Page 117 of Severed Heart

It’s unexplainable how she makes me feel, and I don’t care if I can’t ever put words to it as long as I can continue to feel it—with her. All of what’s left, of what her cruel life has made of her, I want for myself.

She runs her hands through my soaked hair for several silent seconds until I finally lift to gaze down at her. She stares right back at me, equally as unguarded, just as immersed in the feelings bouncing between our heaving chests. I wait her out, knowing she’s weighing the decision on whether or not to deny us. To break our connection and scurry away to nurse a bottle while condemning us both. As I mentally prepare for that, she pulls me flusher to her, our hearts syncing up. Pulling my head down, she starts to kiss me heatedly, and I deny her, lifting again to keep her gaze.

She lifts again, pressing her heaving breasts into my chest, an attempt at seduction, a way to sweep any emotion under the rug and call this sex. Sex is what I initially gave her. What I truly want comes next. If I was a praying man, I would beg God that she let me have it.

When her lips brush mine to claim a kiss, I deny her one last time, and her eyes flare in frustration.

“Tyler,” she draws out in aggravation.

“No,” I grit out, growing hard inside her. At the feel of me, she bucks her hips, and I pin her to the mattress with my weight, stilling her movement. Hovering above the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, known, or touched, the need to move inside her threatens to consume me as I bat it away in lieu of the one thing I want more.

“You gave me something. Tell me what you gave me.”

“You know,” she whispers, tentatively reaching up to palm my jaw.

“Tellme.”

“You are the only one. Since Alain.”

The only one.

The truth of that lights a fire in me that will never fade, never flicker out, and never fucking die. My eyes search hers, and I allow her to see the shift in them, the love I feel for her, giving her everything I just deprived her of. Everything I will continue to do if she opens a little further for me.

“I love you,” I repeat softly, not expecting a reply. I said it for me all three times because I know she won’t entertain it yet.

In reply, she grips my neck and slowly pulls me back down. Tentatively, she brushes my lips with hers, her kiss gentle, a painful, defeated noise in her throat as she releases herself to stake her claim. No longer asking but demanding my kiss in return, the emotion behind it undeniable. She wants the connection back, and that’s all I need to free us both.

Relieved, I bask in her surrender, all my restraint, all fight leaving me as I win the battle and shift to begin the long war. The war to fight with her as long as I have to so we can revisit this place whenever we need refuge. A comfort we discovered and found in each other. A home within one another. A safe place for us both. Inside and with her, I’ve forged a new threshold, forsaking all others. A true home. It’s only with her that I feel that place is again possible.

Dipping, I thrust that notion wordlessly into her with my tongue, with my lips. She kisses me back with just as much emotion behind it. Carnal desire thrust on the back burner, we slide our tongues against one another’s unhurried until we’re both utterly consumed by our emotional connection. The shift surreal as I’m forced to break away for breath. Rock hard inside her as she begins to writhe at the feel.

It’s only when she brings her unguarded eyes to mine, allowing me to see the emotion inside them, that I begin to slowly move, cradling her head with one hand, brushing her temple with my thumb while drawing one of her legs tightly around my waist. Keeping her thigh cradled in my palm, I roll my hips gently, stroking her sweetly, pouring all I feel into every slow thrust. Her breath leaves her in a whoosh against my lips as she begins to build. The panic in her eyes lighting fire to every part of me as I tell her what she means to me, solidifying the truth and speaking aloud of the refuge I found in her heart.

“J’ai besoin de toi ...I need you... Vous êtes la porte d’entrée.You’re my front door.Tu es mon seul moyen de rentrer chez moi.You’re my only way home.”

She begins to caress my skin with her fingers, exploring my body with her hands. Wordlessly, she presses worshipful kisses to my biceps and my pecs, her hands never stopping, her whimpers, moans, and fast breaths fueling me along with the look in her eyes. Releasing every bit of discipline I held close, I let go, heart unguarded as I make love to her, but more so, she makes love to me.

When she pushes at my chest in silent demand, I roll instantly to my back, watching raptly as she lifts to position herself above me—noting the fire that’s now lit inside her as she sinks down on me. I soak in the look of her taking control as her demeanor shifts with the power she’s taking as she begins to buck against me, taking from me, even as her eyes give.

“Tyler,” she whispers, tears of freedom trailing down her cheeks as I grip the back of her neck and lift, soaking them up with my lips, reveling in their arrival. Knowing these are tears of relief. Healing tears. The good type of emotion driving them out of her as I grip her hips and pump into her gently while letting her control the pace.

It’s the best I’ve ever felt in my life watching the woman I love draw her power back from me.

Her gasps and whispered French fuel me to hold out as long as possible as she takes and takes until she’s utterly wrung out and clenching around me with a sweet release.

Only after she buckles against me do I flip her on her back, keeping her gaze as the rush takes me, filtering through my limbs as I pump into her, threading our fingers as I pour inside her.

Minutes later, hands tethered, a peace I’ve never known washes over me as I will the aftermath to last. Both of us mute, we lie for long minutes in a mess of sweaty, tangled limbs.

Elated at the feeling of having her so close but wanting her closer, I situate her so that she’s lying on top of me. Her exhaled breaths hit the divot in my neck as I trail my fingers along her spine. She strokes me back, nestled perfectly atop me as she tenderly runs an explorative palm over my chest and biceps, down my arms, and back up again, tightening her hold on me every few seconds as if to make sure I’m still with her.

“You’re beautiful too, Soldier. So beautiful,” she whispers low before pressing a kiss to my chest, just above where my heart lies.

It’s enough for now, maybe forever. She’s so terrified of love, of men, of the idea of coupling that even with her earned trust, access to her body, and what residence I know I have in her heart, it would be a miracle if the affection was ever voiced aloud. I make peace with never hearing her voice it, and never asking her to.

Once we’ve both recovered and knowing I’ve probably scared her with the multitude of declarations, I attempt to ease what fears I can. Lifting her chin, I see her eyes settled on mine.

“I know what love and trust have done to you in the past,” I whisper before kissing her forehead. “But in time, if you let me, I will prove it.” I kiss her nose and both of her cheeks. “That this is real for me, and my feelings for you will never change.”