I make the final arrangements for a last-minute reservation for a top-floor Victorian apartment rental through Airbnb, Bryn drives us out of the Presidio and navigates through the Marina and down to Pacific Heights. After she parks in front of the blue apartment building, I draw her in for a searing, blistering kiss.
She stayed for the ceremony. She knew me better than I knew myself, understood my body and soul needed her. I realized then I need to show her that just as she put me first today, she has been first on my mind since I met her.
“Wow.” She’s breathless when we come up for air.
“There’s more of that when we get inside.”
She grins at my proposition, hands still on my chest. “Good.”
My body revs at her encouragement. “The owner of the place lives in the building, and I’m hoping we’ve sufficiently checked in. Because I want you alone, now.”
We rush to unload the car. The gate is already open, and we climb up the cement steps to the third floor and the open door. We’re greeted by a large window with a full view of the water. A chandelier reflects light from the cloudless sky. We’re high enough so no one can see through our windows, but low enough to feel the risk of it. Almost as exposed as we are on the live stream.
The keys and a welcome note are on the kitchen counter. “I guess we’re good. Just us, from here on out.”
And we are emboldened as soon as the front door clicks shut.
My hands fall on her shoulders, glide down to her elbows, fingers savoring the silk of her skin.
Bryn respectfully unbuttons my uniform jacket, one gold button at a time. I shrug it off, and she turns and drapes it on a chair. But before she turns back to me, I touch her shoulders again and kiss the sampaguita tattoo on her neck.
“Mitchell,” she whispers.
I finger the zipper at her neck. “This okay?” I mumble into her skin, soft and sweet smelling. Her scent is intoxicating, and knowing we’re alone together fills me with a hunger only she can satiate.
“Yes.”
The zipper slides down with ease, exposing the line of her back. She sucks in a breath as I run my fingers up to her shoulders, sliding the thin straps away. The dress falls in a heap on the floor. She turns around, her beauty unparalleled, mixed with innocence and sophistication. Black heels, black panties, black bra, and the look of a vixen.
She grins. “Now it’s time to even the score.” Her gaze travels up and down my body, then she waggles a finger at me to come closer.
Fuck. I’m fully loaded and cocked with that one teasing gesture.
Bryn tugs at my tie, roughly pulls it out of the collar. Her fingers work quickly down the buttons of my white shirt. But she stops short, eyeing the bulge in my pants. Cheeks reddening, she flashes her eyes at me as she peels my dress shirt off, pulls the undershirt out of my pants.
I help by snatching the shirt over my head as she splays her hands across my chest. “So nice . . .” she whispers. I think that’s my cue, so I reach out to her, but she steps away. “Nope. Not even.”
Then again, did I expect any less? “You’re killing me.”
“Good.” Her hands land on my belt buckle. She unhooks it with precision and pulls it off, raising the belt high in the air.
It drops with a thud.
That’s all it takes for me to lose control. Two steps and I pull her into my arms, her breasts against my chest, mouth against mine in a heated kiss.
Bryn walks us backward through the flat’s only hallway, into an open bedroom, until the backs of her legs hit the bed, and we both climb into it, desperate and groping. She inches up, away from me, and I crawl toward her, to the headboard, in between her opened legs, meeting her lips at the finish line. My pants and underwear are jerked off, freeing my erection into her hand. I moan into her mouth as she takes control. We kiss in a cycle that matches her rhythm, from sweet to teasing, to heavy and biting. We kiss with the familiarity of knowing each other inside and out: our quirks, our vices, our triggers. She brings me to the brink, and it’s a miraculous feat for me to stop, to refuse. But I do. I fall away from her.
“You’re not being fair.” My breathing is heavy. “I want control, too.” I dip my face under her chin, down her neck, to her collarbone. I take my time there as I follow the line downward, toward the crest of her breasts. The bra clasp is within easy reach—in front—and with one flick it comes apart. I press her breasts together so I can lick one nipple and then the other and back, bringing her moans to the octave I’ve been dying to hear again.
“I want you,” she whispers.
With this definitive request, the blood in my veins surges south. But I’m not ready yet, not until I can show her I’m hers for as long as she wants me. My fingers travel down her abdomen, below her navel, to her panties. The fabric is slick and thin, hot and wet from her. She hisses when I push it down, when I touch her and circle her sex with a finger. I groan at the pleasure on her face, at the knowledge it’s me doing this to her.
I trail my tongue down to follow the path of my fingers. She giggles in anticipation; her body wiggles, but with my hands on her hips, I keep her still. Then I please her, taste her as she grips the sheets, as she bucks against my mouth, until her voice is ragged and breathless.
“Mitchell, if you don’t come here right now, I’m going to scream.”
It’s all the permission I need, and my body is blasted with what feels like ten cups of caffeine. But I take my time, kiss her on the way up and savor how the curves of her body move under me. When I reach her lips, she clutches me against her as if in thanks.
Little does she know I’m the one who’s grateful. I’m the one who’s counting every moment that led me to this one, even my worst memories, my mistakes, my sorrows, because without them, I wouldn’t be here, with her. Without the darkest days, the best would never be appreciated and savored.
I rest on my elbows and nibble on her chin. “You ready for me?”
She catches my lower lip in her teeth and angles her body so my erection is right where she wants me, where I want her. “Are you ready for me?”
It’s the standard response from Bryn, a quick comeback, but it wakes my conscience, because fuck yes, I am. I’m ready for her and whatever she gives me today, and for the rest of my life.
“Why aren’t you kissing me? What’s wrong?” Bryn’s breathing as hard as I am, her chest rising and falling from the expectation of pleasure.
The voice that leaves me is ragged. “I don’t want to do this unless . . .”
“What?” Her face twists in confusion.
“I can’t pretend this is all a game, something temporary, a means to an end.”
“You’re not . . . you’re not temporary.”
“Then why the change? Why did you really stay at the ceremony, and why are you with me now?”
She shakes her head. “I . . . I don’t know!”
“Bryn.” I let up, but she pulls me down.
She sighs, her resolve breaking. “I gave myself—I gave you—the criteria of forever because I thought it would protect me. What’s harder than forever, right? But it dawned on me while you were up there giving your speech that forever’s never guaranteed. What is guaranteed is now. I would be a fool if I didn’t show you how you make me feel. Because with you, it’s real. And that’s all I need.”
“Finally. Fucking finally.” I kiss her once. Hard. I put all of my weight into this kiss, and with it my intentions for her become clear. Why I took her father’s words to heart, why I can’t let any of our conversations go. Why I told her my greatest disappointments and fears. My question is in caps, in bold. “Do you love me?”
Stunned, she stutters, “Wh-what?”
“Do you love me, Bryn? Because I love you.”