Ms. Manwhore
Page 23
“Silver when you’re angry, dark gray when you’re melting in lust.”
He strokes a hand down my leg next.
“Your long legs, that’s got to be it. Or maybe . . .” His frown deepens as he touches my mouth’s corners. “Your smiles and how genuine they are, the eagerness in your eyes as you watch life unfold around you.”
I’m blushing and laughing, and he rolls to his back and pulls me close, not frowning and not teasing now. But smiling. Smiling so beautifully at me.
“But see, it’s the full package, and the fact that you make me whole. That void we’ve talked about before, it’s gone when I’ve got you with me.”
“Void.” It’s my turn to pretend to be puzzled. “What void? You fill my life to a bursting point.”
Drawing me to him, he sets his head back on the pillow and lets out a long, easy laugh, and I crawl closer and lace my fingers at the back of his neck. “Hold me tight, Malcolm.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead and tightens his hold on me and teasingly confesses, peering into my face, “All the time, I want to squeeze you to pieces, but then I wouldn’t have you anymore. I can’t have that.” His face goes sober, deathly so, and even his voice grows dark. “I can’t have that at all.”
I forgot to tell my mother we’d arrived safely. She’d been nervous when we left, not knowing where we were going, and I promised to let her know the flight went all right.
I lift up my phone. No signal.
“Come here.”
He inserts a chip into his computer.
“I brought technology with me. You get four minutes.”
“Oh, come on. Five.”
“Three now.”
I laugh and open my account and shoot an email to my mother. This brief little glimpse of a computer makes me wonder about that world. If any wedding pictures are out there, of something that’s just his and mine. I can imagine Tahoe telling the world. My friends telling their other friends. The media.
“Do you need to check anything?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.
“Thirty seconds. Counting down.”
He is making me pay, big-time and with interest.
I slap the laptop shut.
“Fine. I will settle my debt with you, husband.”
I watch him watch me with a smirk as I crawl across the bed and slip into his now-too-familiar arms, the laptop and everything forgotten as I happily make it up to him, and I guess we are just too busy enjoying our Happily Ever After to give a shit.
It’s the middle of the night, and our bodies aren’t yet used to the time change. I’ve been tossing and turning for a few hours, while Malcolm stirs when I move and simply puts his hand on my waist—to still me or calm me or maybe to push my restless little body off the bed. He’s pulled me closer though, and tighter.
He’s almost crushing me now. Malcolm is spread out beside me, one arm folded under the pillow, his body facedown, neck twisted so his face is dipped into my neck.
I ease off with a breathless huff, then I kiss the disheveled dark hair before I walk naked to the window, trying to guess the time. A sliver of light steals through the green foliage out the window.
We’re in the middle of nowhere. We’re somewhere that doesn’t exist anywhere else. Turns out Saint bought this house as a permanent getaway for us, with a brand-new bed, brand-new furniture, brand-new everything.
There’s nothing within miles. The staff isn’t supposed to check in for days. Just him and me for the most perfect, hormone-indulging days.
If peace needed a dwelling in the world, this is where it would hide. If I could freeze a moment in time, I would choose the exact moment when he walks up behind me, wraps his arms around me, and kisses the back of my neck. When he says in the husky voice of a very-well-satisfied man, “Good morning, wife.”
When I turn, bedroom green eyes look down at me as he snakes an arm around me and pulls me close . . . right into the spot. My favorite spot; the home base to baseball, the eye of any hurricane, the still center of the earth out from which everything spins. Right here. In two arms. Held by one man. My spot to come back after a spin. My spot to laugh, and love, and Sin.
He strokes a hand down my leg next.
“Your long legs, that’s got to be it. Or maybe . . .” His frown deepens as he touches my mouth’s corners. “Your smiles and how genuine they are, the eagerness in your eyes as you watch life unfold around you.”
I’m blushing and laughing, and he rolls to his back and pulls me close, not frowning and not teasing now. But smiling. Smiling so beautifully at me.
“But see, it’s the full package, and the fact that you make me whole. That void we’ve talked about before, it’s gone when I’ve got you with me.”
“Void.” It’s my turn to pretend to be puzzled. “What void? You fill my life to a bursting point.”
Drawing me to him, he sets his head back on the pillow and lets out a long, easy laugh, and I crawl closer and lace my fingers at the back of his neck. “Hold me tight, Malcolm.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead and tightens his hold on me and teasingly confesses, peering into my face, “All the time, I want to squeeze you to pieces, but then I wouldn’t have you anymore. I can’t have that.” His face goes sober, deathly so, and even his voice grows dark. “I can’t have that at all.”
I forgot to tell my mother we’d arrived safely. She’d been nervous when we left, not knowing where we were going, and I promised to let her know the flight went all right.
I lift up my phone. No signal.
“Come here.”
He inserts a chip into his computer.
“I brought technology with me. You get four minutes.”
“Oh, come on. Five.”
“Three now.”
I laugh and open my account and shoot an email to my mother. This brief little glimpse of a computer makes me wonder about that world. If any wedding pictures are out there, of something that’s just his and mine. I can imagine Tahoe telling the world. My friends telling their other friends. The media.
“Do you need to check anything?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder.
“Thirty seconds. Counting down.”
He is making me pay, big-time and with interest.
I slap the laptop shut.
“Fine. I will settle my debt with you, husband.”
I watch him watch me with a smirk as I crawl across the bed and slip into his now-too-familiar arms, the laptop and everything forgotten as I happily make it up to him, and I guess we are just too busy enjoying our Happily Ever After to give a shit.
It’s the middle of the night, and our bodies aren’t yet used to the time change. I’ve been tossing and turning for a few hours, while Malcolm stirs when I move and simply puts his hand on my waist—to still me or calm me or maybe to push my restless little body off the bed. He’s pulled me closer though, and tighter.
He’s almost crushing me now. Malcolm is spread out beside me, one arm folded under the pillow, his body facedown, neck twisted so his face is dipped into my neck.
I ease off with a breathless huff, then I kiss the disheveled dark hair before I walk naked to the window, trying to guess the time. A sliver of light steals through the green foliage out the window.
We’re in the middle of nowhere. We’re somewhere that doesn’t exist anywhere else. Turns out Saint bought this house as a permanent getaway for us, with a brand-new bed, brand-new furniture, brand-new everything.
There’s nothing within miles. The staff isn’t supposed to check in for days. Just him and me for the most perfect, hormone-indulging days.
If peace needed a dwelling in the world, this is where it would hide. If I could freeze a moment in time, I would choose the exact moment when he walks up behind me, wraps his arms around me, and kisses the back of my neck. When he says in the husky voice of a very-well-satisfied man, “Good morning, wife.”
When I turn, bedroom green eyes look down at me as he snakes an arm around me and pulls me close . . . right into the spot. My favorite spot; the home base to baseball, the eye of any hurricane, the still center of the earth out from which everything spins. Right here. In two arms. Held by one man. My spot to come back after a spin. My spot to laugh, and love, and Sin.
