Page 68 of Sweet Nothings

“You.” I tilt my head up, closing my eyes as another moan escapes my lips. “This.”

I don’t care if my admission goes against the terms and conditions of our marriage. We were only supposed to act like a married couple in public. But the separation from Lennonthese past three days has awoken a sleeping beast inside me. My feelings for Lennon can’t be tamed. It’s torture trying.

“I’ve missed this, too,” he grits out, apparently not caring either. “I’ve missed your sweet pussy taking my cock. All of it. But I want your eyes open.” He growls. “Looking at me.”

I open my eyes and do as he says. He reaches down to where our bodies are connected. Pressing his thumb firmly against my clit, every nerve in my body expands.

“Oh, fuck,” my voice trembles as I catch my breath.

“Play with your tits, Mrs. Harding.”

I reach up and grab my breasts. The soft flesh molds between my fingers. I graze my thumbs over my peaked nipples.

“Fuck, yeah.” Lennon growls. “You’re even more beautiful like this, Mrs. Harding.”

“How?” I ask, arching my spine and tilting my head back. I swallow down the heat rising

“You’re even more beautiful with me inside you. Watching your body move against mine does something to me,” he confesses. “I love when you’re completely naked and raw for me. I love watching your body reacting to mine.” He sucks in a breath between his teeth. Sitting up, he wraps his hand around the back of my neck and pulls me close. He keeps his hand between us, working my clit as I rock my hips.

He bites down on my lip, and I melt against him on a moan.

I drape my arms over his shoulders, pressing my chest against him. I lift myself higher as Lennon tightens his grip around my neck. He fists my hair between his fingers, tugging on it. He’s gentle enough not to hurt me but strong enough to make me gasp with every tug.

Between his hand on my neck, his thumb against my clit, and him filling me, my heart expands and my legs tingle. But I’m not sure if those are the only reasons. Looking into Lennon’s eyes, I think about how he was only minutes ago. Vulnerable andafraid. Guilt and sadness mixed with pain. I’ve never seen him this way. But I think the arrow shooting straight to my heart is the way he looked at me with need. I’m the life raft he’d been desperately searching for, begging to bring him home.

And I did.

But he isn’t alone. I realize Lennon has been slowly stitching me back together, too. Every time I’ve been with him since finding out Roe’s diagnosis, I’ve never felt more at home. The world seems less dark and isolating. Even if he doesn’t know my life is collapsing outside of our small bubble.

“Laurel,” he whispers, pressing his lips to mine.

I run my fingers through his dark hair, rocking my hips faster. I bury my face into his neck, fire building in my stomach.

“Come with me,” he whispers. His cock twitches inside me.

I cry out, my voice muffled by Lennon’s warm neck. My walls clench around him as his cock pulsates inside me. His hand runs down the length of my back, letting go of my hair, massaging me in rhythm with my orgasm. I keep my face buried in his neck. Unsure why, emotion gets stuck in my throat. Pressure builds behind my eyes, tears threatening to spill. I can’t explain it, but I feel closer to Lennon.

It's a foolish notion to fall for your fake husband. On paper, he’s real. He isn’t supposed to be more than that. But here we are. Here he is with his arms around me, healing me without even knowing it.

TWENTY-ONE

The flu or whatever it was that possessed my body for a full twenty-four hours is gone. I’m one hundred percent back to normal when I crack my eyes open and face the morning sun. Bright yellow rays reflect off the buildings of the city below. I expect Lennon to be gone as he has been every morning since I’ve been sleeping here.

Maybe it’s a foolish notion to believe we turned a corner last night. Not that I blame him if he did leave. He is running a multi-million-dollar corporation. I’m sure this is normal. But with the way his concern bled in front of me yesterday, a sliver of hope played in my heart hoping he’d stay. At least until I’d woken up.

So, I stay where I am, close my eyes, and soak up the sun, not ready to turn around and face whether he’s still with me or not. I’m not sure I could handle the way my heart will react when it finds Lennon is gone. I keep my eyes closed and breathe in, thinking back to yesterday. My legs are sore, and my center is still warm from having him buried inside me. But the most significant moment of last night crashes into my thoughts.

Lennon had a nightmare. I’m still unsure whether it’s a regular occurrence, but I’ve never seen so much pain in his eyes.

I wonder if his nightmare has to do with his mom. He’s kept the details about her short, never wanting to discuss her for more than ten words. He’s always quick to shut down the conversation.

But then again, I’m harboring secrets just as dark and deep. I’ve kept the truth about why I married Lennon more than close to my chest. I’ve kept it locked under the splintered bone and the aching muscle that my heart has turned into. I don’t know when Roe will feel comfortable enough to share her diagnosis with the public, but her secret is eating me alive. And the closer I grow to Lennon, the more difficult it will be to keep. Drowning in thoughts of my sister, I decide to face what the day might bring.

The balloon that’s made a home in my chest doesn’t deflate as it usually does when I turn around. Lennon is still here. In bed with me. He’s turned on his side, facing away from me. The muscles on his back contract with every slow and measured breath he takes.

I study the tattoos inked on his skin, one by one. A large tree is sprawled out across his left shoulder blade. Leaves fall from the tree like burnt ashes. Similar to the one on his hand, a dark purple rose runs down the middle of his back. Thorns and loose petals swirl around the stem. There’s a darkness to Lennon’s tattoos but there’s also truth in them. He told me some of his tattoos hold meaning, some don’t. I wonder how many have meaning.

My eyes continue to roam over his back until one knocks the oxygen from my lungs. On the right side of his torso, along his ribs is a large lavender-colored feather. The wisps of the feather are delicate. Intricate. The feather is as big as the size of my hand, the top disappearing under his arm.

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