Page 95 of Love Again

She stands in the center of the room, her hands at her sides. “Then what are you doing? Why are you talking about Orono?”

“Come here,” I say and pull her down on the sofa. I put an arm around her shoulders. She puts her head on my chest, and we sit for minute. I need this time to straighten both my thoughts and my words and decide how I’m going to say all this.

“I love you, Devon Russo. I have been clear with you from the very beginning, through everything we’ve been dealt. I’ve learned something about myself, too. Getting sick was maybe the best thing that happened to me. I talked to Mateus about this.” I pause. “When your body doesn’t work, it’s humbling. It puts you in your place. It makes you realize that, sometimes, you do have to accept help.”

I pause for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “I didn’t like being someone I didn’t recognize. But you saw me. You still see who I am. And I see you.” I pause and say the thing I know she needs me to say. “You have to decide our next step, Devon, not me.”

When she raises her face, her eyes are bright, but there are no tears. She takes a hand and strokes the hair back from my forehead. Then with a soft sigh, she cups the back of my head, pulls my face to hers, and kisses me.

“Don’t go,” she says. And then in a rush, she goes on. “I am so sorry I ever left. I’m so sorry for the two years we’ve missed having each other. I don’t know what else to say. I love you. Just, please don’t—”

She never gets to finish. I smother her words with kisses and hold her in my arms.

΅

Devon

He grips me hard, and his kisses are swift and soft, fast and deep, as if he’s making up for lost time.

I gasp, a little dizzy, and lean my head against his. He reaches behind him and grabs the sofa cushion and tosses it on the floor. “Stand up,” he says.

He tosses the other three cushions and then all the throw pillows. He grabs matches from the kitchen table and lights the large triple-wick candle and sets it on the kitchen counter, then he turns off the one overhead light.

He unzips and drops his pants, then steps out of them with easy grace. One by one, he unbuttons his shirt. In the candlelight, the valley of his abs is dark, and the play of orange light across his stomach leaves me wet.

“Luke,” is about all I can manage. But he doesn’t need more from me. When the last button is open, he has nothing on but a white shirt, and it hangs open. The texture of the cotton shirt and the smoothness of his skin is almost too much, and I haven’t touched either.

Yet.

I gush. He takes a step toward me, and in in one movement, picks me up in his arms. He’s strong, powerful, and his arms cradle me effortlessly. Then he drops to his knees and lays me down in the nest of pillows. I’m wearing tights and a buttoned blue shirt, and what I want to be wearing is something sexy.

“You are so beautiful, Devon. So fucking sexy,” he croons in my ear. He stuffs two pillows under my head and then starts to unbutton my blouse. He unhooks my bra from the front and rakes a calloused thumb first over one nipple and then the other one. He lies next to me, one elbow cocked, his head resting on his hand.

He dips his head to suck one of my breasts before moving to the other. His touch is light, almost tickling. Then he blows on them, making them prick tighter.

I moan deep in my throat. “I have you now, Devon,” he whispers in my ear. And he’s so fucking right—he does.

“Be inside me,” I say. “I’m ready.” But he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up and disappears into my bedroom before returning with my vibrator.

“Oh, no,” I start to say, embarrassed.

“This,” he whispers in my ear, “is a very useful machine. And you know men, we like our machines.”

He turns it on.

When he rubs it against my clit, I am already so swollen, it’s like getting hit with a bolt of electricity. Within a minute, I’m ready to come, but he stops within a breath before I do.

I’m sweating, gasping, trembling, begging him to keep going. He kisses me, his tongue probing, and then starts again.

This time, all I can do is feel—every nerve, every inch of my skin, every muscle deep inside my sex. Sparks fly in my vision.

Again, he stops.

I’m shaking, weak, boneless, and ready for more. This is all an exquisite torture I’m not sure I can endure.

He turns and I watch his face. He’s lying almost on top of me, his weight on one arm, his other hand under my neck. He raises my heavy head to meet his lips, sits up, turns on the vibrator a third time, and presses it relentlessly against my sex.

I’ve lost my mind. I don’t know which way I’m lying, and I feel like my crotch is going to explode. There’s so much muscle tension pent up and I’m so wet, but I don’t have the time or mental capacity to be embarrassed. I grip anything I can to hang on to the moment I know is coming, has to come, must come.