Say the Word(118)

I felt my heart skip.

“I always said, when I found the love of my life, I’d fight for her. That I’d do whatever I had to do to earn my soulmate. I walked around, spouting Hannibal’s words…” His eyes dropped to my heart, their focus so intense I feared they might singe a hole through the neckline of my dress to where the ink lay beneath. “But when it came time to really live those words — I stumbled. I didn’t fight for you. I didn’t question it. I let my own pride and heartbreak cloud my judgment. I let you walk away. And then I hid, halfway across the world, unwilling to — What? Get my ego bruised a second time?” He blew out a huff of air in self-deprecation.

“Bash—” I tried again.

“I love you.” He said simply, his eyes fierce. “I’ve loved you since the first moment I clapped eyes on you in Latin class. Since that day in the rain, when you climbed into my car and slipped my sweater over your head to get warm. Since the first time I watched you with Jamie, laughing and joking even though the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Since I saw you running in crazy, breathless circles around the circumference of my favorite tree, a look of absolute joy on your face.” He traced a finger down my cheek. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was.”

“Bash—” My voice was thready.

“No, you don’t get to talk. No more telling me I’m crazy or running away from this.” His hands slipped around my shoulders and wound up into my hair. “I’ve been playing it your way, waiting patiently for you to come around. And, Freckles?”

He leaned close and our lips brushed.

“My patience has officially expired.”

His lips landed on mine — consuming me, devastating me, stripping away my every defense. I didn’t try to fight it — I didn’t want to fight it. Instead, I kissed him back, just as hungrily. I met his kiss head on, my hands clinging tightly to his shoulders to steady myself. He broke away to curse under his breath as one of his hands worked at the tiny, stubborn zipper on the back of my dress. I worried he was about to tear it off me — which would probably get me, Fae, and Simon fired from Luster — but the jammed tread finally gave and slid open. The dress pooled by my feet, and I heard Bash growl at the sight of what lay beneath.

Simon and Fae had insisted on the sheer black corset, instead of the plain strapless bra I’d wanted to wear. They’d argued that the bustier’s garter straps were necessary to hold up my stockings, tying me into the tightly-bound contraption before I could so much as mutter the words Why aren’t there any underwear? At the time, I hadn’t been too thrilled with the idea but now, as I watched a carnal, possessive look fill Sebastian’s eyes while he took in my ensemble, I was more than happy to have such overbearing friends.

“Holy hell,” he muttered, his eyes locked on my body.

His hands reached around to my back and worked at the bindings there as my fingers unbuttoned his shirt and yanked it upward, untucking it from his pants. My palms slid up his bare chest muscles and beneath the jacket on his shoulders. With a swift movement, I pushed the garment to the ground, followed soon after by his crisp white shirt. They landed in a heap next to my abandoned dress.

I laughed as Bash struggled to untie the corset, and he glared at me. “I’m about to cut you out of this thing,” he threatened, the serious look in his eyes telling me his words were no idle threat.

“Here,” I said, turning in his arms so he had better access to the laces at my back.

His hands worked faster now, finally making some headway and loosening the ties enough to slide the corset off. As it fell to the floor, Bash’s hands skimmed from the small of my back, around my bare hips, and finally to my breasts. I pressed into his touch, my head resting against his shoulder blade and my eyes locked on his bed across the loft. Just above it, the photograph of our tree was visible even in the shadows — a perfect beacon of the past, its beauty immortalized forever on canvas.

My breaths grew ragged and my focus went fuzzy as one of Bash’s hands worked its way down my body, his expert fingers quickly making my knees go weak. When he felt me beginning to lose control, he spun me around in his arms to face him. Leaning down, he gently pulled the gartered stockings from my feet, pressing a kiss to each kneecap as he did so. On his journey back upward, Bash kissed a path along my body, stopping at a few sensitive areas that made me gasp and weave my fingers into his hair, pressing him as close against me as I could manage.

A moan slipped from my lips — a low, instinctual sound that reverberated in my throat — and at the noise, Bash abruptly stood, hiked his hands beneath my thighs, and lifted me against him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and kissed his neck as he strode toward the bed, carrying me with hurried impatience.

It had been a long seven years, waiting for this moment.

When he lowered me onto the bed, I fell back against plush down pillows and watched through half-closed eyes as one by one, he removed his shoes, undid his belt, and let what was left of his clothing drop to the floor.

“I can’t believe you’re here, in my bed.” His voice was husky with lust, deeper than I’d ever heard it. “I’ve had this dream, over and over, so many nights I’ve lost count. I keep thinking any minute I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone, just another figment of my past I can’t get back.”