Page 117 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
"You're welcome," she murmured back.
Then, smiling, she added, "I've gotten used to all this, you know. Expensive sofas, sparkling water with salt, not cleaning toilets... Don't think I can go back."
It was a joke.
But Crispin stilled, his eyes darkening with sudden seriousness.
"If I have it my way," he said, cupping her face, "you'll never lift a finger again unless you want to. I'll wrap you in cotton wool, Aria. Quilted, colour-matched, extra-thick. Marry me, Aria."
She only laughed and kissed him again.
Chapter 61
Aria
The weeks that followed settled back into a rhythm as the thirtieth week rolled in.
Crispin was still busy, but he worked from home more often. Aria quilted in the sunroom, her fingers finding peace in the steady rhythm of her needle.
They fell asleep together every night, Aria tucking her cold feet between his legs, using his body like a human radiator.
Crispin massaged her calves when they ached, kissed her shoulders when she couldn't sleep because the baby was like a champion football player at night. There were also regular spaced vibrations that sounded like hiccups?
He brought her books now. Aria noticed that the books were different-always in fonts that were easier on the eyes, soft-edged, evenly spaced; the kind that didn't swim or crowd the page. Soft backgrounds that didn't strain her eyes.
One day, she looked up and asked, "How did you even know about these?"
He kissed her temple. "I know you're brave," he said simply. "You work harder than anyone I know. And I figured...maybe you'd like to read for yourself like you used to with Ophelia. But if you want me to read to you just like I do for the baby, I'll do that. Anything."
She stared at him for a long moment.
"There's a lot to unpack in your life," he added seriously. "And when you're ready, we'll find someone to help. Someone you could talk to. But only when you are ready."
That night, in the hush of their shared bed, with her back to his front, Crispin's hand slid beneath her cotton nightgown, bunched soft and wrinkled around her waist. He had been touching her like this for days now, casual, always lingering just long enough to remind her she was wanted. Often, she'd push his hands away with a sleepy murmur or a muttered protest. But that night, she didn't. That night, her body leaned into his instead of away. Her breathing deepened and a soft moan escaped her lips. His hand, warm and slow, continued its path, as if it had simply been waiting for permission.
When his hand slid beneath her nightgown and found bare skin, his breath caught audibly. "You're not wearing anything," he whispered, voice ragged, barely a thread of sound.
Slow circles on her thighs, teasing strokes at the soft petal of her inner lips. She gasped when he dipped one finger inside her, to find her wet. Then another, moving in a rhythm that made her clutch the sheets. His hand moved on to trace her sensitive nipples before moving south again.
His thumb found that sensitive nub, circling, coaxing.
His other hand cradled her belly.
His fingers trembled slightly as they traced her soft folds, slow strokes at the edges, learning her all over again. He let out a quiet, reverent gasp, his touch feathering over her outer lips before pulling her thigh gently over his, needing to feel her pressed to him, open and yielding.
She didn't stop him.
He kissed her shoulder, her neck, her temple-his lips shaky but tender, like he couldn't believe she was letting him in again. She arched into his hand, chasing the pleasure, fingers clutching at the sheets as he slipped one finger inside her, then another, curling and moving with a rhythm that had her hips lifting off the mattress.
When she came, it was with a soft moan and a shudder, her teeth catching her lower lip, her entire body trembling as she gripped his forearm and her inner muscles spasmed around his fingers.
Crispin turned her to face him, his eyes dark with emotion before slipping his fingers into his mouth, tasting her.
Then he kissed her slow, letting her taste herself on his lips.
"Don't you want to-" she asked, voice breathless, uncertain.
He shook his head, brushing his nose against hers. "Only when you want it. That was just for you."
