Fifth a Fury

Stupid tears rolled down my cheeks. I broke our touch, swiping at the droplets.

The past few months since meeting Sully, I’d cried in horror, terror, grief, and hope, but now...now, I cried with pure relief. I cried because this was a fresh beginning. Slightly messy with history and possibly tricky as we learned our new paths, but we were together.

I’d earned his trust.

I’d captured his heart.

And he’d just taken every last piece of my soul with his brutal confession.

Sully tried to raise his hand to touch me. His face etched with torment as he struggled to raise his palm to hip height. “Eleanor...don’t cry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m sorry.” I swiped at my tears and placed my hand back into his. I raised his knuckles to my lips and kissed him. “I love you, Sullivan Sinclair. I love you so much it damn well hurts.”

The tension of our honesty shattered, and his body turned sensual instead of strict. “I’m glad it hurts because I’ve never been in such pain.” He arched his eyebrow at the tenting sheet again. “I won’t last eight weeks not having you.”

Looking over my shoulder, checking to see where Louise was so she didn’t catch us breaking her rules, I wrapped my free hand around Sully’s thickening cock.

He bowed off the bed, muscles seizing and his throat elongating with cords of power. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

I rubbed him once before letting go. “I’ll trade you sexual favours for motor improvements.”

His eyes flashed a glowing turquoise as he glared at me. “What sort of favours?”

“Oh, I dunno...a kiss if you manage to sit up. A hand job when you can stand.”

“I’ll do both today.”

I laughed under my breath. “Honestly, I believe you would.” Sitting back, I shook my head. “But we should take it slow. You have an important date when you can walk, remember?”

His chest rose with a sharp inhale. “You’re saying yes?”

I grinned. “You didn’t ask a question. You just told me.”

“That’s right. I did.”

“So you don’t need an answer. I’m marrying you the day you can walk.”

He turned serious, his brows sinking low, shadowing complicated eyes. “I’ve stolen you once, Eleanor. I won’t do it again unless it’s something you want.”

“Will I be your prisoner if I say yes?”

“Absolutely. All mine until death do us part.”

“And will you be mine? Will you wear a ring so everyone knows you belong to me?”

“I’ll wear one on every finger if you need me to.”

I laughed again. “Will you permit me to travel? Will you come home with me and meet my parents?”

“If you’re okay that we come back here afterward, so we can avoid the world, then yes. But only if you agree to come with me to stuffy board meetings that I can’t get out of when I fly periodically to the States.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” His gorgeous lips slipped into a heart-stopping smile. “Let’s get me walking then, woman. We have a wedding to attend.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“I’M GIVING MY CHEFS a raise. They can have every penny I own.”

Eleanor laughed beside me, the stress that’d carved into her cheeks and highlighted her weight loss had softened thanks to our shared meal. Her hair had been twisted into a rope and pinned to the top of her head with a pencil from my desk. Pika sat on my pillow, chattering away to himself where I’d been rearranged into a sitting position, while Skittles preferred to perch on Eleanor’s knee where she sat cross-legged beside me.

The remains of our lunch lay between us.

After the intensity of our conversation, I hadn’t been able to stop the tug of sleep. I’d fallen into a dreamless rest, unaware that six hours passed while Eleanor and my doctors watched over me as my body gathered its weakened endurance.

I’d woken to the scents of food—delicious, nutritious food—and my stomach had threatened to leap from my torso and grab a knife and fork without waiting for me to fully rouse.

It seemed every time I fell asleep, I woke a little stronger, a little more coherent and normal. And now that I’d eaten, I had visions of walking from this villa and jumping into Nirvana before the day was through. Fuck my legs. A swim would be beneficial as long as I didn’t drown if I fell asleep again.

“I ate too much.” Eleanor sighed. “Your chefs are magicians.”

I glanced at the remains.

So many bowls had barely a dent in their delicious contents. My stomach, that’d felt as hollow as a cave, had filled too quickly. It ached in discomfort, stretching ribs that’d healed but still liked to remind me that they’d been broken and fixed without my knowledge.

“Dessert?” She spooned a mouthful of palm sugar syrup along with two tiny tapioca and rice balls into my mouth.

To begin with, I hadn’t been down with her feeding me like a fucking invalid. However, she’d ignored my grumbling and selected a delicious rosemary-roasted mushroom and placed it onto my tongue.

The intimacy of sucking food off a fork and holding her stare as she locked onto my mouth had caused yet another fucking erection. At least this time, no catheter twinged my tip—thanks to Louise removing it—but if I was this reactive to Eleanor while still coming out of a coma, how the hell would I endure eight long fucking weeks?

Sexual favours for progress.

Chewing on the sweet confectionary, I ran my tongue over my lips and chuckled at the way Eleanor’s breath hitched and nipples pebbled beneath my shirt. It wasn’t just me struggling, and that gave me far too much satisfaction.

“You know...eating counts as progress.” I swallowed and kept my voice for her ears only. “I deserve a reward. How about I eat you for the rest of my dessert?”

Her cheeks pinked; the spoon she wielded clinked against the porcelain bowl. “Louise will kick me out if we don’t behave.”

“Louise can watch for all I care.” I did my best to shift, needing relief from the aching throb between my legs. To be fair, everything throbbed. The bones that’d knitted together and the muscles that’d resented not being exercised in six weeks all drummed in time with my heartbeat. If it wasn’t for the pain meds that Louise slipped into my IV, I probably would’ve lost my appetite the second I started eating.

Exhaustion was yet another factor in my discomfort. The heaviness of my eyelids, the fog creeping over my mind. Just eating and talking felt like I’d swam around my island twenty times and then scaled Nirvana another forty.

I wasn’t used to being so weak.

I despised it.

“Your first step...” Eleanor whispered. “When you take your first step, you can have me for dessert.”

Goddammit, could a man die of denied gratification? I honestly didn’t know how long I could stand such insufferable desire. “Done. I’ll take a step, fall to my knees, press my mouth against your pussy, and stick my tongue—”

Another mouthful of sweet tapioca and palm syrup filled my mouth. Eleanor gave me a smug smile, effectively gagging my erotic declaration.

I chewed while narrowing my eyes at her.