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“That obvious, huh?” I run my hands over his chest. “Blame the sweater. It does something to me.”
His lips crease in amusement as he pulls back to look at me. “The sweater?”
“Mm hmm. It makes you look so soft.”
His hands travel around, cupping my ass. “And here I thought you liked me better hard.”
“I like every part of you.”
He leans to feather his lips over my neck. “You aren’t healed. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t,” I assure him, running my hand under his sweater to feel his warm skin. “I feel fine.” I flex my hips, shamelessly rubbing against the growing crotch of his jeans. “Except for this ache for you. I need you inside me again.”
“Jesus, Calliope,” he growls. Sitting up, he suddenly tosses the throw pillows from the couch down to the rug in front of the fireplace. I pull his sweater off, and he removes my shirt. His hand gently kneads my breast as he kisses me, and I unbutton his jeans.
When I scoot back to kneel on the floor with the intention of blowing him, he shakes his head. “Not this time.” He grabs my hand and rises to lead me over to the pile of pillows in front of the low burning fire then slides my leggings and panties off. “Lie back.”
No arguments here. The rug is plush under my bare body and my mouth dries as I look up at him. Shirtless, his jeans unfastened to show the waistband of his boxer briefs, he slowly drags his gaze over me, up and down, making a blush warm my cheeks. He doesn’t say anything until he’s stripped off the rest of his clothes and crawled over me.
His lips brush my skin just below my navel. “Calliope.” God, how his deep smooth voice caresses my name. I never want to hear anyone else speak it again. Only him. He drops hot kisses up my stomach, over my breasts to my neck as he continues, “My gorgeous muse.”
When his tongue slips between my lips, my hum of pleasure is involuntary. My hands wander through his hair, over his back, everywhere I can reach. He takes his time, caressing and kissing my body until I’m desperate for him. My head falls back when he slides one finger inside me to stroke over the spot that sends fire crawling over my skin.
“Oh, please.” I turn toward him, and he rolls onto his side so we’re facing one another. I hook my leg over his and he looks me in the eye as he eases his cock in deep. His large hand rests on my ass, gently urging me toward him as we move together. This time is different. It feels so intimate and emotional. There’s no dirty talk between us. No frantic movements.
Every stroke is deliberate, drawn out, unhurried. The world fades as I succumb to him, to the warmth and comfort our bodies create together. His gentle touches, the way he keeps coming back to search my face. He isn’t fucking me, he’s loving me.
His slow, deep thrusts and passionate kisses overwhelm me. “Arlow,” I whimper.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs. His words fade into the distance as the slow, pulsing pleasure rolls through me, the intensity growing until I feel like I could happily die from it.
Both sated, we cuddle together in front of the fire, trading an occasional soft touch or kiss. I run my finger over his brow, through the white stripe of hair.
“Is your vitiligo because of the Marfan Syndrome? Does it come with it?”
He shakes his head. “No, it’s not related. I lost the DNA lottery twice.”
“No. I love it.” He closes his eyes as I brush my fingertip over the ivory lashes. “They’re beautiful. Like delicate feathers. Fairy lashes.” I get a flash of his sheepish smile before he forces a frown and shakes his head. “Sorry, I meant big, tough masculine lashes.” His chest rattles with a chuckle that I can feel as I press my lips to the scar. “You’re perfect.”
His Adam’s apple bobs on a hard swallow, and he looks down at me, running his hand through my hair. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”
My answer is caught in my throat as I gaze at him. What a tragedy it would’ve been for him to never allow himself to be loved again when he loves so much. His friends, nature, art. And me. He hemorrhages love. “I don’t know,” I tease. “I might need to hear more about it.”
He rolls toward me and scoots down until we’re face to face. “You’re so sweet and funny and beautiful, but it’s more than that. I’ve always been a solitary person. People don’t come easy to me. They never have. But you…” He brushes his fingers down my cheek. “Loving you came as easy as nightfall.”
A lump grows in my throat. “Okay, stop, you’re going to make me cry.” His soft lips land on mine for a brief moment, and we cuddle close again. After another minute or two, I break the silence with a silly question. “Would you love me if I was a worm, though?”
His instant answer makes me giggle. “Absolutely. I’d get you a nice big flowerpot full of nutrient rich soil.”
“That’s true unconditional love. I’m touched.”
“What about you? Would you love me if I…” He pauses, giving it a moment of thought. “Turned into a vampire?”
“I’d put out the sun for you and thrive in darkness by your side.”
“Good, that’s all I’m asking for, really.”
“If vampires drink human blood, aren’t they just cannibals with extra steps?”
