Page 113 of All The Happily Ever Afters

Her lips stay parted and her eyes are on mine as I pull out ever so slowly, watching how her eyes dilate and the dangerous cocktail of sinful pleasure rolls through her.

Another thrust, and her head falls forward. With both hands on her hips, I take her brutally and roughly, just as I promised. I groan in time with the sound of our flesh meeting, and Belle cries out her pleasure. It’s not long before she tightens around me, nearly making me come before I’m ready as she finds her release.

I allow her another, holding my breath and fucking her until she can no longer stay on all fours. With her front on the carpet, I piston my hips, loving how she writhes under me. I forcefully take her again and again until she cries out my name as if it’s a plea. Only then can I finally find my release.

Still recovering and breathing heavily, I lay gentle kisses along the center of her back, running the length of it up to her shoulder. Once I’ve met the crook of her neck, I slip out of her, and she winces.

Using my shirt, I clean what I can between her thighs. All the while I kiss her, and she turns, facing me and exploring with her own small touches. Her fingers travel up my chest, her nails slipping gently along the grooves of muscle.

“Calum,” she moans my name, maybe still lost in the pleasure. I love the sound of my name slipping from her lips. My kiss meets hers, and if only I was still hard, I’d take her again, right here in front of the fire.

In an effort to run her lips along my jaw, she parts those sweet lips, but I back away. Even with the dim light and the stubble, she’ll feel the indentation, her soft kisses will travel along the scar. It’s a sharp knife of betrayal that pushes me away from her touch.

“Deep red rose?” she says the phrase I loathe, her escape, but before I can fully absorb it, she corrects herself. “Is that your limit? That’s what I meant. You don’t want me to touch your scar?”

“No. I don’t see why you’d want to.”

“Can I?” she questions, her voice full of exhaustion. Ignoring her question, I lift her limp body to the sofa and lay her down.

“Let me get you a blanket . . . or rather. . .” Not finishing the thought, and not bothering to dress myself, I leave her where she is. Replaying the last moment obsessively.

She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t seem to have any fear at all when it comes to the scar. She doesn’t cower at the man I am. Her gentle touch is at odds with everything else. After dressing, I grab the box and return to the living room to find her spread out under the simple throw from the back of the sofa, her hair in a halo, her curves hidden under the luxurious fabric, but still very much on display.

“Can I touch you now?” Her sultry voice carries through the room.

“No.”

“Is holding me after out of the question?” she asks, not hiding the longing in her voice.

“Needy girl,” I comment, sitting on the end of the sofa where her head rests. The furniture protests with a groan as I take my seat, then I lift her head and set it down onto my lap.

A moment passes of quiet, the glow of the fire our company, and the only conversation the crackling and snapping of the wood.

“How long have you lived like this?” She whispers her question as I pet her hair. How many nights have I sat here alone, lost in work and thoughts of vengeance?

“Like what?” I ask to clarify.

“Alone in such a large place.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

With a saddened tone, she responds, “Small talk never does.”

Disliking the way her eyes close and the very idea that she’s done with the small talk itself, I answer, “All my life.”

It’s quiet again, and all I can think as I steal glances at her, with her eyes closed and her dark red lips resting nearly against my leg, is that she’s going to say ‘deep red rose’ any minute. I need to be careful with her, or she’ll run.

“You want me to stay here.” It’s a statement, not a question. She’s already thinking about it. I never should have offered that clause.

“Yes.

“And you won’t tell me how long?”

“. . . No. But I gave you my word. Your one condition I’ll allow.” My voice is hard, in stark contrast to hers.

“That’s dangerous.”

“You’ll stay here. You’ll do as I like. And the debt will be forgiven.”

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