She makes me lose my mind and all my control, and I fucking love it. Her amazing body is the only one I’ll ever want to touch, taste, fuck, fantasize about. She’s everything to me. Everything.
Collapsing next to her, I soothe her post-climax shudders and allow her to do the same. A tangle of arms and legs, we kiss, savoring each other and telling each other how precious and important the other is.
“My heart,” she says between kisses, “you’re my heart.”
“Mine too,” I answer.
The night air cools the sweat on our skin, causing Tiny to shiver. Pulling a sheet over her, I drag my ass out of bed. In the bathroom, I grab a washcloth. Tiny moans in relief and appreciation when I press the cloth against her to clean her up. She pulls up the covers, and I climb in next to her.
She cuddles up to me, her leg slung over my thighs. “Ian . . .” she says. “I want to tell you something.”
“Hmmm?” My mind is on other things. The need to bind her to me permanently rides me hard. “I want us to get married. Soon. Do you want a big wedding?”
“Married? I mean, I guess I thought you were serious, but I figured . . . I don’t know.” Her voice trails off.
“That my proposal of marriage was somehow insincere? I’ve never wanted anything more. I just didn’t want to pressure you because of all the emotional upheaval you’re experiencing now.” Rolling over so she can see me and judge the sincerity for herself, I declare, “I want you to be my wife. The mother of any children we have. My partner in life. I want that to happen now so that I can introduce you as Mrs. Ian Kerr.”
Her eyes close for a moment and silent tears leak out beneath the lids. Her words, though, are classic. “Maybe you should take my name. You can be Ian Corielli, and I’ll introduce you as Mr. Victoria Corielli.”
“As long as it means you’re mine in the eyes of the world, I’ll be Mr. John Smith.”
She wraps her arms around my neck and clings to me. This time the shudders I’m soothing are from maybe, possibly, hopefully joy for our future. “I’m okay with Victoria Kerr,” she chokes out. “You better give me a big rock and lots of flowers since you’re proposing to me while we’re naked.”
“I proposed to you when I first took you to the house on Long Island Sound.”
“You didn’t propose. You said that you wanted me to be your wife and fill your big house with lots of little people.”
“That’s a proposal.”
“It was a demand.”
“It was a request couched as a demand.”
Her body is shaking with laughter. “You’ve been in charge for too long. That was no request.”
Pushing to my knees, I reach into the nightstand and retrieve the box I bought before Sophie died. Her eyes grow huge and her hands come up to cover her mouth. I flip the box lid open, pluck the ring out, and toss the box aside.
Lifting her shaking hand in mine, I slide the ring onto her finger.
“When I was fifteen, I made a hundred different stupid vows. I’d avenge my mother. I’d rise to the top of Wall Street and smite everyone down. I’d crush Richard Howe beneath the sole of my boot. I’d win at everything. But I never wished for happiness because I didn’t know what it was until you came into my life. How could I want something I didn’t know I was missing? Now, everything I’ve achieved pales in comparison to having you love me. When I say that you’re my heart, my everything, those aren’t just words. They are the only truth in my world. I’d give up money, revenge, success—anything, as long as I can lie down next to you at night and wake up with your face beside mine.
“There is no greater achievement in my life than having you fall in love with me, and I recognize on some mysterious level that that is pure luck. I need you to marry me and be my wife. I need you to be the mother of my children. I need you because without you I am nothing. I am a pile of bones and flesh filled with misery. You bring me to life. Love me, marry me, be with me in this life and all the ones we live from this point ever after.”
“Well, since you put it like that, I guess I must.” She rises and kisses me. Our mouths seal the promises we’ve made to one another.
“What was it that you wanted to tell me?” I ask.
“That I love you.” She pulls me down to her, the thin but precious metal rubbing against my shoulder blade.
I make love to her again then, slowly. We barely move. I simply slide in and we rock together, allowing the strength of our emotions to carry us into the heavens.
CHAPTER 16
“Did something get delivered this morning?” Tiny asks as we get ready for our trip to Long Island Sound. The sound of the garage door lifting on the street floor had jarred her awake, and she’d jumped in the shower before I could convince her that we needed an early morning fuck to start the day off right.
“Yes, something for our trip,” I say, rinsing off my blade. She’s sitting on the edge of the vanity watching me shave, a towel wrapped around her wet hair. I’m surprised at how much I enjoy the domesticity of living with a woman, but a lot of that could be attributed to one particular female rather than the situation itself.
Before, if I brought a woman here—which was rare—I couldn’t wait for her to leave. I actually stopped bringing women to the warehouse at all after one woman refused to get out. I got dressed and waited silently at the stairs until she got the message. I still see her occasionally out at charitable events—the city’s social scene can be unbearably small at times. She’ll glare at me, whisper something derogatory to a friend, and inevitably try to feel me up toward the end of the evening in an effort to prove I’d made the wrong choice. I don’t miss the days of being single.
“I still don’t know how you can use that without cutting yourself.” Her gaze watches my every motion intently. Shaving fascinates her because I’m old school, using a straight-edge razor and badger bristle brush. There have been several mornings where I was late getting into my office because she took a very personal interest in my morning routine. Who knew the badger brush would feel so good on my cock?
“Practice.” She hands me a damp towel, which I use to wipe off the residual soap. Leaning close, I rub my cheek against hers. “How’s it feel?”
“Soft. Smooth.” She strokes my other cheek a minute, and I close my eyes to enjoy the caress. No, I wouldn’t ever kick Tiny out of my place. I want to keep her here forever.
“Want a little relief before we go?” I drop my hand between us and press against the damp cloth covering her legs.
“No,” she mutters grumpily and pushes me away. “I don’t want a quickie. I want that.” She points to the thick erection poking out of my briefs.
“It’s all yours, bunny.” I spread my hands wide, giving her the choice. It’s not like an hour delay is going to kill us.
With a wry look, she hops down and heads for the closet. “I’m tempted to say yes, but I do want to get out of the city this weekend, and I’m afraid if I take you up on your offer, we’ll never leave.”
She’s right. I follow her into the closet and pull on a pair of old faded jeans, a white ribbed wifebeater, and a beige linen collarless shirt. I do a couple of buttons in the middle but let it hang open. Because I’ve dressed quickly, I’m able to sit on the padded bench in the dressing room and watch Tiny finish changing. I make a mental note to thank Frank for suggesting the bench. I can think of about a dozen things I’ll be able to use it for when Tiny and I don’t have plans that involve leaving the warehouse.
She has new panties on—light purple with a keyhole opening decorated with strings tied into a bow right above her ass crack. I wonder if I tug on the strings whether the panties will fall right off. I lick my lips in anticipation.
Her beautiful breasts swing lightly as she bends over to pull up a pair of denim shorts that have interesting rips in them. “I hope you don’t wear those out in public.” I can see the lowe
r part of her ass cheek through one of the rips.
“These are my beach shorts. I usually wear them over a bathing suit.”
Her explanation is given matter-of-factly, as if they weren’t the most delectable, tantalizing pair of shorts ever. Golden skin peeks through from loose threads that are barely held together by the side seams whenever she moves. The hint of flesh is more erotic than a bare ass.
“I didn’t read about any of the beaches around here closing because of riots.”
“Ha. Ha.” She mock laughs. “While I think it’s great you’re in love with my ass, no one else is.”
“You’re wrong, but I don’t mind that you think there’s only one man for you.”
She slides her arms into a short-sleeved, red-checkered plaid shirt with pearl snaps. The western-style shirt is tailored and accentuates her narrow waist and round hips.
“Let’s go,” I say abruptly. We need to get on the road, or she’ll be bent over the bench in about two seconds. There are only three small pieces of clothing separating me from her body. With a sigh and uncomfortably tight pants, I pick up our two carryalls and head down to the garage. Tiny’s right behind me.
“My god, what is this?” she exclaims at the sight of the delivery.
“It’s an Aston Martin Vanquish Volante.” I place our luggage in the trunk, noting the picnic basket I’d asked for sitting neatly to the side. On the front seat I see a pair of Aviators, a wide-brimmed straw hat, and a scarf. Great service. I make a mental note to do business with the dealership again, even if this car doesn’t suit.
Tiny trails her hands along the bright white paint above the door handle. “It’s very shiny.”
“It’s not as fast as some coupes like the Ferrari 458, but it’s more comfortable. Plus, it’s an automatic.” I pat the rear fender.
“You’re saying this like it matters to me.”
“It should. I bought it for you.”
“But I don’t drive.” She’s still circling the car. She might not drive, but I can see the car interests her. It’s a two-door soft top convertible, which will be perfect for summer months on the Sound.
“Figured you could learn. When we’re in Connecticut, it’ll be harder to get around without a car, and I want you to be able to go places if I’m not around.”
“I could bike.”
“Sure. But you could also drive. You won’t convince me you aren’t even a little tempted.” I glance pointedly at her hands, which are still running over the edge of the glossy white exterior. It’s a loving gesture—a caress. And it signals what I rarely see in her for anything but me. A little desire. A little want. She asks me for so little, and I want to give her so much.
“You’ve already given me this.” She waves her ring finger at me. “I’m convinced that I could buy a small country with it.”
I shrug lightly. She isn’t wrong. The five-carat emerald cut baguette diamond on a thin white-gold band did cost as much as a small country’s gross domestic product, but that’s information she doesn’t need to know. If she did, she wouldn’t wear the ring out of the house. “It’s non-returnable, so I guess we’ll never know.”
She rolls her eyes. She knows it’s expensive, but by mutual agreement, we’re not going to discuss the cost.
“How do I get in this thing?” she says after several moments of silent contemplation.
I press down on the LED buttons on the side, and the flush-mounted door handle swings out.
“Very fancy,” she says, picking up the items left on the seat and climbing in. “I feel very . . . Thelma and Louise.”
“A convertible, hat, and sunglasses make you feel like an outlaw on the run ready to drive off a cliff and die?” I ask incredulously. Slipping on my own Aviators, I slide into the driver’s seat, hit a button, and watch the garage door roll up.
“Not the dying part but maybe a little outlaw.” She plops the hat on and wrinkles her nose. “How is this going to stay on?”
“I think that’s what the scarf is for.”
With a push of a button, the engine revs to life and we roar into the street, the over five-hundred horsepower engine rumbling loudly on the pavement. She shoots me an elated grin. Yeah, she likes the car. I smile back at her before switching my attention to the street. Out of my periphery, I can see her arranging and rearranging her hat and scarf. The low speed of the city traffic makes it possible for us to talk.
“How come you aren’t making Steve drive me around in Long Island?” she asks, fiddling with the various buttons and controls on the dash.
“Because I figured you’d like to be in charge of your transportation outside the city. I know I do.”
“Why don’t you drive yourself here if you like it so much?”
“It’s easier to get things done if you have a driver. No waiting around. No trying to find a place to park. If I’m stuck in crosstown traffic for an hour, I can read three analysts’ reports. It’s not a waste. Outside the city, though, it’s nice to be in charge.”
She nods and sits back, a hand trailing outside the door. Tiny’s had so much of her life torn away. Her mother died. She’s had to move. I think she feels a little lost, and if giving her the ability to drive, the ability to move about on her own, can restore a little control in her life, it can only be a good thing.
As we merge onto the Connecticut Turnpike headed north toward the Sound, the traffic thins. It’s Saturday morning. Tiny’s getting quieter, and conversation grinds to a halt as she stares out the window. The windshield is helping to reduce drag, but her hair is whipping about like crazy. She looks gorgeous, but a little somber.
“Thinking about your mother?”
She gives me a rueful smile. “Yes, sorry.”
“Don’t be. I miss her too.”
She sighs. “I was just thinking about how much she would like to have gone with us. Not to see the place but the trip. Getting out of the city. When she was sick, sometimes she couldn’t leave the apartment because of the risk of infection. Even some random cough on the street compromised her health because of her lowered immune system. Then when she got better, we made this pact to go places . . .” She pauses and rubs a finger over the hand-stitched infinity rings in the leather. “But we were limited by our funds. We didn’t have much.”
My heart aches. When Tiny and I met, her fifth-floor walk-up had been dingy and small and impossible for her mother to navigate. It was desperate circumstances that allowed me to walk into her life and redirect the course of events. There was only one event I couldn’t alter for Tiny: Sophie Corielli’s death. All the money in the world can’t stop a person from suffering loss. Tiny thinks the gulf between her having no money and me having so much of it is sometimes too large of a gap for us to maneuver, but money is nothing.
“I sometimes wonder if things would be different if Mom were still alive.”
“Because of us?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t be down there with you at the warehouse or driving in this two-seater.” She turns and looks at the non-existent rear space covered by a wind blocker. It’s only large enough for a bag or two. No, her mother wouldn’t have been in this car with us.
“If your mother were here, we’d renovate the warehouse. Maybe turn the garage into an apartment. I could store the vehicles in the building next door. I own the block. Or there’s a property I’m renovating on the Upper West Side. It’s a double-wide townhome I bought that was foreclosed on. And Aston Martin has four-door sedans, or we’d drive the Maybach because I know she liked the footrests.”
“You’re saying we’d still be together?”
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Maybe you felt sorry for me. Like, here’s Tiny all alone. I want to make her stop crying.”
“I’m not going to tie myself to you for the rest of my life because I feel sorry for you. I fucking love you.” I try not
to break the steering wheel.
“Marriages can be dissolved.”
“Not ours.” I’m growing angry. I can’t believe she thinks my proposal was fake and that if her mother were still alive, I’d have dropped her by now.
“You only got involved with me because of Richard Howe, and now you won’t even let me help you with that.”
If we weren’t on the interstate going 85 miles-per-hour, I would’ve slammed on the brakes and pulled over. “Don’t say his name,” I spit out through gritted teeth.
She lapses into silence, and we make the rest of the drive without uttering another word. I drive well over the speed limit and am lucky not to get a ticket. When we arrive at the gate to the property, she finally opens her mouth.
“Is this where we drive off the cliff? Because I’m sick enough over our argument to jump into a ravine.” She touches my hand lightly, and my fury instantly drains away.
“We can jump in the Sound, but I’m guessing it’s pretty cold,” I joke. We drive down the paved driveway and around the house to the garage bay. Tiny calls the whole place a monstrosity because we could fit fifteen or more city apartments inside it. But it’s the perfect place for a family.
“I’m sorry I brought up the Howe issue,” she says, making no move to exit the car. Instead, she’s got an elbow propped on the door and is staring out toward the water. “It’s just that I feel like it’s the one thing I can do for you. I feel so useless right now. When Mom was alive, everything fit. I had a job I was good at. We lived in a shitty apartment, but it was our shitty apartment. I didn’t feel like I was stupid or had nothing to offer but now . . . now I feel real fucking inadequate.” She furiously wipes tears away from her face. I fight back the urge to draw her over the console and into my lap. Somehow I know that’s not the response she wants. She doesn’t want me to feel sorry for her or to comfort her, and even though I’m dying to hold her, I resist.
Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2) Page 16