Page 84 of Regal Feather
“That’s fine,” he whispered. The small smile that grazed his lips wasn’t enough to replace his frown, but it was something. “It’s all going to be fine.”
“Yeah?”
“I promise.” He kissed me then.
It was apparently all I’d needed. All that broke me, too.
I hated it.
I hated it, and I loved him, and I didn’t know what to make of it. I only knew that he was the only fucking lifeline I’d ever known.
“I love you.”
“I love you,” he whispered again.
He didn’t have to be loud. He just had to be here. Close. Pressed against my clammy skin with his stupidly soft clothes on and the makeup that had gotten a bit ruined over the course of the night, and I was only noticing now. Now, as I found a tendril of strength to move us until he was the one sitting against the mattress, and I was on top, covering his body with mine. As I took the first clear, deep breath I’d taken ever since I found myself playing dodgeball with my erratic thoughts. With memories that I should’ve just left behind.
“We don’t have to…”
“I know.” I tensed, regardless. “I want to do this. I need to.”
“What do you need?” Ever asked. It wasn’t an outlandish question, but there was something that kept me frozen. Maybe in his tone, or in the smoldering gaze he was regarding me with. “Tell me.”
I swallowed.
The way he held my gaze was new and hot in a way that had nothing to do with the eroticism charging the air.
“I want to…” I needed to close my eyes. Needed a moment of quiet, of stillness, of relieving the pressure that kept building. “I want to make you come. Like when Tony was here.”
Ever arched his spine. It was for show. I knew it was. It didn’t matter. He could deploy all his sub tricks all he wanted, and I’d still know it was him. I’d still know he was safe.
“How?” He licked his lip. More of the arsenal he wasn’t too shy to display now. “How are you going to do that?”
“I…” My hips bucked forward of their own accord. I should still be reeling from the events of the evening. From his words. Mine. In a way, I still was. It was getting tucked in a box somewhere, though, distant. “I’m going to…I’m going to fuckyou first. And then I’m going to finger you, and I’m going to bite and mark you everywhere, and you’re going to…”
Fuck. It sounded pathetic. Cringe as fuck.
“Good,” Ever’s voice broke through the thoughts again. “Mark me. Fuck me. All of it.”
It wasn’t the words or even the physical ache to do as he asked. It was the determination in his gaze. The sheer honesty in it. It left me no choice.
It also became the closest I’d ever gotten to making love to someone instead of just fucking them, to understanding why that distinction was important. To understanding what it meant when your soulmate stared deep into your eyes and didn’t let go.
“Ever.”
There was no frown anymore. He’d lost it sometime between me kissing him and exploring the expanse of his lean frame with my tongue. There was only the more sated, honest smile on his face as the aftermath of his ruined orgasm crashed through him.
He was beautiful.
Breathtaking.
Somehow, mine.
TWENTY-SIX
ev
“I’ve never done therapy before,” Santos admitted. I’d cajoled him into getting into bed after the rug proved not fluffy enough to conceal the hardwood beneath. I thought he would’ve tried to fall asleep now that I was back here, and he’d gotten whatever it was out of his system, but he’d set us face to face and spent who knew how long alternating between gazing at me with so much emotion it had me holding my breath and placing the softest kisses everywhere he could reach. “Well, there were the mandatory check-ins with the psychiatrist, but I hope therapy isn’t like that.”
