Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)(32)
He was my better half in every way, and the fact that he didn’t see it proved my point exactly.
Before he had a second longer to utter anything more, I silenced him with a kiss—the kind of kiss that spoke a hundred words and a thousand emotions without a single sound. It spoke of love, commitment, and devotion without syllables or vowels. Poems and stanzas were unnecessary when two mouths moved against each other in perfect synchronization. A sonnet or even the most captivating ballad couldn’t surpass the incredible masterpiece that was made when his lips touched mine.
Our kiss never broke as he bent down and lifted me into his arms to carry me to the bedroom. I’d like to say the rest of the grand suite was beautiful and well-appointed, but I honestly didn’t look.
I only saw Jude and those amazing green eyes staring back at me.
Quickly kicking off my shoes as we entered the room, it took a moment before I noticed the candles. Much like the entrance, the bedroom was awash with dozens of tiny candles covering nearly every surface. Rose petals adorned the bed, and somewhere, a speaker softly played our song.
He gently set me down and turned me so that I could fully see the room.
“It’s gorgeous,” I said.
“Mmm,” was the only reply I got as his fingers found the top of my zipper.
“Oh, thank God. No buttons,” he commented as the sound of my dress being slowly unzipped filled the air.
“I specifically requested that.”
I smiled, remembering the way I’d blushed like a fool when I asked for that particular customization on my dress. The original design had tiny pearl buttons down the back, and after one glance, I knew it would drive my impatient new husband insane, so I’d asked if they could add a hidden zipper and faux buttons. As my face had turned beet red, the shop owner laughed, taking my hand into her own.
“Oh, honey,” she’d said. “Believe me, you’re not the only one who’s asked for that specific alteration to a dress. Men”—she’d winked—“are not known for their patience.”
As the dress fell to the floor with ease, I was thankful I’d taken the risk and done what I wanted, regardless of the initial embarrassment it had caused me.
I stepped out of the gauzy skirt and turned. Jude’s face was worth all the embarrassment in the world, and I was so glad it hadn’t taken forever to figure out how to get me out of a dress.
“So, this is what heart failure feels like?” he joked, clutching his chest. “Good to know.”
“Is it really that good?” I asked, looking down at the lacy ensemble Grace had picked out. I didn’t know much about lingerie, having been too scared to go into a store by myself. Now that I got a good look at myself, I guessed I didn’t look that bad, maybe a little hot even.
“Good? That’s not even close to the word I’d use to describe what you look like right now.”
I took a step forward and saw him blow a ragged breath out through his lips.
“Today, when I saw you walking down that aisle, you were ethereal, so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at you.”
“And now?” I bit down on my bottom lip as he stepped forward.
“Now, you look like the devil incarnate, and all I can think of is throwing you on that bed and burying myself in all that wickedness.”
When his fingers touched my bare skin, it felt like a bolt of lightning was igniting every limb, each nerve, and the muscles in my body, awakening the deepest parts of me.
With a single touch, I was his, ready to go wherever he might lead.
It was not like the first time his hand had reached out for mine so many nights ago in that dark hospital room. Somehow, I’d known that my mysterious visitor would one day own my heart. And I, the shy and naive girl, had willingly given it.
But I was not a girl any longer.
“Show me,” I whispered.
His hand tightened around my waist, proving just how much he was holding back. Our lovemaking was always passionate, full of the emotions that had set the stage for our breathtaking love story. But I knew he held back. Even after the kitchen had been dusted with flour and he’d taken me against the counter in more ways than one, I had seen it in his eyes—restraint.
In his eyes, I’d always be that girl, lying in the hospital bed, with tubes and wires attached to me, the one with the broken heart he had to care for. As much as I loved him for it, I didn’t want to be fragile in the bedroom. I didn’t want to be weak when his body moved against mine, and I certainly didn’t want to be thought of as a paper doll on the night of my wedding.
Sliding my hands up his chest, I slowly slid the sleeves of his jacket down his shoulders until it fell to the floor. His hooded eyes watched as my fingers worked his tie, pulling it free from his neck, until it joined the growing heap of fabric below. Silently and with slow precision, I bent my head to each cuff link and kissed the turquoise stone before removing them from his crisp white shirt. He said nothing. He just watched with intensity as I undressed him, taking one button at a time, until my hands touched the smooth skin of his chest. Much like his jacket, his shirt dropped from his shoulders and floated like a white dove until it landed softly below us.
If we lived to be a hundred or older, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the sight of him standing before me like this. His height towered over me, and when I collapsed into his arms, I fit perfectly within their embrace, like I had been created to be tucked inside them for safekeeping. His body was fierce, toned, and physically strong—thanks to years of solitude, which had been spent doing endless hours of jogging and lifting weights. It was something he’d lightened up on since I moved in, choosing time with me rather than an abundance of time spent in the gym, but somehow, the minimal time he put in worked.