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“Too soon. I want to make it last.”
His words halt me. To make it last? Why, because he’s leaving so soon?
No. Don’t think about it.
It’s ever-present on my mind now, though. He wasn’t afraid to ask me to come to New York with him, but I stall in offering the opposite to him. What if he were to just stay here? To be with me? It’s not fair of me to ask him, and I won’t. He doesn’t deserve that obligation, to put his business and wealth on hold for me out here in the middle of the wilderness. But his comment about “making this last” between us hits a raw spot.
I don’t want to make it last—for now. A secret little part of me just wants to make it last for good. I can’t say that though, and with my core so wet and throbbing and my breasts feeling so heavy and achy for his attention, I don’t. I banish the thoughts from my mind and go for what I want, what we both need.
Again, I shove at him. He doesn’t fight me, slumping back to the bed as I crawl up toward him. Thank goodness the long sleep shirt I chose for pajamas was just that, a shirt. It’s a long one, and I never wear shorts with it. Tonight, I didn’t even opt for panties.
I’m bare as I kneel over him. We’re naked, finally, and his squeaky bed has me wincing at every shift that causes too much noise.
Someone will hear. I’m sure of it. But it doesn’t matter now. If we’re in limbo between making this last for now or for good, I don’t give a damn about anything anyone outside this bedroom thinks.
He lifts his hands and cups my ass cheeks as I move up higher. I don’t take my hand off his pulsing staff, still stroking and spreading the wetness of my saliva and his pre-cum. His eyes lock on mine, and I swear I could sink into the depths of love that shine there forever. He’s safe. He’s caring. He appreciates and respects how hard it’s been for us to come to this point, and I want to reassure him, too, that I have no intention of wounding him after he’s risked his heart with me.
Goosebumps break out on my skin as he runs his hard, calloused hands up from the firm squeeze he gives my butt then up my back. As I angle his cockhead to my entrance, I wait, gazing at him and praying he can see the devotion in my eyes, this love I’m still so timid to voice aloud. We’re both so battered from life that my wish is for him to just sense how I feel about him, that he’ll just know. He does. He seems to know exactly how much this matters to me because he sighs and grins.
“I love you, Aubrey, no matter what.”
That sounds too open-ended, that no matter what, almost as though he counts on something breaking us apart. I do the opposite, defying him by sinking onto his hard length and seeking that all-consuming union. We’re no longer two on this bed, but one. With wild lifts and hard pushes down, I ride him and savor this tie between us.
It’s sex. It’s only a physical action. I know that, but with him, and after the words he blurted to me, it’s so much more. He grunts and clenches his teeth. I feel his power in the deep grip he has on my hips as he guides me to go faster, to grind against him longer, to roll my hips so I can push him closer to coming at the same time that I please myself with the friction on my clit.
“Come with me, Aubrey. Please. Come with me.”
I cry out when I reach the pinnacle of the climax I’ve been speeding toward. With a sharp noise of completion, I come around him, squeezing him and milking him. It’s too brutal of a drop, and as I fall into the abyss of ecstasy and pleasure, I let my orgasm take over me.
I’m heedless to the squeaking springs and the headboard knocking against the wall. I don’t listen to the scrape of the bed’s feet over the floor. I gasp and shout, then cry out too loudly when Dalton presses his thumb to my clit and prolongs my orgasm. He tenses, still jerking and filling me so deep that I fear I’ll pass out. I’ve never, ever come this hard, and I’m not alone.
He reaches for me and pulls me down over his chest as it heaves so fast. Neither of us can catch our breath, and as we try to, we lie there together in a sweaty mess of depleted energy. And together, just like that, with our arms and legs entwined on his not-so-quiet bed, we fall asleep.
Chapter 29
Dalton
I wake up next to Aubrey and shift over. I love having her soft, warm body pressed up against me, but my arm is numb in this position. As I move, keeping her tucked close but sending blood back through my limb, the bed squeaks. I cringe.
Maybe Marian made that joke about a newlywed couple reserving this room because she already knows how loud this particular bed is. I should be embarrassed, but I don’t let myself go there.
Note to self: donate the funds to update the Goldfinch’s beds.
I can’t focus on being caught making too much noise. All I can concentrate on as I come fully awake is keeping this woman with me and how I can score a repeat—endless repeat—chance to wake up snuggled under the covers like this. I’ve got to make her believe me. Even though she took charge last night, going down on me and then riding me like the sexiest, boldest woman in the universe, I know she’s not on the same page as me. She wanted to insist that she feels the same. I sensed that, but still, she’s holding back. She still believes that she can’t give in to loving me because the cost of ever losing me is too great.
Even though she was driving me wild with need, I didn’t miss how she failed to say those crucial words back to me. I. Love. You. I hadn’t intended to tell her that yet. We need to take this slow. I was content with the level of honesty I have given her. I told her that I was falling in love with her, that I had. And those were facts. Giving her those pivotal three words was a huge step for me. I swore to never love a woman again, yet here I was, doing it and making a mess of it when she couldn’t reply in kind.
That’s so not fair. It’s not right of me to expect to hear them back no matter how much hurt I carry in my past. She isn’t ready, and I’ve got no place to pressure her into loving me or admitting it. But I hate the lie of it all. The way she came to me and made me feel last night is living proof of her love. At the same time, I’m disappointed in how we’re mismanaging all of this. I get it. She’s been hurt too. Like Marian advised, I need to remember that Aubrey has been alone. That she’s been grieving and frightened of facing another loss.
Her explanations about it broke me. I saw how she fought back tears, and I had to rein myself in and resist the urge to hold and comfort her, knowing she needed to speak her part first. I’ve got to find a way to convince her that she won’t lose me. I can’t guarantee longevity. No one can, but aside from that, I’ve got to figure out how to get her to believe I won’t leave her. I wouldn’t let that happen, just as I told her. I meant it when I said I love her, no matter what. Come hell or highwater, I’ll love her and support her as we face any obstacles that come our way.
The idea of getting on a flight kills me. I hate the very thought of returning to New York City tonight, but that has been my plan. I’ve got to go speak with Johanna and end it once and for all, no matter what dumb shenanigans she might try to force me to face. It’s over—more than over. And I’ve moved on.
It’s as simple as that. I’ve moved on to Aubrey and this happiness she makes me feel. And I do not want to go.
Do I have to? I lie here and consider it all, but it feels like straining and grasping at anything that comes to mind. It’s not logical to think and plan like this, but I can’t help it.
Like I told Caleb, that old marriage license application won’t hold. It’s too old and past its date. Besides, no license application would be approved unless I myself was there, in person, with Johanna. And I will never enter that situation. She’s got another thing coming if she’s hoping this too-public post about us would prompt me to seek a new application, buy another ring, and make her dreams come true.
