Page 23 of Lover
Millie.
Flying from the bed, I hardly had the sense to grab my nightshirt, pulling it on as I ran toward the terrible noise of my wife crying in such agony I was sure I would find her injured. As I arrived at her door, I feared it would be locked, but the knob turned, and I entered to a blast of freezing air. The window was open to the frigid night, and Millie stood at it, leaning dangerously over the ledge, reaching out to catch someone or something, howling. As I moved toward her with careful intention, not wanting to startle her, she pulled a knee up to climb onto the windowsill.
Abandoning caution, I lunged forward, terrified she was in the process throwing herself out. Grabbing her about the waist, I pulled her inside and turned her to face me.
Her eyes were bleary, and though she registered I was there, she was far away, looking through me as though I were an apparition. I was familiar with this face. If Millie became too stressed she would wake partially from sleep and move throughour bedroom, opening doors, brushing her hair, talking to me in hushed tones about nonsense. It had always been harmless, and she’d never been afraid like this.
“Millie! What were you doing? You could have fallen!” Fear turned my voice harsh, loud, which only upset her all the more.
“A woman! A woman was here. She was crying, didn’t you hear her? You had to have heard her! She’s jumped!” She tried to turn again to the window, pointing.
I placed a hand upon her cheek, her skin ice cold, and she calmed against my touch enough that I could turn her face from the grim night.
“There is no one here but you,” I said quietly, pushing damp hair from her temple.
“No, no…” she began, but her eyes were clearing of the confused mania, the haze of her half sleep lifting completely. She looked at me squarely in the eyes.
“There you are,” I said, relieved.
Forgetting myself, I leaned my forehead against hers as the terror eased, wiping frozen tears from her cheeks with my thumbs.
“I wasn’t sure I’d make it to you in time,” I confessed, still tense.
“That would have been upsetting,” she agreed, the sentiment so understated that it seemed a joke.
We both began laughing, throaty sounds, the clouds of our breath merging.
“Why didn’t you tell me you suffered from sleepwalking?”Not the way you used to, I added to myself.This new, horrible way. “I’d have made Willowfield safer for you. This explains your wandering the halls at night. You should have said something.”
I’d meant for my comments to show a willingness to help, but they vexed her instead.
“I haven’t sleepwalked in years! And it wasn’t your business! You don’t deserve to know every last thing about me. I’m your assistant, not your…”
Lover.
She didn’t say it.
“Don’t you think I care if someone in my household lives or dies? Do you believe it wouldn’t affect me to find you were harmed when I could have protected you?”
“I’m not a damsel in distress, Professor. I don’t need to be protected.”
Her ridiculous pride rankled me.
“I disagree,” I said, pulling her farther from the window with the intention of stepping around her to close it. However, the sudden movement startled her, and she yelped as though she might still be in danger of falling and pressed against me, seeking the very protection she’d claimed she didn’t want. Instinctively, my arms came around her, and I pivoted our bodies, pulling her close and placing myself between her and the window. She lay against me, and I stood stock-still, holding her on purpose for the first time, worried to even blink lest she pull away.
After a moment, she looked up at me with a perplexed awe.
I could no longer feel the cold, only the soft planes of her body against mine.
She tried to avert her eyes, overwhelmed, but I took her chin between my thumb and forefinger and lifted her face toward mine, kissing her with all the love and hunger that had built in me over the past two excruciating years.
It was a self-centered decision, and a slap wouldn’t have been an unjustified reaction. Instead, she parted her lips, inviting me to deepen the kiss, which I did with greedy enthusiasm, grabbing hold of her ample backside and crushing her into me. My hard shaft pressed against the softness of her belly, and I craved theheat of her. Maddeningly, she nipped my bottom lip, sending a lightning bolt of lust jolting through me.
Leveraging the hold I still had on her, I turned our bodies toward the nearest place we could stabilize ourselves for what was inevitable. The dresser. I lifted her atop it, scattering bottles and feminine paraphernalia to the floor, but I scarcely noticed it, aware of only herenticingthighs around my waist, the maddening wet heat of her protected from me by only thin layers of cotton and silk. I took her mouth again, her taste no different than I remembered, her kisses assured, ravenous as though she had been waiting for them for as long as I.
Maybe this will remind her.
Tangling my hands in her unpinned hair, I twisted the strands, pulling to expose the long line of her neck. This particular bit of manhandling had always pleased her, and by the gasp and small arch of her back, I deduced that this hadn’t changed. Eager to discover what other wicked ministrations she still favored, I freed her breasts from the nightdress and reacquainted myself with all the varying notes of elation I could inspire by teasing her nipples to hard peaks with both fingers and tongue. My unexpected pinch caused her to quake, her low moan increasing my appetite for her.
