More Than Words
Page 35
With her permission, the last thread of control broke, and I began to thrust into her, my breath coming out in small bursts of sound. She was so deliciously tight, so wet, her body gripping me snugly in a silken clasp. She clung to me, trusting, and in that moment I did feel like a prince. Her prince. My heart beat to the music that began to rise inside me once again. Pulsing. Sultry. Both dark and beautiful, speaking of this thing between us: her leg sliding up my hip to allow me deeper, my muscles tensed with pleasure, our bodies dewy with sweat as we slid together, the scent created by our mingled pheromones driving me higher … higher. I dropped my face into her neck, letting out a short yell that ended on a shuddery groan as I came, the pleasure tightening my abdomen and shooting all the way down to my toes. “Ohhh, Jessie, Jessie.” I slowed, one final shiver moving through me before I stilled, the stars diminishing before my eyes as I turned my head and breathed in the scent of her skin.
The light outside the window was all but gone and the rain had started again, a soft pitter-patter on the roof right above us that seemed to be the perfect end music to the slowing of my heart, the loosening of muscles, the dreamy afterglow of love-making. I turned, pulling Jessie so she was facing me, and for a moment we just looked at each other. Her smile was soft and her eyes held no regret. “Jessie,” I whispered, trailing a finger down the side of her cheek, her skin so smooth, so soft. She turned into the touch, closing her eyes on a sigh. “Was it okay?”
Her eyes opened, and she nodded. “It was the most wonderful thing I ever experienced.”
You’re the most wonderful person I ever met.
But she had that wrong. She was the most wonderful person I’d ever met. Smart, beautiful, gentle, fierce, joyful, and kind.
I leaned in and kissed her, then remembered there might be blood. At the very least, I should take care of her in the aftermath of her very first time. Her very first time. It belonged to me. No matter what happened, that could never change. The thought filled me with a possessive happiness that I didn’t let myself look at too closely, at least not now.
Pulling away and stepping out of bed, I said, “Let me get something to clean you with. I’ll be right back.”
I walked quickly to the bathroom, where I flushed the condom and wet a washcloth with warm water. Back in the room, I sat on the edge of the bed and gently washed the trace of blood from between Jessie’s legs and then brought the washcloth back to the bathroom, rinsing it out.
I pulled the sheet and comforter over us as I slipped back into bed beside her, gathering her close. For a few minutes, we simply watched the rain on the windowpane, Jessie’s fingers running lazily up and down my arm, our legs twisted together, my body heavy with satisfaction. “It feels like we’re in a different world,” I said.
I felt her smile against my shoulder. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
After a moment she tilted her head back so she could look at me. The pad of her index finger moved up my arm and circled slowly around my nipple. “Did you know you hum when you’re relaxed or happy?”
I chuckled, realizing I’d been doing just that. “I do?” I paused, considering. “Yeah, maybe I do.”
She nodded, her smile increasing.
“No one’s ever noticed that.”
“Maybe you’re not relaxed and happy often enough.” She kissed my shoulder, biting softly at my flesh.
“Ouch.”
She laughed, snuggling down into the blankets. She was right, though. It had been a long time since I’d felt happy and relaxed.
I felt her limbs grow heavier and her lashes flutter against my skin. “Do you think we’ll be able to take any part of this back with us, Callen?” she whispered, a note of hope lacing her soft, sleepy voice.
I hesitated. I knew what she meant because I’d thought it myself. Here there was no baggage, no worries, no barriers or regrets. Here there was only us and nothing else, just feeling and honesty. But that wouldn’t be the case when we got back to the château where she was working. There—in that world—I would have to pull on the cloak of lies I wore and once again become the mess I’d arrived as. Only … that wasn’t totally true, was it? She’d changed me, saved me, at least as far as the music went. I was hearing it again, not just bits and pieces, but long strings of melody that shook me, moved me, and compelled me to get them down on paper. But what happened when I left? Would the music die again? Would I revert to the life I’d been leading—the life of meaningless vices—in order to quiet my own mind long enough to hear the notes?
I exhaled and pulled Jessie closer. I didn’t want that. I wanted her. I was desperate to hold on to the only good thing I’d ever had. But it wasn’t possible. If she knew how little I really had to offer, she wouldn’t want me, shouldn’t want me, and I couldn’t do that to her. Trap her in a way she’d come to resent, cause her to look at me with shame and embarrassment. I couldn’t bear that. It would kill me.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I could hear the regret in my voice, and my chest tightened with pain. But she’d gifted me with so much, and I owed her the truth.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JESSICA
I blinked, disoriented, as my eyes grew used to the low light in the room. Memory swept in, bringing with it a warm surge of elation as I recalled the way Callen had looked as we’d made love, his mouth parted and his skin flushed with arousal, the muscles of his arms tensed as he held himself above me. I squeezed my legs together lightly, feeling the tinge of achiness where he’d been, smiling despite the slight discomfort. Where was he? I was in the bed alone.
Pulling myself up so I could see over the puffy comforter, I spotted Callen sitting in the chair by the window in only his boxers, his tanned skin smooth in the low light, a notepad on his knees as he hunched over it. His lower lip was pulled beneath his upper teeth and his hand moved rapidly as he used a pen to scrawl something—musical notes, I assumed—on the page.
“Hey,” I said softly. His head snapped up, and he released his lip. I smiled at the look of intensity on his face, the focus. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He shook his head, standing and setting the notepad and pen down on the bureau next to the empty bag of food we’d consumed hours before, sitting cross-legged on the floor wrapped in blankets. My lips tipped up at the memory of the intimate floor picnic and how no food had ever tasted more delicious. Callen moved to the bed, clicking off the one lamp that had been on, and got back in next to me, bringing the covers over us and pulling me close. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
I snuggled into him. He was so solid, so hard everywhere, and yet somehow the perfect pillow. “Mmm.” I sighed. “You didn’t. It’s just sleeping in a new place. For a minute I didn’t know where I was. What were you writing?”
“The harmony of the piece I’ve been working on. It came to me tonight.”
I lifted my head. “Really? Is that how it works? You hear music in your head first and then write it down on paper?”
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
We were silent for a minute before I said, “I’m glad the writer’s block has lifted. Why do you think you were so stuck?”
He paused for so long, I glanced up at him, wondering if he was going to answer at all. “I’m sure you remember from when we were kids that I didn’t have the best home life, Jessie.” My heart clenched painfully, and I nodded. “My dad, he liked to throw punches, but he liked to hurl insults even more. The worst things he could think of, the things he knew would hurt the most …” Silence again, as if he was struggling to find the right words, maybe even skirting around some, though I wasn’t sure why I got that feeling. “I hear his words sometimes, even still. They run through my mind and they, I don’t know, it’s like they paralyze me, make me feel that same worthlessness I did as a kid.”
I leaned up. “Oh, Callen. But you’ve found so much success in your life. You’ve proven him wrong on every level.”
He exhaled a big breath. “Maybe. But I hear the echoes of his words, and it’s like they get stuck on repeat and I can’t make them stop.”
The light outside the window was all but gone and the rain had started again, a soft pitter-patter on the roof right above us that seemed to be the perfect end music to the slowing of my heart, the loosening of muscles, the dreamy afterglow of love-making. I turned, pulling Jessie so she was facing me, and for a moment we just looked at each other. Her smile was soft and her eyes held no regret. “Jessie,” I whispered, trailing a finger down the side of her cheek, her skin so smooth, so soft. She turned into the touch, closing her eyes on a sigh. “Was it okay?”
Her eyes opened, and she nodded. “It was the most wonderful thing I ever experienced.”
You’re the most wonderful person I ever met.
But she had that wrong. She was the most wonderful person I’d ever met. Smart, beautiful, gentle, fierce, joyful, and kind.
I leaned in and kissed her, then remembered there might be blood. At the very least, I should take care of her in the aftermath of her very first time. Her very first time. It belonged to me. No matter what happened, that could never change. The thought filled me with a possessive happiness that I didn’t let myself look at too closely, at least not now.
Pulling away and stepping out of bed, I said, “Let me get something to clean you with. I’ll be right back.”
I walked quickly to the bathroom, where I flushed the condom and wet a washcloth with warm water. Back in the room, I sat on the edge of the bed and gently washed the trace of blood from between Jessie’s legs and then brought the washcloth back to the bathroom, rinsing it out.
I pulled the sheet and comforter over us as I slipped back into bed beside her, gathering her close. For a few minutes, we simply watched the rain on the windowpane, Jessie’s fingers running lazily up and down my arm, our legs twisted together, my body heavy with satisfaction. “It feels like we’re in a different world,” I said.
I felt her smile against my shoulder. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
After a moment she tilted her head back so she could look at me. The pad of her index finger moved up my arm and circled slowly around my nipple. “Did you know you hum when you’re relaxed or happy?”
I chuckled, realizing I’d been doing just that. “I do?” I paused, considering. “Yeah, maybe I do.”
She nodded, her smile increasing.
“No one’s ever noticed that.”
“Maybe you’re not relaxed and happy often enough.” She kissed my shoulder, biting softly at my flesh.
“Ouch.”
She laughed, snuggling down into the blankets. She was right, though. It had been a long time since I’d felt happy and relaxed.
I felt her limbs grow heavier and her lashes flutter against my skin. “Do you think we’ll be able to take any part of this back with us, Callen?” she whispered, a note of hope lacing her soft, sleepy voice.
I hesitated. I knew what she meant because I’d thought it myself. Here there was no baggage, no worries, no barriers or regrets. Here there was only us and nothing else, just feeling and honesty. But that wouldn’t be the case when we got back to the château where she was working. There—in that world—I would have to pull on the cloak of lies I wore and once again become the mess I’d arrived as. Only … that wasn’t totally true, was it? She’d changed me, saved me, at least as far as the music went. I was hearing it again, not just bits and pieces, but long strings of melody that shook me, moved me, and compelled me to get them down on paper. But what happened when I left? Would the music die again? Would I revert to the life I’d been leading—the life of meaningless vices—in order to quiet my own mind long enough to hear the notes?
I exhaled and pulled Jessie closer. I didn’t want that. I wanted her. I was desperate to hold on to the only good thing I’d ever had. But it wasn’t possible. If she knew how little I really had to offer, she wouldn’t want me, shouldn’t want me, and I couldn’t do that to her. Trap her in a way she’d come to resent, cause her to look at me with shame and embarrassment. I couldn’t bear that. It would kill me.
“I don’t know,” I answered honestly. I could hear the regret in my voice, and my chest tightened with pain. But she’d gifted me with so much, and I owed her the truth.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
JESSICA
I blinked, disoriented, as my eyes grew used to the low light in the room. Memory swept in, bringing with it a warm surge of elation as I recalled the way Callen had looked as we’d made love, his mouth parted and his skin flushed with arousal, the muscles of his arms tensed as he held himself above me. I squeezed my legs together lightly, feeling the tinge of achiness where he’d been, smiling despite the slight discomfort. Where was he? I was in the bed alone.
Pulling myself up so I could see over the puffy comforter, I spotted Callen sitting in the chair by the window in only his boxers, his tanned skin smooth in the low light, a notepad on his knees as he hunched over it. His lower lip was pulled beneath his upper teeth and his hand moved rapidly as he used a pen to scrawl something—musical notes, I assumed—on the page.
“Hey,” I said softly. His head snapped up, and he released his lip. I smiled at the look of intensity on his face, the focus. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
He shook his head, standing and setting the notepad and pen down on the bureau next to the empty bag of food we’d consumed hours before, sitting cross-legged on the floor wrapped in blankets. My lips tipped up at the memory of the intimate floor picnic and how no food had ever tasted more delicious. Callen moved to the bed, clicking off the one lamp that had been on, and got back in next to me, bringing the covers over us and pulling me close. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
I snuggled into him. He was so solid, so hard everywhere, and yet somehow the perfect pillow. “Mmm.” I sighed. “You didn’t. It’s just sleeping in a new place. For a minute I didn’t know where I was. What were you writing?”
“The harmony of the piece I’ve been working on. It came to me tonight.”
I lifted my head. “Really? Is that how it works? You hear music in your head first and then write it down on paper?”
“Yeah. Sometimes.”
We were silent for a minute before I said, “I’m glad the writer’s block has lifted. Why do you think you were so stuck?”
He paused for so long, I glanced up at him, wondering if he was going to answer at all. “I’m sure you remember from when we were kids that I didn’t have the best home life, Jessie.” My heart clenched painfully, and I nodded. “My dad, he liked to throw punches, but he liked to hurl insults even more. The worst things he could think of, the things he knew would hurt the most …” Silence again, as if he was struggling to find the right words, maybe even skirting around some, though I wasn’t sure why I got that feeling. “I hear his words sometimes, even still. They run through my mind and they, I don’t know, it’s like they paralyze me, make me feel that same worthlessness I did as a kid.”
I leaned up. “Oh, Callen. But you’ve found so much success in your life. You’ve proven him wrong on every level.”
He exhaled a big breath. “Maybe. But I hear the echoes of his words, and it’s like they get stuck on repeat and I can’t make them stop.”
