Page 83 of His To Unravel
She laughs, shaking her head incredulously. “Forget you? You’re…unforgettable. Even if things didn’t work out, you’d always be there in my mind. You’ve permanently altered my brain chemistry, I know that much. Some people just leave marks that don’t fade.” Her voice trembles slightly, as if she isn’t sure whether to feel comforted or frightened by the thought.
I capture her hand more firmly, holding her gaze with an intensity that leaves no room for misinterpretation. The notion of her even considering us “not working out” is like a splinter burrowing deeper beneath my skin.
The thought of losing her—of her choosing to walk away—is intolerable. It makes my stomach churn with something dark and desperate.
“Don’t say that,” I murmur, voice tight. “Promise me you won’t talk like there’s a version of this where we don’t work out.”
Her smile softens, and she nods. “I promise.”
But that isn’t enough. It never will be. In my mind, that promise needs to be carved into stone, etched so deeply that neither time nor doubt can erode it.
I can’t live with any other outcome.
Whatever it takes, she will be mine.
I lean in and kiss her, sealing the vow—slow at first, then deeper, hungrier. She responds with a quiet gasp, her fingers curling in the fabric of my sweater.
I shift closer, my hand sliding beneath the blanket and up her thigh.
“Nathaniel,” she whispers, breath hitching as I nudge the hem of her dress higher. “What if someone?—”
“No one will interrupt us.” My voice is low, firm. “And I need to touch you. Right now.”
I tug herpanties to the side, finding her already slick for me. A low groan rumbles in my chest.
I slide two fingers into her with ease, my thumb circling slowly over her clit. She arches into the seat and I clamp my hand over her mouth to stifle her moans.
“Good girl,” I rasp in the shell of her ear, watching her fall apart. “Always so ready for me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit next to you andnotdo this?”
Her eyes flutter shut. Her hips shift, chasing the rhythm. I feel her pussy tighten around my fingers. She’s so close already, so responsive.
“I’m going to make you come like this,” I whisper. “Will you be good for me?”
She nods, barely, and I keep my hand firm over her mouth as I fuck her with my fingers—deeper, faster, her body trembling with every curl of my wrist.
She shudders once, twice, then breaks—silently, beautifully, her orgasm washing through her in waves. I hold her there, fingers still buried deep, as her body quakes beneath my touch.
When she finally exhales, her eyes heavy-lidded and glassy, I press a kiss to the corner of her jaw and pull the blanket more snugly around her.
She melts into my side, flushed and speechless, her breath still unsteady.
I settle back in my seat, satisfaction humming in my veins.
Mine.
The humof the jet fades the moment Olivia steps into the cold night air, her boots quiet against the slick tarmac. A black Rolls-Royce waits just beyond the stairway, gleaming beneath the glow of the terminal lights.
The driver waits with the door open. “Welcome back, Mr. Caldwell.”
I nod, guiding Olivia forward with a gentle hand at the small of her back. The soft brush of her coat beneath my fingertips soothes me, though nothing truly steadies the simmer beneath my skin when she’s this close.
As she slides into the car, her eyes widen at the bouquet resting on the seat beside her—peonies in shades of blush, pink, and red. She looks at me, a trace of wonder crossing her face.
“You remembered,” she says softly, fingertips brushing the petals.
Of course I did. Olivia had mentioned her love for peonies once, months ago. A fleeting comment. But nothing about her is ever fleeting to me.
She turns, her smile genuine and warm, cutting through the cold armor I wear as easily as a blade. There are moments when I doubt my control—moments likethis, when I realize that I would give her everything I own, every last piece of myself, if it means she’ll keep smiling at me like that.
