Chapter 93
2511words
Stepping out of my shoes, I throw them carelessly to the far end of my bedroom. My overshirt goes next. I'm in nothing but my pants and a sleeveless undershirt when someone knocks on my door.
Drawing my hand over my face, I stare at my reflection in the closet door mirror. I'm haggard, to put it politely. If it's Layla knocking, she's going to take one look at the messy state of my room and conclude I'm becoming a slob. Finding the energy to be tidy isn't easy. This listlessness goes beyond mere exhaustion.
I'm bone-tired after my talk with Camila. Every conversation we have feels like a battle. I'm not winning any of them, though I don't think I'd feel better if I did.
The knock comes again—more insistent. Sighing, I grab the brass knob and yank. 'What do you—" I stop talking. Camila stands in front of me in a thin lavender silk robe she's thrown hastily around her shoulders. 'Camila, what's wrong?" After telling me she needed time, I expected she'd avoid me until tomorrow.
'It's the baby."
My heart stops. Something is wrong. I experience a split second of terror before she finishes speaking.
'It kicked," she says, motioning for my hand. 'Here. Feel."
Allowing her to hold my wrist, I gingerly press my palm to her rounded belly. All the blood in my body is rushing to my brain. I can taste the metallic excitement on my tongue. Time slows down to a crawl. I've never been so impatient for anything in my life.
I'm about to ask if she's sure the baby kicked when it happens.
The movement is tiny, as subtle as a butterfly landing on a flower petal. But to me, it feels like someone just knocked over a mountain.
'I felt it," I gasp.
Camila's eyes light up, mirroring my own thrill. There's color high on her cheekbones, her lips slightly parted like she's out of breath. This woman is the embodiment of glowing. She reminds me of another time years ago when I felt joy just like this.
Another lifetime ago, Kristina pressed my hand to her stomach. She welled up with tears when I twitched in surprise from feeling our baby kick. That was when I learned the meaning of serenity.
An overwhelming warmth wells up from my center. It presses at the back of my eyeballs. 'I've only felt happiness like this once before," I whisper, gently trailing my fingers over her belly. 'When I felt my baby kick inside Kristina."
Her smile falters. 'Oh, Asher."
There's enough love in her eyes that I could fill an ocean with it. It soaks into me, and while it brings me a different sort of joy, it also makes me kick myself internally. She loves me so much, yet I keep hurting her each time I mention Kristina's name. Dropping my hand, I hang my head in regret. 'I never meant to make you feel like a prisoner. You're my wife, and if anyone is a prisoner here, it's me. I'd do anything for you. I mean that."
She watches me quietly before reaching back, closing my door, and shutting us inside. Whatever she wants to say, she wants privacy. 'You keep calling me your wife, but I can't forget that our marriage was just a tool."
'At the start, yes," I agree. 'But it's become real—more real than anything I've ever given myself over to."
Lighter than the kick of our baby, she rests her hand on my cheek. I lean into her touch—not on purpose, on instinct. The craving I have for her is incredible. It's more compelling than hunger or thirst. It's the kind of feeling that could drive a man insane.
We're watching each other, waiting for one of us to make the next move. My desire to kiss her has my mouth tingling. I have to clench my jaw, my hands, every muscle to resist grabbing her face and capturing her lips.
I won't make the first move.
Not here.
Not after she told me she needed space.
Camila runs her nails slowly down my jaw. 'Do you love me?"
'With every fiber of my being," I reply. I don't have to think about it.
Her eyes search mine hastily. 'Are we really on the same side?"
That word … sides. It carries a weight with it that settles on the back of my neck. In my life, there have always been two sides—those with me, and those against. Camila belongs with the former. So why, then, are my hackles standing on end?
Our fighting has been boiling down to our principles not aligning. That kind of thing ... can it even be fixed? Can we reconcile our differences when they're so stark? I want to throw back my head and scream yes, but my gut won't let me.
My world is dangerous, and I've learned to thrive in it. Part of that is because I've been able to see the plots against me before they can become reality. I haven't always succeeded, unfortunately. And tragedies have given me a sharper sense of preservation.
That's why … as I mull over her question… my paranoia is going haywire.
Camila won't betray me. I think it, but the fear doesn't vanish. If I try to say it out loud, there'll be no conviction. As much as I want to believe she'll always choose what's best for me, I can't.
And I hate that.
I hate that I can't bring myself to trust her even as my heart screams at me to do exactly that.
My hands start to rise, but I force them back to my hips. I want to touch her ... God ... this is torture! 'We want the same things."
'Do we?" she muses sadly.
'Your future … mine … our baby's. It's all I think about. I swear, Camila. I swear it."
Tell me you think about it too. Please. Please.
Her lips glide apart. I expect more words. She's been arguing with me fiercely for so long; surely she's not done yet. Camila digs her fingers into my hair, leveraging herself forward, dragging me toward her until we crash together in a kiss.
The resistance inside me splits apart. Grabbing her by her shoulders I thrust us together, seeking more of her mouth … more of everything. The thin robe does nothing to stop the firm tips of her breasts from rubbing against my chest. My undershirt is just as useless. The clothing feels the same as skin.
Her long hair tangles in my fingers, soft from how she brushed it earlier. Winding it in my fist, I force her head back to deepen our kiss. She opens her mouth for me, and I slide my tongue along her teeth, tasting the mint lingering from her toothpaste.
Camila parts her lips and moans a soft sound. I think it's my name. Backing away to give her enough room to know for sure, I stare eagerly into her eyes. 'What was that?" I ask.
Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes blurry, like she's having trouble focusing. 'Kiss me again," she says.
In this moment I would do anything she asked. Anything.
Pushing her robe down her arms, I kiss her left shoulder, enjoying how smooth her skin is. She presses the back of my head, trying to force me to go lower, but I'm not ready yet. As eager as I am to see and taste every inch of her body, I want to draw this out. I need to make this last as long as possible.
All around us in the air, mixing with the passion, is the heavy shadow of fear. I can't explain exactly what I'm scared of, and I don't dare take the time to figure it out. Discovering the shape and the name of the monster hanging over my head would mean admitting it was real. Right now, all I want to do is to be in the moment with my wife.
She is my wife, I think seriously. We are partners. We're working together, and all I want to imagine is the future for us. For us, I press my hands to her belly. A primal sensation wakes up inside of me. Camila is more than my wife; she's my everything.
She's carrying my baby. I have to make sure that she's safe, that she's cared for. Normally, to me, that means guns at the ready, a wall of spikes, an army at my beck and call.
Right now, caring for her means making her body feel amazing.
'I love you," I whisper, before pulling her robe completely off her. She groans and hugs me closer. When my mouth gets near to her throat, I kiss her there, moving downward until I lick her collarbone.
Her fingers scoop at my shirt, trying to get it over my head. She's struggling because I won't move back far enough to create the space. I refuse to allow even an inch of air appear between us.
'Asher, take this off," she demands.
Ignoring her, I reach behind her shoulder blades to unclasp her nightgown. The straps dangle, the rounded tops of her breasts teasing me. The material dangles on her hardened nipples until I tug it, letting it hug her rib cage.
I kiss her right breast, then the left, and then the right again. She gasps at each touch. 'Please," she begs. 'Don't make me wait anymore."
She sounds desperate and I relate. I lean back just enough to pull my shirt over my head, throwing it across the room. Camila glances at my muscular body, but then she arches her head back, unable to see straight because I've cupped her perfect breasts in my hands. This is her weakness.
It's also mine.
'You're so fucking beautiful." Grabbing her nipples between my thumb and forefinger, I twist them from side to side. She shivers visibly as I play with her. Lowering my head, suckling at her right nipple while toying with the other, I feel her flex up into me. I know exactly what she likes, and not just because she's so vocal, but because I pay attention.
I want to drive her crazy; it's my favorite thing.
Lifting her up, I carry her to my bed and set her on it. She takes the opportunity to wrap her legs around my hips as I stand between her knees. 'I love you," she swears to me. With how she's gazing up from down below, it sounds like a prayer. She aches for me to believe what she says. I do … I do believe she loves me … but that almost makes it worse.
You have to trust that she'll stay on your side. Stay—as if she hasn't already swayed. There's no proof of that! I argue with myself, except there's plenty.
She hid Roman from me. She defended Madison, a stranger, because she's a good liar.
No, you fool. Because she's a good person. She's not a monster like you.
I kiss Camila to quell the chorus of warnings in my skull. She's surprised by how I ravish her—hands on her neck, her chest, her spine, and hips. I can't get enough of her. I'm trying to chase away my inner fears with the passion surging in my blood. It's almost enough.
'Say you love me," she whimpers.
'I love you." I do I do I do.
'And you always will?"
I kiss her mouth, sending the word Yes down her throat. She swallows it and doesn't ask again.
The bed shifts when I press her flat onto it. She doesn't loosen her thighs from my waist. I don't need her to. Peeling her black satin panties over her plump ass until they're stuck between us, I give them a rough yank, tearing the fabric. Her eyes flash with a spike of arousal.
Her nightgown is pooled on her waist, the upper band rolled over her sternum and below her exposed breasts. It's sexier than if she was naked. Settling my weight on her, I lick her left nipple in a slow, patient circle until she's panting. Without looking, I navigate my jeans, popping the button, lowering the zipper. My cock is engorged to the point of pain. I shove my boxers to the side, setting it free, sighing in relief. My shaft is thick and hot in my own fist.
Camila rakes her nails down my shoulders, then downward, searching for my cock. I hiss through my teeth as she circles it in her grip. She squeezes lightly, testing me, watching my face. I don't tell her to stop … I give her no instructions as she starts jerking me off.
Pleasure radiates through me in jagged stripes. I resist the urge to close my eyes and toss my head back, because then I'd have to stop looking at her. It's an incredible challenge to stay locked on her flushed face when I'm going blind with desire. Muscles in my core bunch, then tremble as waves of heat take me prisoner. My cock is stiff as fire-hardened steel. I break our stare for a split second, too tempted to look down and see her hand pumping my cock. The visual makes me dizzy.
'Fuck," I pant.
'I'm ready," she moans, guiding my cock head toward her. She's right—her inner thighs are glistening with her juices. I barely thrust forward, and the slickness lets me push inside her warm walls. Her back makes a perfect arc, heels jamming into my spine as she tries to fill herself with more of me. 'Oh my God!"
Holding my breath, I endure the slow way she eases me inside of her. I could thrust forward, stuffing myself in to the root, but I refuse. This way lets me experience every millimeter of her soft, tight, flexing pussy. I'm doing all I can to keep this moment from ending.
Every stroke of my cock draws a cry of pleasure from her. The pressure of her milking me creates a knot of tension that continues to build. It's endless, the force pulsing in me, threatening to tear me apart. I don't know if I'm going to cum or explode into a thousand pieces.
'I'm close," she whimpers, driving her hips into me with more insistence. I know she's going to cum; it's inevitable. If she didn't want to, it would still happen. She's that far gone. I see it in her heavy-lidded eyes … her slack mouth.
Seeing how delirious she is turns me on more. A scorching wave washes over me, making me grit my jaw. My skin is sensitive enough that I feel every single droplet of sweat gliding over my back. One drips from my chin, landing on her chest. I bend down to lick it off, then swing sideways, suckling her nipple.
Her pussy clenches suddenly, and I know she's going to cum even before she screams.
