One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(77)
“—storming, I hope that’s okay.” My eyes pop open from where I lay on my stomach, facing my bathroom. Cecelia lays on top of me, just out of my line of sight, her weight covering me like a security blanket, her tender whisper in my ear. “I came in from my shift, and you were already out. I’m sorry I woke you.”
The sound of rain patters outside as I try to get my bearings, her whisper pulling me back toward her as the shadows disperse.
“Were you dreaming? Your arms were jerking a little.”
Coming to fully, I realize I’ve got the forearm she has wrapped around me in a tight grip and release it. I move to get up, and she presses against me, pinning me to the mattress.
“No, stay in bed,” she orders, running her fingers through the damp hair at the back of my neck.
“I fucking hurt you,” my voice sounds like sandpaper and exertion.
“No, you didn’t. Not at all,” her tone fills with concern. “You okay?”
“I’m good.”
Even as I lie, I take long drags of air until the pulse pounding in my ears starts to even out.
“Better,” she whispers, “was it a nightmare?”
“I don’t remember.” More like my definition of hell.
“Consider yourself lucky,” she murmurs. “Just sleep, okay?”
Feeling raw and more exposed than I can ever remember, all I can do is nod against my pillow. Hearing the rustling as she sheds her uniform, I lie in wait—eyes closed as the thin veil of sweat produced by my dream cools on my skin.
That was most definitely my subconscious’s warning of too much to process, the dream far too easy to pick apart. I’m still somewhat between worlds when the bed dips a second before her bare thigh slides over my lower back, her arm snaking around me before the soft skin of her breast is pressed against my bicep. My body becomes lax as her scent, her skin, and her soothing touch lull me along with another gentle whisper, “You’re so warm. Always so warm. I missed you.”
She’s come for me again, constantly showing up for me without motive because she’s worth my time, effort, and attention. Something I’ve known far longer than I’ve let on. The urge to lose myself in her begins to hum, but I don’t move, too weak, drained from my dream while knowing the illusion I’m feeding into with her is about to come to an end.
My throat constricts at the comfort she brings and the fact that this is the last time I can lose myself in it. But I do lose myself one last time as her nails gently rake up and down my spine, pulling me into a blissfully deep, dreamless sleep.
Waking a few hours later, dream forgotten, my room lit in a deep shade of purple, I rouse her with the soft press of my lips. A slow smile appears before her eyes do. Slipping between her legs, condom already secure, I take her mouth, the need to drive inside her taking over.
Cupping the back of her head to cradle it, I don’t break our kiss as I part her thighs and ready her, swallowing her noises and soaking every bit of her in as I slowly press into her.
Palming her thigh up with one hand, cradling her head with the other, I fuck her nice and slow, to the point I’m barely moving inside her. Even without friction, we’re deeply fed by connection. What was meant to be a thank you turns into something else entirely as she washes away all remnants of what haunted me. Rain ticks against the window as I tip over, losing myself in rapture for the last time. It’s only when I’m forced to come up for air that I lift to hover. Keeping my hand beneath her head, her thigh firmly at my waist, she stares back at me, caressing my bicep. Wordlessly, I roll my hips, chest detonating with tiny explosions as she gasps my name. It’s the first time I’ve ever wanted to rip my condom off and fuck a woman bare. Even though I keep it on, I know I’m as close as I’m ever going to get.
I know I’m in love with him. I just don’t know how much of him I know.—Cecelia, Flock
Feeling the shift in temperature sweep through the garage, I tighten the last bolt on the piece of shit Subaru I’ve been pumping life into for the past six hours. Rolling my neck to ease the tension, I glance past the hood to see splattering rain collecting on the grease-stained cement inside my open bay.
Ignoring the increasing thud in my chest, I inhale the stench of Mrs. Wellers’ Dachshunds, who all have embroidered names in their designated car seats, and turn the ignition, satisfied when it starts with ease.
Pulling the key, I close and lock the bay door before heading into the lobby to finalize the ticket. Rain pounds the roof as the steady thud inside increases—a reminder I ignore as I pull my phone from the safe to see a missed text, hours old, from Sean.
S: She’s here.
Fuck.
The sky cracks above, rattling the ground beneath my booted feet, reverberating throughout the garage and grounds as I pull the door to, and lock it, pausing when my eyes land on the name etched into the glass. The sight of it only adding to the guilt festering in my gut.
As it turns out, Tobias is searching for his phantom birthfather, Abijah. The raven following him confirmed it within twenty-four hours after landing in Paris.
Which makes the only deceptive brother in this equation me.
Deep down, I knew that. Maybe I wanted his guilt to make me feel better. A crime I accused Sean of, which now makes me a hypocrite.
Behind the wheel of my Camaro, I scan the interior, and in the next second, I’m not alone. I can picture Cecelia so clearly next to me, her long legs taking up the floorboard, her tight body tucked into the seat, and dark, fire-kissed hair floating on the breeze.