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Oliver and I were making love for the first time in what felt like ages. As soon as his erection returned—right after our business conversation—he lifted me onto his lap.
I sank onto his thick cock, and we began to rock together, the sensation of him filling me again almost overwhelming. I clung to him, wanting to savor every moment, not wanting it to end. Twice, I had to stop because the edge of release was too near for both of us.
"God, Ryleigh, we can do this again," he panted, his breath hot against my neck.
"I know, but this is a renewal. It has to last," I whispered, my forehead resting against his.
"Sweetheart, I'm not sure I can last. I'm so close that the minute you move, I'm going to explode," he confessed, his eyes dark with desire.
"Then I'm staying just like this. No moving, just you inside me," I said, a teasing smile playing on my lips.
"I have to come. My balls ache so badly," he groaned, his voice thick with need.
"Big baby," I murmured, smirking as I began to rock again. His hands gripped my hips tightly, his body tensing beneath me. As the first blast of his cum hit deep inside me, he reached between us, intensifying the connection. I followed him into release, milking every last precious drop from him until we were both spent, our bodies trembling in unison.
"Big baby? I’ll remember what you said. Payback is a bitch," he said, panting. "Thank you for telling Henri to use my name."
"It's not your name. It's my name, and it's my married name. I'm married," I said, pressing a kiss to his lips.
"I hope forever," he replied, his voice softening.
"I love you, Oliver," I whispered, my heart swelling with emotion.
Chapter 18
Oliver moved back into our bedroom on Thanksgiving night. The intimacy between us reignited immediately, and we made love twice more before falling into a deep sleep, waking late the next morning. The hospital bed was removed from the guest room, and the original furniture was restored. I cut the nurse’s hours, planning to work from home while Oliver began doing the same.
By the first week of December, it was as if he had never been away from Fox Asset Corporation. I happily relinquished my seat as CEO, allowing him to take the reins. We reorganized our home office with two desks facing each other, so I could always see his handsome face. Oliver, driven by purpose, became more focused and determined.
On the days he had in-home physical therapy, I made myself scarce, unable to bear hearing him cry out in pain. His muscles were still tight, and stretching them was agonizing, but Oliver endured it with stoic resolve. Working from home had its advantages, and it was easy to give in to our urges.
As he grew stronger, Oliver began to take charge in the bedroom, which I was more than fine with. Our sex life was even better than before his injury, if that was even possible. However, there were moments of melancholy when I touched or stared at the scar on his chest. He would always admonish me, reminding me it wasn’t my fault.
One such Saturday in mid-December, we sat across from each other at the dining table, sharing pancakes. Oliver wore a tank top that had shifted, revealing the scar. My gaze fixed on it, and I didn’t even realize.
“Stop it, Ryleigh,” he softly said, pulling me back to reality.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, looking away.
“I still think you should attend therapy,” he suggested, his voice gentle yet firm.
“Like I said, I don’t want to do that again,” I insisted, shaking my head.
“It happened, I survived,” he reminded me, his eyes filled with reassurance.
“That reminds me, Raquel needs modifications to her home. I said we would handle it with one of our contractors,” I mentioned, trying to shift the focus.
“Whatever she needs,” Oliver agreed, though I could see the pain flicker in his eyes.
Oliver didn’t say as much, but I knew he felt horrible about Raquel’s paralysis and the deaths of our other security agents. When he was in a coma, I pledged to help Raquel and the families of the agents.
We sent Trevor’s little brother to college and helped his family pay off their home and other bills, as well as assisting the other families. It would never be enough, but it was all we could do.
“I just wish we could do more,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Oliver reached across the table, taking my hand in his. “We’re doing everything we can. And we’ll continue to do so.”
I squeezed his hand, drawing strength from his resolve. "I know. It's just hard sometimes."
