by Julia Devlin
I smiled, brushing my lips over his chest, marveling in my ability to touch him as freely as I chose. A luxury I’d never dreamed I’d have. “How was it supposed to go?”
“Well, for one thing,” he said, his voice ripe with exasperation. “I was supposed to be cool and in control.”
“You did a pretty decent job.” I ran my nails over his stomach and his muscles jumped in response.
He pinched my ass, making me yelp. “And I’d counted on being able to speak full sentences.”
I clucked my tongue. “Poor baby.”
This time I received a smack that caused an interesting thrill to race through me. I wasn’t surprised when his cock stirred.
“In my fantasies,” he continued, his tone disgruntled, “I make you beg, keeping you on edge for hours as I make love to you.”
I shrugged. “I liked this way better.”
He laughed. “You liked a hard, fast three-minute fuck that most teenage boys could top better?”
“I came,” I said simply.
“You did.”
“You’ll do better next time.”
Once again his palm swatted my ass, causing the most erotic sensation I shamelessly wanted to explore. “God, you are such a brat.”
“But you like it.”
“That I do, my Juliet.” He squeezed me tight. “You know, someday soon, I’m going to ask you to marry me, and when I do, you’re going to say yes.”
A huge grin splayed over my lips, so big and wide it hurt my cheeks. He wasn’t asking now because we both knew it was too soon, but he was telling me what he wanted.
I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe.”
That seemed enough of an answer for both of us right now, and we fell silent. I snuggled in close, burrowing deep into the crook of his arm, resting my head on his chest. I breathed in his scent, ran my hands over his flat stomach and listened to the slow, steady beat of his heart. The entire time, he just stroked my back in slow circles.
“I love you, Juliet,” he said in that low, sinful voice of his.
“I love you too, Christos.”
The tears burst from out of nowhere, deep racking sobs that shook me to my very core. Christos said nothing, kept rubbing, kissing my temple and murmuring nonsense as tears poured down my cheeks and fell onto his strong, capable chest.
I didn’t know why I was crying. Something released in me, a dam had broken, and now everything was rushing out.
For a long time, I cried. Not pretty tears. Not gentle weeping. No, I cried hard. My body shaking, my nose stuffed, I could feel my eyes swelling with each new tear. All the while, Christos held me close and let me cry it all out, never asking me any questions or tensing at the onslaught of my tumultuous emotions.
At long last, I calmed, sniffling into his chest. The invisible weight I’d been carrying for as long as I could remember was gone, and I felt happy. Light. Free.
Somehow Christos had given me some secret part of myself and I felt whole. At peace. Warm in all those places that had been cold.
I’d weathered the storm and survived. I’d taken the leap, and he’d caught me. And in this moment I understood that loving Christos didn’t make me weak, it didn’t strip me of who I was. Instead, loving him set me free to be the person I truly am.
I started to laugh. A deep belly laugh that shook me as much as the sobs had. Like the tears, I couldn’t stop, and finally Christos rolled me over to stare into my sure-to-be-puffy face. “Would you care to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”
“I’m happy,” I said, simply.
“Good.” He looked boyish and charming and rumpled. “I am one lucky man.”
I tilted my head and smiled, no longer afraid of what I saw in reflected in his expression. “Yeah, you are.”
We fell silent and I once again burrowed into the curve of his arm. I watched the even rise and fall of his chest, my mind racing like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby. I couldn’t settle. I should be exhausted, should be sated and limp, but I wasn’t, I was filled with an almost boundless energy. I glanced up at him, his eyes were closed, the lines of his strong features softened. “Hey, are you bidding on the Mason project?”
His lids slit open and he glanced down at me.
“Yes,” he said, slowly.
I grinned, sitting up and straddling his hips. He was going to have to do something about all this or I’d be forced to run a marathon. I planted my hands on his chest. “Yeah? Me too.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Why do I have a bad feeling about this?”
I scraped my nails down his chest and he rewarded me with a quick intake of breath. I leaned down and kissed him, slow and long, the kiss of dreams and hope, before raising my head to stare deep into his eyes.
“I have a feeling you’re about to see a decline in revenue.” I slid down his body, licking the head of his hard cock, sucking him deep into my mouth in one enthusiastic gulp.
He moaned, thrusting his fingers into my hair. “Sweet Jesus, I created a monster.”
About the Author
Born and raised in the suburbs of Chicago where she still calls home, Julia lives with her husband and two children. She never dreamed about being a writer, although she did go through a light FM, poem-writing phase when she was a teenager. Then one day, while experiencing a lull in her management consulting work and wanting to be good about her internet usage, she decided to open a Word document and play around. A full-blown obsession was born, and the rest, as the say, is history.
Julia welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Julia Devlin
A Whole New Light
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