All my dreams and desires melt into this single heartbeat.
She’s as soft as I could’ve ever imagined. And when she rests her hands on my forearms, just as eager to move her mouth over mine, I sigh into her.
Marcella.
How I never want this moment to end.
As we spend the moment kissing and deepening with each movement, she tugs me into her. Her hands seize the front of my coat, and she begins to walk us backwards until she gently bumps up against the bookshelf. She hops up on the counter, guiding me between her legs. Holding me to her, she tilts her head and parts her mouth, flicking her tongue against my lips until I open for her.
I sigh against her as our tongues slip over each other, her fingers digging into my scalp, and she presses herself up into me. A wave of desire crashes over me, strong enough I’m almost lost to it.
The beast tucked in the depths of my soul growls.
I pull back away from her.
Her eyes pinch in pain. Mirroring the own ache in my chest at having to drive a wedge between us.
I whisper on ragged breaths, “We can’t do this—this’ll get out of hand.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes. Instead, her face falls to the ground, and I’m so tempted to grab her chin and tilt it back up to me so I can see her expression. So I can kiss it away.
But wordlessly, she pushes me back gently with her fingertips, hops off the counter, and leaves.
Forty-Three
- CYRUS -
Three years ago
It’s been agony waiting. Wondering with each day that passes if I’ve offended Marcella. That I’ve completely ruined what should have been a special moment.
It’s better this way.
I wave the thought away, staring at the fire in the hearth of my office with my chin propped up on a fist. I’m in one of the tufted armchairs, my feet propped on the ottoman. I linger on the flames as they dance, the wood they engulf cracking and popping under the assault, showering embers up into the hearth.
A knock taps at the door.
I don’t even look at it. Only mumbling, “Come in, Devin.”
The door swings open.
A voice, light and hesitant, whispers, “Hi.”
I practically bolt up out of the seat as Marcella slips into the room, slowly closing the door behind her and leaning against it.
I stand, straightening my vest. “Marcella, hello.” I blink profusely, scanning the room and searching for something to offer her. “I-I sent out your letter last week. It should have arrived already, but I haven’t gotten anything back yet?—”
“I’m not here about the letter,” she whispers.
I slowly slide my gaze to where she still leans. She’s not in her amour—she’s in a loose white nightgown that shows her shoulders. Her feet are bare. She pushes off the door, gliding her way to me. I freeze, allowing her to come to me at her own pace.
She stops a step away from me, tilting her head so she can look at me. “I was mad at you.”
“Ioffended you,” I whisper with a nod. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention?—”
She presses a single finger to my lips, silencing me immediately. “No, I was upset because you kissed me and then…you stopped. Like in the moment you decided it was all a mistake.”
I swallow, mumbling against her finger. “It wasn’t a mistake for me.”
