Page 50 of Unveiled

“I wasn’t asking.”

We stare each other down, waiting for the other to crack. After a silence that stretches on for eons, he hunches his shoulders and finally agrees.

I step into the warm water first after only having my underwear to remove, and behind me, Cain is working on taking his clothes off. As soon as he climbs into the water, he tries to sit to the side of me, but I crowd his space to prevent that from happening. We won’t get anywhere if he keeps distance between us.

Once he’s seated, I climb onto his lap, straddling his naked body between my legs. “Ainsley,” he says in a warning tone.

“What do I need to do to convince you to get out of your own head?” My lips trail kisses up his jaw until they reach his ear, allowing me to whisper into it. “Do you want me to beg? To make you break, like you made me break tonight? Or would it be as easy as agreeing to marry you?”

His cock is already hardening below me, giving away just how badly he wants to give in. As the rest of his body stiffens, though, I know something I said worked.

“Is that what you’re doing?” he asks, his voice full of hope. When I pull away to look into his eyes, I find the hope sparkling there, giving his eyes life again. “Are you finally agreeing to be my wife?”

“If you want me to be your wife, it would probably be best if you didn’t push me away before I can give you an answer,” I taunt him. I don’t plan on saying yes. Not tonight, at least, but he doesn’t need to know that. I just need to do whatever it takes to get him out of his own head.

Before he can respond or go off the deep end of his thoughts, I lift my hips and gently settle on his cock, letting him rest inside of me.

“Ainsley, we shouldn’t,” he breathes.

“Shh.” My finger covers his lips to keep him quiet, even though I know it won’t work. “This is when we’re best together. When you’re inside me, claiming me, and I’m not denying you. We’re good together, Cain. No matter how much we fight, no matter who tries to tear us apart.”

His hands grip my hips and try to hold me down, not wanting me to move on him. He’s afraid of hurting me more, but I only have a headache, I’m not dying.

“You’re hurt,” he grits out between his teeth, not acknowledging anything I just told him. “You need to rest.”

“Then sit here and let me gently make love to you,” I command him. I could get used to being the one in control. My hips lift off of him, despite his grip trying to keep me down, and then I’m sinking onto him slower than I ever have before.

When we’re together, it’s always rough and animalistic. We let our bodies take over and live in the glow of our pleasure. This time, I want him to think about it while it’s happening. I want him to think about how good we are together. How lost he would be if he pushed me away.

“Marry me,” he demands. Again, I lift my hips and slide down him instead of responding. “Be Mrs. Ainsley Ryker. Be my wife.”

Ainsley Ryker. I’ve never thought of having his name, but I also spent months trying not to even think of his name. The sound of our names together warms my heart, but I’m not giving in.

“Try harder,” I tell him. He groans as I slide up his length again.

“Don’t say harder if you want this to be gentle,” he warns me.

I giggle as I sink back down on him, a lighthearted sound that doesn’t belong in this moment. But, it makes him smile, and that’s all I wanted.

“Marry me,” he demands again.

“Tell me you love me,” I demand right back.

If I hadn’t already won this argument, this would have been the moment he cracked. I can see it in his eyes. He could never deny me when I want to hear those words from him.

“I love you, little one,” he breathes as his head falls back to rest against the ledge of the tub. “I love you too much to ever let you go. You’re mine, no matter what happens.”

With the taste of victory on my tongue, I continue riding him while the water splashes around us. We both enjoy the gentleness of our love making before we come together, our moans echoing through the bathroom.

As we come down from our high, my headache makes itself known again. I feel empty as I slide off of Cain’s lap and take the seat right next to him.

“Get in front of me,” he directs me. “Let me clean you up.”

While he goes through his normal motions of pampering me and making sure I’m cleaned up, my mind slips back to the hospital.

“The stitches will dissolve by themselves, and your headache will linger while your brain tries to heal itself. Otherwise, you seem to have missed out on any major damage,” Dr. Johnson informs us. I didn’t think my injuries were too bad, but by the way Cain kept looking at me, it was as if I had a bullet sticking out of my forehead.

“Does she need to be kept for observation?” Cain asks. His fingers are tightly laced together, and he’s refusing to acknowledge me.

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