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"Because I put myself in danger protecting my country?" He shrugs. "That was my duty. But this"—he gestures to the space between us—"this is personal. This is the real thing. This is living with my full faculties, where there are no rules. This is me, by choice, standing in front of you without any words or gestures to hide behind. This is me, coming to you without any barriers between us. This is me, being honest, something I should have been from the beginning."
"And stepping down as the CEO? Was that?—”
His features relax. “That was so I could spend more time with you.”
“What?” I rear back. Of all the things to say, that... is the most unexpected. “What do you mean?”
“It’s simple. I have one goal in my life from now on. And that is to take care of my wife—to please her and make sure I’m there to feed her and attend to her the next time she’s in creative flow, focused on hitting a deadline. And when the kids come along, I’ll be a stay-at-home Dad to raise them, so you can continue to have time for your craft.”
Those thousand electric bulbs in my body turn into laser beams which light up the sky. I have never felt this adored before. Never. I never expected Q to say that. Never expected him to look so sincere, either. He means it. He does.
Then the warmth fades away, replaced by doubt. “But becoming a CEO within the Davenport Group was your dream, Q.”
“I thought it was, but then I met you.” He sets his jaw. “I resent the time spent away from you. Nothing matters more than being with you, Raven.” He closes the distance between us. “The more honest I wanted to be with you, the more honest I had to be with myself, too. The more I shared my feelings with you, the easier it was for me to accept my own vulnerabilities and my failings. Remember when I said that I was selfish in marrying you because our age gap meant I wouldn’t be around for the latter half of your life?”
“But, Q?—”
He shakes his head. “It’s the truth. I have to face the possibility that there’s more of my life behind me than ahead.” His gaze deepens. “And I want to spend every remaining moment I have with you.”
“Oh, Q.” I can’t stop the tear that slides down my cheek.
I hate it when he speaks that way, and yet, I know it’s a truth I need to face. I can’t imagine life without my husband, but Q’s being pragmatic for the both of us again. I’d thought Q’s biggest fear was intimacy. But he seems to have overcome that and is ready to face one which haunts him as much, if not more... that of his own mortality.
This is true strength. To face your fears is true dominance.
This is my husband. He’s fearless and he cares for me.
He wants me. He’ll do anything for me, even give up a career that he’s been groomed for since he was born.
This is my husband. He’s mine. And I love him. I do. So, so, so much.
“I love you, Raven”—he swallows—“I love you so very much.”
I allow the tears to come freely. “And I love you.”
The next moment I move, and so does he.
54
Quentin
We meet in the middle, and my mouth is on hers, my tongue between her lips. My palms on her hips, slipping down to cup her fleshy butt cheeks and squeezing with enough force that she gasps. I swallow the sound, pulling her closer on her tiptoes, bending my knees enough that my arousal is cradled in the hollow between her legs. I feel myself throb and lengthen and thicken, my cock straining against my pants to be inside her.
She holds onto my biceps, her mouth open, her legs wide apart to accommodate my hips. She’s so sweet to taste, so firm and soft and sexy, all at once, in my arms, so perfect, my wife. So beautiful and gorgeous and mine in a way words cannot describe. There’s only this effervescent feeling where my heart once was—a confluence of emotion and seething need, and an affection and devotion that overpowers everything else.
She groans into my mouth, and the sound is beautiful and real and anchors me to the present. I soften the kiss. Lick her lips, kiss her chin, her nose, both of her closed eyelids. I brush my mouth across her temple, to her earlobe, which I tug on gently.
She shivers, melts further into me. "Command me," she whispers. "Take me, break me, hurt me. I want you to… show me how much you love me."
When I hesitate, she flutters open her heavy eyelids. "Please, please, Q, I beg you. I want this."
And I’m unable to give in to the desire that strains my ribcage and weighs down my balls like iron weights. Somehow, the fact that I love her, that my heart beats only for her, that every breath I take is to please her, that my purpose of living is to ensure her happiness, has shifted something inside me. I want her, but her pleasure always comes first.
She must read my thoughts for she slides her hand down to cup my crotch. The growl vibrates up my chest unbidden, and a tiny smile curves her lips.
"In Boogie Nights, Mark Wahlberg played a porn star called Dirk Diggler whose penis size is thirteen inches," she murmurs. “You, my husband, would give him serious competition." She squeezes the bulge at my crotch, and I exhale a sharp breath.
"Is that your way of saying, I’m virile enough for you?"
