Page 83 of This Is Not True Love’s Kiss

CHAPTER 45

Lor

Isat across from Aoife in the bathtub, suds covering her heavy breasts that I’d just had in my mouth while my fingers had been inside of her. We’d tasted each other, used our hands on each other, and now we were both satiated, but I had a feeling I’d want more of her soon. That I’d never be able to get enough of this woman now that I knew what it was like to see her melt under my touch. She was normally so hardened, so fierce, but when I was kissing her and touching her, she was compliant for possibly the first time ever.

Her hair spread out in the tub around her, and she grinned at me. “To think we could’ve been doing this for two years instead of fighting.”

I let out a laugh. “I think we still would’ve been fighting. I think we’ll always fight, but now we can make up afterward.”

She let out a laugh, too, and the sound was like a symphony to my ears. “That we can.” She sat up in the bathtub, giving me a full view of her breasts, round and heaving, her nipples dark and so fucking mouthwatering. My cock twitched, and I lunged forward, water sloshing around us, spilling over the sides of the tub. Aoife threw her head back and laughed as I pressed my lips to hers, caging her with my arms. I kissed her slow, letting our tongues explore, our mouths meeting lazily.

She flipped me around and spread her legs so that I could settle right between them, resting my back against her chest.

“This is the wrong direction for what I wanted to do,” I said, and her laugh rumbled down my back.

“Rest, husband,” she whispered in my ear.

“You’ve never called me that, you know. Not until earlier today, and then again just now.”

“What? My husband?”

She stroked circles around my pecks and then traced her fingers up and down my torso. My cock twitched, but I suspected the movement was supposed to be relaxing more than sexual. I let my head fall back against Aoife’s shoulder.

“You haven’t,” I said again. “Trust me. I’d remember something like that. You’ve addressed me as His Majesty, the king, Lor, even Lorcan. But never your husband.”

“Oh,” she said, stiffening beneath me, probably bracing for another argument.

“I liked it,” I said, and her body relaxed. “I can be everybody’s king. Anyone in my family can call me Lor or Lorcan, but you’re the only one who can call me your husband.”

“Then I’ll do it more, my husband.”

I tilted my head upward, and she leaned down to kiss me again, then much to my displeasure broke off the kiss, continuing her long, slow strokes up and down my torso.

“Lor?” she asked, her words uncertain. “Can I tell you something?”

“Mm-hmm,” I said, lulled by her fingers, by her body cushioning mine.

“Sometimes I think that the rift between us can’t be fixed,” she said. “I want it to be, though. I want everything you’ve talked about for years. To be partners, to rule together. But what if we’re too different?”

She sounded like a small child, admitting their fears to a parent, worried what the parent might say.

“I’m not worried,” I said.

She snorted. “You’re always so sure of yourself. So sure of everything. I don’t know how you do that. How you just have this unshakable faith that all will be right, and you make it so by sheer force of will.”

“Does that mean you trust me when I say I’m not worried?” I asked.

She didn’t respond, not at first. “I think I do.”

The words should’ve comforted me, but they didn’t. Other people had trusted me. Other people had followed me because of the promises I’d made. Promises that I didn’t keep.

“What’s wrong?” Aoife asked, her hands coming to my tense shoulders and rubbing the knots from them.

I sighed heavily, and Aoife reached for something behind her. Not long after, the scent of fresh pine and soap wafted through the air. Aoife held out her palm, dumping shampoo into it from a clear vial. Then she reached up and began massaging my head.

She didn’t ask the question again, didn’t pressure me to answer. She just washed my hair and waited until I was ready to talk.

“I know everyone sees me as this strong leader, so sure of myself and all my decisions, but the truth is that I’m constantly running from the ghosts of my past. Or one ghost from my past.”