Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(76)

“That one day you’ll agree with my mother.”

My muscles went rigid and I recoiled, pushing up to my knees, facing him head-on. “Never. Do you hear me? I could never see you the way they do.”

“Who’s to say you won’t?” His eyes were vacant again, as if he were already mentally preparing for my exit from his life. “You were ready to leave earlier.”

“I was trying to make a point. You’re always telling me to stick up for myself, to stick to my guns, as you say. That’s what I was doing. But if you think that even for a second I wanted to leave, then you don’t know me at all.”

He closed his eyes tightly, releasing tears that fell from his cheeks. He nodded, again and again, and I could only hope that he was finally hearing me. That he was hearing how much I truly cared for him. This wasn’t about sex, and it wasn’t about rebellion. This was about a woman loving a man so much she’d do just about anything to prove it.

“I love you, Porter,” I whispered, crawling into his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. I nuzzled my head into the crook of his neck, feeling his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

“I love you,” I whispered. “I love you.”

Again and again I said the words, urging him to believe me. Urging him to believe that he was worthy of love, of love that was reciprocated, of love that was real and honest. Love that was right in front of him.

He finally spoke, the raspy voice that always gave me goose bumps. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life proving my love to you,” he finally said.

“Show me now,” I whispered, feeling bold.

No verbal response was needed. Porter’s strong arms wrapped around my bottom and he hoisted me in the air, placing me on my back, then he kissed and licked my neck as he stripped me of my heavy garb. Instinctively, my hands went to his boxer shorts. I removed them quickly before he was even finished with the first two buttons of my dress.

“Someone’s eager,” he teased.

“It’s your fault. You’ve done this to me.” I laughed, running my fingers through his silky hair.

“I’ve created a monster, huh?” The life was returning to his eyes, and it filled me with relief and endless amounts of adrenaline.

“Yes.” I nodded. “And I need you. Right now.”

Porter stripped my dress from my body, removing the long underwear and undergarments. For the first time, I ripped the condom packet open and rolled it onto him. He exhaled loudly as I did.

“I’m impressed,” he said with a tilt of an eyebrow.

“Make love to me,” I pleaded. I needed to connect with him, to feel the weight of him on my chest. And I wanted it to last as long as possible. “Go slow.”

Porter’s eyes never left mine. Gently he entered me, gliding in and out in a gradual and deliberate motion. His elbows dug into the mattress, just above my shoulders, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Pressure built within me almost immediately and with each stroke, it continued to build. With each kiss, each tender smile, I was pushed further toward the edge. I reached down to grip Porter’s bottom, my fingers digging into his skin. He released a moan, his lips curling up in pleasure.

“Hurry, Brin, I can’t . . .” He groaned as he pumped into me. “I can’t wait much longer.”

Curling my body toward his sent me over the edge and I cried out, throwing my head back into the pillow beneath me. Porter continued to thrust several times before groaning and collapsing onto my chest. Instead of rolling to his side, Porter remained above me. His fingertips traced soft lines from my forehead to my chin as he studied my face.

“You have two tiny freckles above this eyebrow.”

“I do?” I played along. Of course, I was aware of them. When you spend your life not wearing makeup, you become quite aware of each and every facial feature you possess.

“Yeah.” He smiled before kissing the freckles. “They’re beautiful. Just like you.”

“I think you’re beautiful too.”

He paused with a subtle smirk. “You mean hot, right? Guys don’t want to be beautiful.”

“Yes, hot,” I replied, forcing the word from my mouth. I’d grown used to the slang of the outside world, but there were certain words that still felt odd to say. Porter told me that I was “hot” quite often, but it wasn’t something I was comfortable repeating.

“Hey,” he said, his eyes turning serious. “Did you mean what you said earlier? About being ready to leave?”

“Yes. I’m absolutely certain. I can’t stay there.”

“That’s awesome. Seriously, the best thing you’ve ever said.” His grin turned boyish, giddy.

“But I can’t stay with you, not if you keep using.”

“You’d seriously live with Tiffany instead of me?” His tone turned hateful quickly, a symptom of coming down from the high. I hated that I knew the pattern, recognized the mood swings, but I did. Despite my desire to soothe him, I had to stay firm.

“Yes, I would.”

“And if I get clean? For good?”

“Then I’d want nothing more than to live with you, in the house that you’re building.”

“Okay, then,” he replied, his voice calmer. He rolled to his side and perched on his elbow. “I can do it. I promise you, Brin.”