Fat fucking chance.
Without trying too hard, she’s been dangling her sweet pussy carrot in front of me since I arrived. It’s been eight hellacious months since I’ve had her, and before that—years, and I’ve never in my life been so hungry.
The last time we were together is not the way I want to remember having her.
I ridiculed her for loving me.
I shamed her that night for being the soldier I no longer was.
I did my best to strip her pride, to save her from this type of life, to selfishly save myself the worry, but she wasn’t having any of it.
I left in awe of her, in awe of who she became without me.
Even more so, guilty for the way I couldn’t step up.
She told me then that love makes the danger worth it.
I’m just going to keep believing her. Even if my biggest fucking fear is seeing it unfold all over again, this time with her as the sacrifice.
It’s only a matter of time until we go head-to-head again, but it has to be the right time. I want no fear in her eyes when I claim my queen for good. I want her fighting back, and more so, I want her certain about me the way she was—of my place in her heart, by her side.
She’s chosen her personal armor in the way of fucking flannel pajamas.
Grabbing my newly delivered dumbbells, I do another set of reps to try and rid myself of restless energy. Facing out her bedroom window, I note the painstaking lengths she’s gone to replicate her father’s garden. Between hedges and rows of empty vines is a reading nook. Above the wooden canopy hangs branches of deadening wisteria.
The sight of it brings me back to the morning in Roman’s garden, where I all but blurted out my love for her. Dropping my dumbbells, I walk over to the window and reflect upon our shared past. It wasn’t the first time I took her in a way that conveyed physically what I was feeling, but it was that morning in particular that I felt it most, that I knew I was irrevocably in love with my enemy’s daughter. With a shared look and with a confession I felt to the depth of my soul, I broke my own creed and gave in to the deepest part of me, and my soul-deep ache for a connection with her. Within seconds of recalling those minutes, I surrender to the heat coursing through me. My arm braced on the window as I grip my cock in my mesh shorts.
Stroke.
Her exposed throat.
Stroke.
Her breathy moans.
Stroke.
The unguarded love in her eyes.
Stroke.
Her perfect tan thighs spread out before me, tight pink pussy glistening.
Stroke.
The feel of her wet heat on my fingertips.
Stroke.
Her pebbled peach nipples.
Stroke.
My first desperate thrust inside her.
Jaw tensing, spine tingling, heat emanating from my every pore, I’m just about to grunt her name when the bedroom door opens, and Beau comes barreling through with Cecelia behind him, her eyes widening when she sees me.
“Oh,” she whispers, darting her eyes away before palming the handle to close the door.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I hiss, which freezes her movement. I release my angry grip on my cock and stride toward her, leaving it untucked from my cheap sports shorts as her eyes widen a little further with every step I take. When I reach her, I crowd her at the door, gripping her hand from the knob and cover my raging dick with it.
“You.” I wrap her fingers around me, gripping her hand and lead it along my length to stroke, “that’s what I’m thinking about. You.” I bend eye level as her breath picks up and her dark blue eyes pool. “I saw the wisteria in your garden, and it reminded me of that day. Remember that day, Cecelia?” My cock jerks in her hand. I run her curled fingers along the length of my shaft, and we move together as her full lips part. I lick along her lower lip. “You.”