Page 163 of The Wrong Husband

"Not so much that I can’t hurtyou." He brings his hand—the one without the IV needled attached to it—down on my rump.

And he might be woozy from the loss of blood and the sedative, but the weight of his palm is heavy enough and sharp enough across my butt to send a tremor of heat flaring under my skin.

"Connor," I gasp.

"Say it," he demands.

I choose to misunderstand him again. "I believe in us."

Even before I complete the sentence—Crack. Crack.He brings his palm down over each of my butt cheeks. A throbbing erupts in my clit. My thighs tremble. Every part of me that turned to ice in the last ten days as I waited for news of him begins to thaw. Needles of pain skitter over my nerve endings. Like blood pouring painfully through extremities gone to sleep, sensations of heat and agony fan to life under my skin. It pushes at the sensations spiraling in my chest and squeezes them up my throat.

"I love you," I burst out.

"Again,” he commands.

"I love you." Tears squeeze out from the corners of my eyes. "I love you. Love you. You."

“I fucking love you more than myself. You’re my heart. My soul. You’re the part of me that lives outside of me; the one I cannot survive without. You’re the reason I’m alive. I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. I promise, I’ll never cause you pain again. I promise, I’ll always take care of you and be there for you. I’ll never do anything to make you feel distressed. I love you, Fever, my wife.”

He grabs me and hauls me up over his chest, over the bandage that's wrapped around his torso.

"Your ribs," I yelp.

"Fuck that."

This man… He doesn’t even wince as he takes my weight on his poor, wounded body. I don’t know whether to admire or be upset with him for behaving like a caveman. But then, he takes the choice out of my hands by holding my chin in place—this time with the hand that has the IV attached to it—and fixing his mouth on mine. The kiss…is hot and sweet and hard and demanding.

It’s everything I dreamed of, and so much more I was unable to bring myself to hope for in the lonely nights we were apart. Because, yes, I was confident about him returning to me.

But while I couldn’t let myself entertain the possibility, there was a small part of me that wondered if the universe had given me everything, only to take it away because I hadn’t been properly grateful for it. If this was my punishment for not telling him that I loved him.

And with his hard mouth on mine and his tongue sliding over mine, his strong arms holding me and cradling me close to his beloved body, I allow myself to finally hope.

This. Here. With my man. This is right. With my husband. Mine. The kiss goes on and on. He kisses me like he didn’t thinkhe’d see me again. The desperation lights a fuse in my clit and sparks a fire in my belly. Trying not to hurt him more than he already is, I wrap my arm about his neck and pour myself into the kiss.

My head spins, and my heart expands in my chest, until I’m sure it’s going to claw its way out. Oh, wait. My heart is outside. I’m holding it in my arms. And I came so closing to losing it all. To losing myself. I wouldn’t have been able to go on if something had happened to him.

The realization sucker punches me further. All the fight goes out of me. I don’t realize I’m trembling until he raises his head and scrutinizes me closely. "You’re shivering."

"D-delayed reaction." I try to stop my teeth from chattering.

He brings me in closer to him, wincing when I press down on his bandages.

"You’re not well. You just had surgery."

"As long as I have you in my arms, I’m fine."

He’s wearing a thin hospital gown which does nothing to mask the heat of his body. I bask in it, giving in to the temptation of rubbing my cheek against his whiskered one. "Did you know you have gray in your beard?" I murmur.

"I need to shave."

I feel his lips curve.

"I actually like the makings of a beard. I like that it feels abrasive against my skin. And that you’re marking me when I do this." I press my face against his stubbled jaw—hard enough for it to leave marks on me. "It feels like proof of life. That you’re alive and real and here with me."

"There was no way I wasn’t coming back; you know that, right?" He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.

"I did." I cup the back of his neck, luxuriating in the feel of the soft hair at his nape. "I believed in you, but I also couldn’t allow myself to hope, in case I jinxed things. I was trying to findthis space where I could live moment-to-moment, not allowing myself to look too far into the future. Not setting myself up for disappointment. Then hating myself for thinking that way. I had to stop thinking and simply focus on putting one foot in front of the other. To keep myself busy working in the hospital and believe… That you’d be home soon."