One Last Rainy Day: The Legacy of a Prince(84)

“Dom,” she whispers as she reads my fear in my refusal to release her, “you can tell me anything.”

Fisting her hair and pulling her neck back with my grip, I whisper the truth at the base of her throat. “I am.”

And I am.

Telling her what I can.

Showing her how being with her revives me and that every day we’re together, she brings me back from the brink, collecting pieces of humanity and empathy I felt I lost.

That she alone is the pinprick of light that brings me back when I get lost in the dark.

That she’s the only being alive that has ever been able to make me feel so much at once.

That we’re told to love our enemy, and I’m faithfully obeying.

Fear and lust war as I claim possession of her physically, but even as I take her body, she continues to steal and own pieces of me I ignored I possessed.

Before her.

Before this bliss.

Hellbent on making us both suffer for perfection I have no right to have with her, I take her mouth, and with just a kiss and one deep thrust, we both come.

Collapsing at the head of the mattress, we lay in a sweaty heap, face to face, stroking the other’s skin, eyes locked. Even with my barrier of silence, we feel solidified—like a drop of black ink tainting the surrounding water, creating our own cloud. But it’s within it where we’re most comfortable. Where we can maintain this perpetual state until we inevitably end, by way of me, my brother, or however this plays out because I can’t protect her from either of us. I can only prepare her. But looking at her now, I can’t remember why I’m not allowed to love her. I can’t think of a single fucking reason why I shouldn’t have her or silence the words.

She’s not her father.

I’m not my brother.

All these things make sense here, under the cover of the storm roaring outside—a cover we created that keeps us safe and hidden away.

It’s just us. And it’s here I can be myself with her, and I don’t want to hide it anymore or from anyone—which is not only detrimentally fucking foolish, but impossible. Which brings me back to the only conclusion I can draw.

This is love, and I’m dangerously consumed by it.

Not a question I have to ask myself as the truth of that is beating steadily in my chest. Staring into her eyes as we share breath, I’m filled with the conviction that I’m looking back at my twin flame. Attracted to her in a way I can’t escape. Even when I’m inside her, the need increases tenfold—especially then—I can’t get close enough. I can’t keep my hands off her or my thoughts from straying toward her constantly when we aren’t together.

It makes sense to me now why twin flames are a love addict’s choice, and since we’ve been together, she’s drawn an addiction I didn’t know I had out of me.

But we’re the caustic kind of identical flames, and there’s nothing that can change that.

It’s already written.

So, while there might be freedom in the fall, there’s consequence, too.

Delphine’s words echo in my head as that truth sets in.

“She’ll be the end of you.”

What I didn’t tell her was that I already knew it.

By fire or water.

Either way. So fucking be it.

Until then, I’ll wait for the change in air pressure, the gathering of the clouds, the streak of lightning in the sky, the rumble of thunder, and rain.




So, this is the honeymoon phase.

Struck down with the four-letter curse or not, I’m still a motherfucker, and embracing it. I’m feeling cursed by the day and taking full advantage of the weather. It’s stormed every single day this week, and my cock has been singing in it, splashing around in its raincoat. The forecast continues to guarantee that it’s not going to dry up anytime soon. Eyes closed, I don’t dare look down because I know exactly how far I’ve fallen into oblivion along with it, and I don’t want to glimpse how much distance is left before I land. I have zero guilt over Sean’s current state of neglect because he had plenty of time with her before I claimed my rightful place. Just as the thought crosses, my phone rumbles, and the devil I’m thinking of flashes as the caller on screen. Unable to help myself, I answer it, putting it on speaker and sensing the hesitation in the air.

“Dom?” Sean asks, due to my lack of greeting. “The fuck you doing, man?”

“What am I doing hmmmm . . . fucking your beautiful girlfriend’s mouth,” I answer, thrusting in deep enough that her eyes water.

I hold the phone out to her with the choice to end the call, keeping our eyes locked—she resumes sucking and grinning, and I tangle my free fist into her hair.

“What?” Sean croaks on the other end of the line as Cecelia clamps hard around my dick, drawing a groan. Fire licks up my spine, and it’s all I can do to keep my knees from buckling.

“I said I’m fucking your girlfriend’s perfect mouth, and you should be proud of her because she’s . . . fucking hell,” I rasp out as Cecelia’s head bobs, “she’s owning the fuck out of it.”

Silence. A second ticks by, then two.

“You’re such a fucking dick.”

“I’d say more than a mouthful,” I muse, grinning before Cecelia wipes it from my face, hollowing her cheeks and taking a deep pull.