Page 88 of Reckless Vow

I have no claims on his time, but his apology feels significant. Like a commitment. Like he won’t leave me alone anymore.

He left me once, a long time ago. Can I chance letting him in and trust he won’t leave me again? God, I’m overthinking this. Making it way more than it really is.

“I got a lot of work done.” I shrug, desperate to abandon the gravity of this conversation.

He runs his finger around my hairline. Slowly, gently, he tucks a strand behind my ear.

It’s like he can’t let go. Like he can’t get enough. His gaze hugs me with reverence and adoration. I’ve never been looked at like this.

Correction. I have. By this man. But in many ways, it’s not the same. His all-consuming, soul-caressing gaze is familiar and undiscovered.

“That’s good,” he rasps.

For the first time, I want to tell someone about my work. My family has always subtly suggested it’s time todosomething, because they all believe I party and live off my trust fund. I never cared.

But for some reason, I care about Baldo knowing I have a successful career. He doesn’t ask. Maybe he doesn’t care.

Like he married me, had sex with me, but sharing anything personal is above and beyond.

Like this fragile connection we forged tonight is all in my head. Perhaps all the orgasms have robbed me of perspective.

Of distance.

Of reason.

Where the fuck is this constant insecurity coming from?

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He uncoils a strand and takes another one between his fingers.

I roll on to my back, suddenly deflated by this pillow talk. He unraveled me tonight in more ways than one, and maybe I’m just temporarily emotional, but shit, I want him to care.

“I don’t live off my trust fund, you know,” I huff.

He chuckles. “Okay. It’s not like it matters.”

I turn my head to him, frowning.

“What?” He smirks. “I wouldn’t let you pay for anything anyway, so what do I care if you make money or not?”

I rise to my elbows. Annoyed.

Patronizing bastard. And why is telling him about my career suddenly so important?

He’s smart to draw the boundaries at the physical connection. Very smart.

“That’s chauvinistic.”

He laughs. “Whatever.” He covers me with his solid body, heat shooting from his eyes.

His biceps frame my head and, God, this man is glorious. I haven’t explored his naked body yet, and I want to.

He grinds his hard cock against me, and the unsatisfactory sharing conversation loses its power over me.

My eyes drop to his lips, and I think he’s going to kiss me, but he lowers his head and nibbles on my neck, and down to my breasts.

The immediate shudder that ripples through me draws a moan from deep inside me. I close my eyes, reveling in the sensations so new to me.

So vital to me all of a sudden. Like my body wants to level the score after all the mediocre attempts before tonight.

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