God, I wanted to pull away. Wanted to tell her that this was over. Leopards didn’t change their spots, and not two minutesinto my attempt at decency, I’d failed. She leaned into me and pressed a gentle kiss over my heart that felt like it would burst through my chest at any moment.
When she lifted her eyes to mine, more silver glinted, making her green eyes sparkle.
“Let me,” she said, gently.
I nodded my head and bit the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking this silent tenet between us. My throat clogged with emotion that I hated with every fiber of my being as she worked the shirt over and let it hit the ground. Fist clenched at my side, I stared at the pale paint-peeled wall over her shoulder as she unclasped the fabric around my neck. The sharp metallic bite of blood coated my tongue as I drew blood while she gently removed the prosthetic and took in what was left of my arm.
Her touch was light and gentle as she traced the ruined skin. I was too weak to watch her while she did it. If I saw the disgust I expected to be there, it would destroy me.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
I pursed my lips and shook my head, not trusting my voice to work as it should. She ran her hands over the rough skin before skating them up my arm and over my shoulders.
“Look at me,” she demanded.
I’d done a lot of difficult things in my life. Fought sea monsters, killed, stole, lost, but none of it compared to what it cost me to force my eyes to hers in that moment. If I could banish the tear that slipped from the corner of her right eye, I would have, but at the end of the day, I wasn’t a god, just a man.
There was no getting over the lump inside my throat that prevented words from forming. Not that anything I could say would make it better.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t save your arm, but I’m not sorry that it meant you would live. It doesn’t change thatI love you; it doesn’t change how devastatingly handsome you are. It doesn’t change how much I want you,” she said.
“I’m half of what I was. I can’t hold you the way you deserve to be held. Touch you the way you deserve to be touched.” I barely recognized my own voice, quiet and broken.
She slid into the crook of my broken arm and lifted my hand to her cheek, pressing into it.
“I decide what I deserve. Not you.”
Pride warred with self-loathing. A year ago, she wouldn’t have spoken those words with an ounce of confidence. Even though emotion coursed like a river over her beautiful face, she didn’t doubt herself or the words she chose.
“I guess I wasn’t there after all,” I said, running my thumb over her cheek.
Her eyebrows pulled in, furrowing. “What?”
“In Brazil, I said that I hoped I’d be there when you found yourself, but it seems I missed it,” I said.
She sucked in a breath, lip quivering beneath it. I realized then that one year with her, ten years, thirty, no matter the count, she would always be the most fascinating and intoxicating woman I’d ever know.
Pulling at my hand, she guided me to the bed and stood in front of me, command clear. I sat down, bed squeaking with my weight. Gently, she pushed at my shoulders, and a small chuckle broke through me.
“So bossy,” I said.
The woman had the audacity to wink at me as she climbed above me. I licked my dry lips as she lowered herself over me, my hand gripping her waist. Bracing her hand over my chest, she dropped onto my cock with aching slowness, throwing her head back as she did. God, she was everything. More than that, she was mine.
Her warmth slid over me and seas, I fit inside her like she was made for me. If there was a God or a slew of them, it didn’t matter, because they’d made her for me and I for her. I’d pray in thanks every fucking day for it.
“Rosamund,” her name was honey on my lips, the purest sound I knew.
“Say it again,” she panted, riding me harder.
I knew her better than I knew anyone or anything else. There was no doubt about what she was asking me for.
“I love you,” I said in worship.
Her moan was a symphony rising and filling my chest with its sweet music. I’d spend the rest of my life coaxing that sound out of her. Pleasure built once more. Chaotic energy that was a product of her.
“Again,” she said.
Mouth open, hair wild from my touch, eyes sparkling, she was a sight to behold. If I didn’t have to cut out the eyes of the painter who rendered it, I would have commissioned this moment. Instead, I’d have to memorize it.
