Page 100 of Keep Me

“You didn’t like it?” I ask.

Sylvie doesn’t lift her face from my chest as she replies, “It was beautiful, but that fucking painting got a party, and I didn’t. The day that was meant to celebrate me still somehow became about them, and I realized as I was sitting in the back of that room that I was just another creation of theirs. An imperfect creation. A mistake. I didn’t win awards or get put on pedestals or celebrated. I was no one’s masterpiece.

“So, that night, after everyone had left, I snuck back into my parents’ studio, and I tore that painting to shreds. And they cried about it for days. My mother didn’t speak to me for nearly a year. The thing that I had ruined was nothing more than some paint and some fabric and a rainbow of colors, but it would never beme.I think deep down, I just had to show them that. But they didn’t get it.”

I stroke her back, remembering that angry and lonely woman I found almost a year ago. I had no clue the pain she was hiding inside, just as she had no idea of mine. Our own torment blinds us from seeing the torment of others.

But now that I truly see my wife, I think I love her even more.

“You are a masterpiece, Sylvie,” I whisper against her hair.

“I’m a mess.”

“We’re all a mess, but the trick is to find someone who thinks your mess is a masterpiece. Your parents might be blind fucking eejits, but I’m not. I know a masterpiece when I see it.”

For the first time since before those monsters showed up today, I see my wife smile.

After a moment, she softly whispers, “I love you.”

My heart starts to pound, and I have to force myself to breathe, but I try not to let it show. Instead, I stroke her back and let those three words wash over me.

“I love you too, Sylvie.”

She squeezes her tiny body tighter against me, burrowing her face in the crook of my neck. I feel the warmth of her breath against my skin. I’ll wait for the day when she can say those words to me while looking in my eyes. I can wait. For today, this is enough.

“I tried really hard not to,” she murmurs, making me laugh. When she finally lifts up and looks at me, it feels like fire burning through my chest. “But you made it so hard.”

“I’m sorry,” I lie. Then she grabs my face and presses her lips to mine. Her soft tongue presses into my mouth, and I slide mine along the surface, feeling as if we are melting into one.

With each stroke of her tongue, my chest grows tighter, and my hands roam more around her body. My cock twitches between us as she starts grinding herself against me.

Suddenly, all I can think about are those three words being spoken between us and everything they represent.

“Killian,” she murmurs against my mouth.

“Yes, mo ghràidh.”

Pulling away, she holds my face as she stares into my eyes. “I’m ready.”

Those two words escape her lips in a soft, breathy whisper, but the power they carry is far stronger than the way she uttered them.

“Ready for what?” I reply, although part of me already knows.

“Make me yours.”

My cock aches at the realization of what she’s asking. “Tell me exactly what you want,” I add for clarity.

Her eyes moisten with intensity as she clings tighter to me. “Make it hurt. I trust you. I just need you to distract me from this pain. Help me let all of it out, Killian.”

There’s an ache in my chest to see her say those words to me. I don’t want to hurt my wife, but God, I know it will be beautiful to see the way she takes that pain. My fierce, strong, incredible wife.

“Come with me,” I say.

Clumsily, we climb out together, barely breaking contact and not bothering with the towels. As I hoist her naked body in my arms, she wraps her legs around my waist, and I carry her to our room.

Draping her on the bed, I take more care with her than I usually do. I want to be a good husband for her and show her how gentle I can be while giving her exactly what she wants. That I will always keep her safe and protected.

“Do you trust me, mo ghràidh?”

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