Page 124 of Love What's Left
“You poor thing.”
He brings his mouth close enough that I can feel the heat of him against my lips. “You kissed it better.”
He pushes the quilt out of the way and guides me into the bed where we spent our wedding night, then works his way down my neck, to my breasts, and finally the center of my body. Gabriel runs his palms under my thighs and arranges them over his shoulders. I close my eyes, my hands first digging into the sheets beneath me, then into his hair, the strands cool against my touch. When he lifts me to his mouth like a chalice, I forget how to think.
Gabriel works me until my entire body is a coiled spring, then mutters against my clit, “Give it to me, wife. I want to drown in you.”
I come hard, my muscles tightening. He rises over me before the spasms stop and slides inside. I cry out at the perfect fullness and the way my body flutters around him. He props a hand on the headboard, lifts my leg, and powers into me. Stroke after stroke, I rise to meet every one.
He pulls out and guides me to my stomach. “On your knees. Spread your legs.”
I do as ordered, and he drags his fingertips down my back, from my shoulder blades to my waist, before he circles me in a hug from behind, his chest against my back, and pushes his cock back inside. He brushes my hair away from my ear and rests his cheek against mine. “I love you.”
“I love you.”
His arm grows even tighter around me. Then his fingers find my clit and circle as he fills me over and over until my toes curl again, and I orgasm so hard that I can’t remember to hold my own weight. I fall to the mattress, and he follows me down, his cock jerking inside me, his heat flooding into me as I spasm around him.
We stay like that for long seconds, until the bliss and, finally, the aftershocks fade. He separates his body from mine and collapses beside me, rolling to his back, then dragging me down onto his chest. I lie with my cheek against the silky warmth of his skin and doze against him, occasionally slapping away at something itchy on my back to the rumble of laughter beneath my ear, only to realize it’s him, feathering light touches over my skin.
I drift to sleep, rousing briefly to my husband using a warm cloth to clean me, then patting me dry and covering me gently with the quilt. “Thanks, Gabriel,” I mumble.
His knuckles brush over my cheekbone. “You’re welcome, Sydney.”
He climbs in beside me and tugs me against him.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go over all the parts and pieces in our prenup. If you can’t remember our past, maybe you can remember I told you the story,” he murmurs.
If I don’t remember, your story will be good enough because what we have now is worth it.Sleepiness drags me into its cozy embrace. I lay my palm over the slow thud of his heart, and we sleep until the sunrise spreads orange and golden fingers of light through the windows and across the bed.
And we face the day.
41
Sydney
Ipick up a flat rock and send it skipping across the lake in the morning sunshine.One. Two. Three.“I can do better than that.”
I crouch to search for another good skipping stone.There.It’s the perfect size for my palm with a nice flat bottom. I rise to face the water.
Gabriel stuffs his hands into the pockets of his khaki shorts. “You remembered us when we were happy. In the car. You remember parts of our marriage.”
I hum in agreement and send the new rock flying.One. Two. Three. Four.
“Can I show you something from the night I proposed to you?”
I smile, but it falls from my face at the grim expression in his eyes.
“How can the night we got engaged not be a good memory?” I ask warily.
“It’s a good memory because we figured it out in the end. Before we flew out on our honeymoon, we spent our wedding night in the cabin. And the next morning, we came down here and talked, just like we’re doing now. We took turns seeing who could could skip their stone the farthest, and we were honest about our feelings for each other. If you can keep what came after that night in your mind, maybe you’ll feel safe to hold on to how we got there. Remember dancing in the kitchen.”
“I do.”
“When you first came home, you kept going into that catatonic state. You had headaches and seizures. You couldn’t speak. Granthy and Frankhouser both said the last thing you needed was to be stressed out.”
My new therapist has said the same thing. “I’ve made a lot of progress since then. The headaches are gone. I’m healing. The day you were drugged was awful, and I handled Amelia Webster without any problems. It can’t be worse than those things.”
“It’s not. I promise. It’s just a block. One last piece to work through. You asked me to help you with it. That’s why we came here. This was where we hashed out the mess we made when we got engaged. These are happy memories. We said I love you for the first time right here.”
