Page 37 of Lover
“None more than a hope,” I replied, voice uneven. “We lost two pregnancies very early.”
We. You and I. Our children.
“Callum…” It was her hand that gripped mine now, a gesture of comfort. “You need to tell me about your wife.”
I considered throwing away all the cautions and medical recommendations, all the restrictions on the truth that I believed my wife deserved. Yet my anxiety for the consequences stayed my tongue. I rubbed my thumb over the back of her ring finger, where a wedding band had once been, and told her everything without telling her anything at all.
I poured my heart and all the love in it out, attempting to hide the agony of knowing she had no idea it was for her. It built in me until I arrived to my treacherous act.
“What did you do?” she asked.
At first, I couldn’t bring myself to confess what harm I’d inflicted, to relive that terrible night, but when she asked again, so in need of knowing, I relented.
“Damn me to hell, I grabbed her, shook her, and insisted she was being terrorized by nothing more than her own nightmares. She needed gentleness, and I selfishly gave in to my desperation. Of course, she ran away from me. I’ll carry that guilt forever.”
Forgive me, Millie.
“There was a hellish storm,” I continued, walking through the events that led to all the horrific moments that robbed her of her memories and took us from each other.
“The screaming, God, it was unspeakable. I still hear it at night, but it wasn’t even her.”
No longer able to maintain my composure, I stood, her hands slipping from mine. I didn’t deserve comfort nor forgiveness. My carelessness had driven the woman I was meant to cherish into the maw of a storm-swollen gorge.
“It was Felicity,” I grated. “We found her on her knees by the embankment of the ravine, making that unholy noise, with Rodney trying to pull her away. My wife had jumped into the water. Her remains were discovered the following week by the police at an embankment several miles away. She was in such bad shape they wouldn’t even let me…”
My strength gave way, and I shielded my face, hiding my anguish, but the sound of rustling sheets and soft footsteps turned my head.
Millie was coming unsteadily toward me, arms outstretched.
As I caught her, the weight of unspoken words and too much felt made my knees buckle. We sank to the ground together, and I held her as though doing so was the only thing making her real.
“You’re precious to me,” I said, praying the truth in these words was enough. “I wish you to be well.”
CHAPTER 21
WHEN I’D SUGGESTED later that night that it would be better for her to recuperate without my presence begging sympathy, Millie had asked me to stay, afraid to be alone. She’d nestled against me and quickly drifted off, giving me ample time to consider the next steps.
I fell asleep soon after, listening to the comforting sound of her even breaths, and didn’t wake up until morning when Millie stirred and giggled. I opened my eyes to find she hadn’t awoken, though there was a smile on her face. I watched her dream, peaceful and amused, until wistfulness. collapsed into distress. She gasped, then yelped, her eyes flying open, hands grasping the sheets.
Wishing to banish the bad dream, I reached out to touch her.
“What’s tormenting you, my love?” I asked.
She rose up, tossed the cover away, and threw a leg over my waist, straddling me, her soft heat pressed against my groin. She undressed, exposing that enticing figure, and my caution for her well-being couldn’t staunch the responding desire.
Nevertheless, I had enough sense to know this wasn’t the best recreation for someone recovering from both physical illness and mental shock.
“Millie, are you well enough…”
She shifted, and before I could finish speaking, my cock was in her hand.
With no more will to argue with her want, I assisted in the growth of her pleasure by pulling her silk underwear aside, drawing my eyes and then my thumb along the swell of her clit.
“No,” she rebuked, and I raised a brow at the demand, unsure of her needs. She showed me, teasing herself with the head of my shaft. The jolt of lust that followed was difficult to control, and as she enveloped me in her heat, I took hold of her hips, prepared to take the lead. Her fingernails dug into my forearms, and I accepted the cue, remaining still.
Her pallid complexion fled in favor of a flush that turned her skin rosy as she rode atop me, her hair shining like a halo of red gold in the morning light. She looked alive, powerful. At the last moment, as she tremored slightly, a sign she would soon climax, she leaned back and stopped her rhythm, rejecting her release.
“Show me your love,” she breathed.
