Page 61 of Sweet Nothings

My eyes fall to his mouth, spilling words for me more delicately than I’ve ever heard from him before.

“I know this doesn’t take away the pain of losing them,” he whispers. “But your father went to rescue your mother, risking his own life in the process. True love is selfless. And if that isn’t the purest form of true love, then I don’t know what is.”

I give him a small smile, my heart growing a thousand times bigger. To my father, my mother was the love of his life. I’d always hoped to experience that kind of love. It makes me happy knowing Lennon could feel the love they had for each other just from that one story.

I slide my hand across his hardened muscle and wrap it around his neck. I scooch closer, entangling my legs with his, and I don’t say another word. Nothing else needs to be said.

“Fuck, Laurel,” he breathes, pressing his lips gently to my forehead. “I’m not kidding. You’re on fucking fire.”

He stops drawing circles on my skin and wraps his arm around me underneath my shirt. He pulls me close, pressing the tips of his fingers into my flesh. The pain I woke up with onlyminutes ago is starting to disappear with his touch. But I guess in the time it took me to tell him the story of my parent’s death, my fever has reached a pitch. His eyes widen as they search my face.

“When was the last time you took medicine?” he asks, concern laced in his deep voice.

“I don’t know.” I close my eyes and breathe him in. “I don’t even know what time it is.”

“Here,” he says, pulling himself away from me, panic rising in his voice. His leg unravels from mine. “You should take some more.”

“No.” I quickly tug him back. “This is making me feel better. Being with you is making me feel better.”

Lennon is the cure to my weakened soul. Every touch is a remedy for my broken heart and my injured body.

The grief surrounding Roe’s cancer vanishes momentarily when I’m in his arms. Life isn’t as ominous and tragic when he’s with me. He’s a light in my world of darkness.

My husband rolls back to me, returning his hand to the same place as before. Spreading his fingers across my back, he massages me. Tiny bursts of electricity spark across my skin, my fever accelerating.

“Is this okay?” he asks.

I nod, closing my eyes and bringing my forehead to his mouth. He kisses me again, his hands moving faster with every breath. My pulse quickens.

“More than okay.” I start rolling my hips, begging to have him closer.

I keep my hand pressed against his chest, my fingers resting over the lyrics on his chest.

Take a sad song and make it better.

Today has definitely made it to the top ten worst days of my life, and Lennon is making it better.

I lift my leg and wrap it over his. Slipping his long, muscle-filled leg between mine, his thigh presses against my hot center. I rock my hips again as his hands continue exploring my body.

“I like my shirt on you, Mrs. Harding,” he whispers. His chin is resting on the top of my head. I can’t see his face or his gorgeous blue eyes, but I close mine, imagining the fire that must be in them when he makes his confession.

“I like wearing your shirt,” I muse. “It’s soft and it smells good.”

I don’t even care if I sound creepy at this point. I haven’t felt this good since I came down with this stupid fucking flu.

“It smells like me.” His voice lowers, his chest vibrating against my mouth. I press my lips to it, kissing the tattoo on his hardened pec.

“Exactly.”

Moving his hand from behind my back, he glides it around my ribs to cup my breast. His thumb grazes over the small pebble. A small whimper escapes my chest. I thought my fever was cooling off, but I was wrong. So fucking wrong. My entire body could combust from Lennon’s touch.

“Are you sure you don’t care I’m this close to you?” I ask him. I’m writhing more beneath him, rocking my pussy over his leg. I need to feel him. I want to feel him inside me.

“No,” he groans, his hard as stone cock pressing into me. He hooks his other hand under my chin, lifting me to look up at him. “But I’ve never had sex with someone with a fever. I don’t want to make you feel worse.”

“Impossible.”

“As painful as this is to fucking say,” he grunts. “And trust me when I say painful,I meanexcruciatingly painful,I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

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