Page 39 of Wanted

“We can leave the past behind, Stella,” he says in my ear. “I know we can.”

Not a word comes out from my mouth, so I nod and he notices it, because his arms tighten around my waist, pulling my body closer to his.

“I can’t change the past, although I want to, but I can’t,” he whispers. “Let’s start again, let’s write a new story together. One we both like, and makes us happy.”

“That only happens in fairy tales,” I reply, putting my hands on his chest to push him away. He smells so good, feels so good, and says things that make my brain all gooey.

I have to get out of here.

But before I can do it, Lionel’s lips touch my cheeks, drying my tears with his lips. Allowing him to kiss me is a mistake and that’s a fact. Resisting is as difficult as swimming against the current of a rough river. I’m not strong enough.

“Let’s start our story here and now.”

Oh God, what is going on?

I open my mouth to speak as he lowers his head and takes my face in his hands to seal our lips in the sweetest kiss.

I can feel the world spin around us creating a magic bubble. I get lost every time his tongue brushes against mine. The colors of our souls combine into one so vibrant and full of life. He’s my husband, I’ve kissed him before, many times. And at the same time it feels so new, so different. As if this were our first kiss.

My body doesn’t respond to my thoughts. At the moment I should run away and seek refuge in the hills, but my heart has already fallen prey to his charm, a spell that I can’t break.

Truth be told, I don’t want to break it.

“Does this mean you forgive me?” he asks me as his lips run down my chin.

Everything has changed, not only this between us, but the way he marks me again as his own.

“It’s a beginning.” My voice is panting and trembling.

Lionel chuckles softly, but continues to rain kisses across my jaw.

“I hate to see you cry,” he confesses and that surprises me. “And I hate to be the reason for your tears.”

He whispers before kissing me again, feeling his lips move over mine in a touch as careful as it is suggestive. It isn’t a passionate kiss, but at the same time it’s full of hunger.

It’s sweet, like the honey my bees produce; tender, and somehow possessive. He’s marking me as his, making me feel wanted. A sigh escapes from my lips as he puts his tongue over mine with a silky caress. I have to hold onto his broad shoulders because his kisses make me feel dizzy. My entire body has turned to jelly, like clay in his hands for him to mold, and I’m sure that if it hadn’t been for him holding me tightly to his chest, I would have ended up a puddle on the floor.

“Since we are creating a new beginning,” he says, his mouth so close to mine. “This is how fighting should always end in our home.” He seals his lips over mine.

It’s difficult to believe that there is a we.

But it’s more difficult to resist him.

Chapter Thirteen

“As much as I’d like to stay here with you,” Lionel says softly, kissing the inside of my wrist, “I’m starving, and there’s a pie with cheddar waiting for us.”

We are still sitting on the hardwood floor, embracing each other, exactly how I like to be with him, with my head on his shoulder as he caresses my back. We’ve both been unable to break the contact, as if touching each other had become as fundamental to us as breathing. He moved his arms to accommodate my face into the curve of his neck, in that position inhaling his scent I feel as if that’s what dreams are made of. That I can reach my goals and nothing is impossible.

Even though I’ve already dried my eyes, my face is swollen and surely red. Lionel doesn’t seem to mind, so I’ve decided that I’m not going to care either.

“Can we stay here forever?” I ask him, hidden in this little corner, where the world’s problems seem so far away.

“The bubble doesn’t have to pop,” he replies with a light laugh. “We have the entire house to ourselves and time at our disposal. Although you have to study and it would be good for me to work for a while, I have two upcoming projects, and my team is waiting.”

Damn time… the cruelest executioner.

“The clock never stops,” I tell him.

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