Page 22 of Marginally Yours
I know she was sent here to be that link. Logically, that makes sense. She was sent here to be the motivation that helped me put pen to paper, to string my words together and weave them into a world that I can share with others. That's herjob, and it's not like she had a choice in the matter anyway.
I thought I'd be more broken up about it, but I'm finding that I really don't give a fuck. I wouldn't have been able to finish this story without her to begin with. If buying her freedom means that I don't ever get to experience this again, then so be it. She's worth the cost and then some. We'll figure the rest out later.
Callie is passed out, buried under a pile of blankets on the bed. I type everything but the last word before I slip under the blanket, molding my front to her back and sliding my hands around her waist. She stirs, a tiny moan escaping as she stretches out like a cat.
"Hey," she whispers, turning around in my arms.
"Hey." I press a kiss to the tip of her nose, trailing them down the side of her face. "I thought you might want to be awake for the last word."
Her eyes widen. "All done?" The excitement in her voice is tinged with something bitter, and I know she's worried about what comes next.
"Mhm," I confirm, burying my face in thecrook of her neck and giving her one more good squeeze before rolling off the bed and plopping back down at my desk. She hops up and follows me, crowding close behind me to watch the last word.
"H... O..." I read the letters out loud, as dramatically as possible, as she giggles nervously behind me. "M... E... Period." As soon as I type the period, I spin my chair to face her, and she steps between my knees. Three months to finish what I spent my whole life trying to do, all thanks to her.
"You did it!" She glides her hands along my shoulders, clasping them behind my neck.
"Wedid it," I correct her, skating my hands up the backs of her thighs. She beams down at me, and I tuck my head against her side.Now what?The words hang in the air, but I don't dare say them. I won't fool myself into thinking she's changed her mind about doing this. I haven't either, but maybe we can get one more day before we have to face reality.
I press a kiss to her ribcage, and she inhales softly, running her fingers through the hair at my nape. Another kiss, lower this time. Another at her hip. Each elicits a small gasp. We've been at this for 2 weeks now, and every gasp, every moan, every contented sigh is better than the last. I'm surprised we wrapped this draft up as quickly as we did, considering how much of our time has been spent on top of each other.
"We'll summon him tomorrow," she mumbles, breaking the bubble. I let out a heavy sigh, leaning my forehead against her stomach.Damn it.Then she hooks a finger under my chin, tilting my face to hers. "But tonight," she breathes. "I'm all yours."
In a feat of athleticism that I genuinely didn't think I possessed, I lift the backs of her thighs as I stand from my chair, wrapping her legs around my waist.
"Is that so?" I growl, and she nods. I walk her to the bed and drop her on her back in a fit of giggles.
She props herself up on her elbows, eyes locked onme and full of hunger. I crawl on top of her, meeting her halfway as she yanks at my shirt collar and crashes her lips to mine. The familiarity of her touch is comforting, even as it heats my blood. I bring one hand up to cradle her face, the other supporting my weight as she slips my shirt up my back and over my head. I release her just long enough to toss it aside.
She arches her back just enough to pull my hoodie over her head. Is it even my hoodie anymore? Whatever. My brain ceases all rational thought when I see that the hoodie had nothing at all under it. I let out a groan at the sight and bury my face against her bare chest before trailing kisses up to her neck. She reaches down to slide her shorts off and I follow suit. I lean back and take her in again, like I do every time I have her like this.
"You are so fucking beautiful," I rasp, and her cheeks flush as if I don't tell her this every time, too. My head dips down, ghosting kisses along the swells of her breasts. I cup a hand around the outside of each, running my thumbs along the ridges of her nipples as they pebble under my touch. She arches her back under me, head tilting back. I skate one hand up the center of her chest and wrap my long fingers up the side of her exposed throat. My index finger hooks behind her teeth, holding her jaw open firmly. With nothing to muffle the sound, her moan echoes around the room.
My free hand drifts down to her center, finding her already dripping and ready. I groan as I swirl my middle finger around her clit, eliciting another moan from her. She bucks her hips, seeking more friction as I keep my movements torturously slow. She tilts her head down enough to level me with a glare and lets out an indignant whine around my finger.
"Relax, troublemaker," I tell her, gently sliding one finger inside her. "I'll get there." I pull back, pushing two fingers deep inside her on the next thrust, and she gasps. I continue pumping in and out of her slowly, adding my thumb to themix. I can feel the tension building in her jaw, her walls tightening around my fingers. I dip my head down to wrap my lips around her nipple, following it with a quick bite. I release her jaw to wrap my hand fully around her throat, squeezing tightly at the sides as she squirms under me. Her body tenses, right on the edge, and I loosen my grip, letting the blood rush back to her head. Her eyes roll back, the hand flying up to cover her mouth barely muffling her as she screams my name.
At least the neighbors know who to bitch about.
I drop to the bed beside her, handing her the bottle of water from the nightstand that she didn't actually ask for. At this point, I feel like I can read her mind. I don't know if it's her magic orourmagic or what, but she never has to ask, or correct, or even explain. I know I can project what I'm thinking about the book to her by accident, but it feels like we're so in tune with each other that the limitations on that bridge are gone.
Not just in bed, either. I find myself getting up to make her a cup of coffee that she didn’t ask for at least once a day. When I'm having a hard time focusing because the TV is too loud, she turns it down before I can even reach for the remote. I have a craving for something and she poofs it into existence on the desk in front of me.
Something in the back of my brain tells me that I should be annoyed that she might be using her magic to get into my head, and I was at first. The more I think about it though, the more I really can't bring myself to hate it. She wants me to be happy. Comfortable. It's not like I'm not already obsessed with her to begin with, magic or not.
What I don't get, though, is how I'm hearing her, too. It's not like hearing her voice in my head. It's more like a feeling. Sometimes it's a flash of color accompanied by a taste or a smell, and I just kind of know. When I have her like this, some instinct just tells me exactly what she wants. It's like there's aninvisible string connecting little cup phones in our heads, echoing our unspoken thoughts both ways down the line. It's how I know she's scared about tomorrow and needs a distraction.
It's how I know she's dying for me to bury my face between her thighs and devour her like she's my last meal right now, too. Of course, I oblige, and the sounds she makes are their own reward.
Chapter Fifteen
It's almost ten by the time I finally open my eyes. Callie is still fast asleep, her head cradled into my shoulder and her leg wrapped around mine. I gently untangle us, careful not to wake her, and slip out of bed. I start some coffee while I go through the grueling process of waking up. Once I'm at least 40% functional human, clad in sweats and an unbuttoned flannel, I quietly step out of the bedroom, pulling the door mostly shut so the noise doesn't wake her, and start on breakfast.
At this point, I've learned that Callie will eat literally anything, but a big breakfast spread is her absolute favorite meal. She did previously lead me to believe that it was tacos, but that was before I made her breakfast for the first time. Since today is the big day, I figured I'd go all out.
By the time she peeks her head around the door, the eggs and hashbrowns are almost done and the French toast, bacon, and sausage are warming in the oven. Her eyes light up at the sight and she practically bounces her way into her seat at the table. I pour a fresh cup of coffee and set it in front of her,leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head from behind her chair.
"Good morning," I say, sliding a hand over her collarbone and squeezing gently.
