Page 22

twenty-two

Rowan

“ I love you,” her soft voice breaks through the silence of the night.

I sit on one knee, fucking her with my fingers and tongue, savoring her sweet little whimpers as they come in quick, steady waves. I want to tell her the same, but I can’t tear myself from between her legs. She tastes like heaven. She has this… this distant sweetness to her I keep reaching for in the depths of her core, but I can never get enough of it on my tongue. I’m digging for it like a miner craving fresh mountain air.

In my mind, I tell her I love her. That I worship her. That she’s it for me.

My body listens, so my free hand reaches out for the black velvet box I keep hidden in the pocket of my slacks. I was going to do this somewhere else. I had the whole evening planned out for her, but this can’t wait.

Tongue up in her sweet cunt, I fumble for the lid and manage to take out the ring, surrounded by the scent of her arousal and the last of summer’s flowery aromas. I feel the large, oval-cut diamond sitting at the center with my fingers—flawless and sparkling, as if it holds a piece of the moon. Around it, smaller diamonds form a halo, the arrangement soft and angelic, just like her. I let the box fall to the floor and open my eyes to find her finger before putting it on.

“Rowan…” she whimpers, her moan intensifying as I resume fucking her with my other hand. Her arousal smears my skin, coating it unevenly, making a wet sound when I pump in and out of her. Her back arches, allowing me deeper inside, and the heat radiating from her body sends a ravenous growl through the length of my throat.

“Come for me, angel. Let me see this beautiful pussy up close.”

Praise seems to take her over the edge and her cunt pulses in front of my eyes, drenching itself in her own cum. I caress the area some more with my hand, loving the way she feels under the pads of my fingers—slick and warm and so fucking soft. Her legs twitch from her orgasm, and she tries to hide from me, to close them up and make me stop touching her. But it only makes me want her more.

I dip my fingers back into her wetness, then smear it around her asshole. I’m not done. And I want to see that again. I want to see her cunt move and spasm and become overstimulated from me worshiping her.

It’s such a strange thing, being a pleasure Dom. Her pleasure shows me she’s mine, and there’s no better feeling in the fucking world. Just like there isn’t one now as I look down and see her exactly the way she should be—pussy pulsing, my ring on her finger, and my cock back in her ass where it belongs.

Dove

We shower together in the bathroom downstairs. I cling to his shoulders, my body exhausted and on the brink of collapsing again, like it did that day. I can’t hide it from him anymore. And I can’t pretend not to notice the big diamond ring on my finger. My hands are shaking from the emotion and the intensity of the moment. He hasn’t asked me anything, and I haven’t said a word to him about it either.

I’m dying. Whatever virus is inside me is taking more and more place in my cells. Even if we expose the EFW to the world, I’m honestly not sure that will mean I’m saved. And by him doing what he just did… he condemned himself to the life of a widower, a man who’ll get married just to lose his wife in such a tragic way. I don’t expect him to understand—he always acts as if I’m everything to him. But he’s everything to me, too, and I can’t let him live the rest of his life in pain.

His naked body overpowers mine, muscular and slick with the hot water streaming down on us. I stare at the ring, at my hand pressed to his tan skin, my heart growing at seeing it wrapped around my flesh. It has a halo made of diamonds, and I smile to myself, understanding why he picked this design for me.

I was never the girl dreaming of grand proposals. I never wanted flashy things or public declarations of love. But this man… just… took me. He saw me there, and he took me like he already owned me. It was so simple. So natural. And he is right—I belong to him already, and every atom in my body knows it.

The water stops, and Rowan extends his body to the side, retrieving a towel. He wraps it around me, bringing the sides to my hair, and pats it to get rid of the excess water. I stare into his eyes as he does it—they’re focused on the task and not concerned about my lack of words in the slightest. When he’s done, he wraps another towel around his waist and lifts me up into his arms like I weigh nothing.

I breathe hard, my lungs straining from the illness as I say, “Hey, I think we should talk—”

A soft kiss lands on my forehead. “We can talk about it over dinner. You need to eat.”

I nod, noticing how empty my stomach actually feels. I haven’t been able to keep down food since I got back—only bits and pieces, like yogurt and toast. Everything else has pretty much gone down the drain, and I’ve tried my best to keep it from Rowan. What’s the point in worrying him when there’s nothing more we can do about it, anyway? But some days are better than others, and today I feel like I could maybe eat if I chewed really slowly.

A few minutes later, we’re in one of the guest bedrooms downstairs, where a beautiful red dress is waiting for me. I give him an inquisitive look as he lowers me to the bed. But save for caressing my hair and picking it up himself, he doesn’t clarify any further.

“Arms up.”

I comply, and the thin material drapes over my body as I let go of my towel. “Are we going somewhere?”

“Depends,” he says. “How are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.” I smile. He doesn’t.

“Then we’re not going anywhere. I’ll cancel our reservation.”

My head lowers, and a stinging pain blossoms in my chest, spreading through my body like ice. I wish we could go. I wish we could continue doing what happened earlier on the porch. I wish I wasn’t in this state, and he didn’t have to coddle me, and…

His index finger lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. “I didn’t say I’ll cancel everything. My wife deserves a night she won’t forget, and I’m about to give her the first of many.”

His wife . We’re not even married yet, and he calls me that. My heart flutters at the word and begs me to accept it. And I want to, fuck , I really do, but what will happen to me—to us— if we don’t find the cure? How can he be so sure we will?

He helps me get me ready, drying my hair and bringing me my makeup bag from upstairs when I ask for it. And when he comes back into the room, he’s wearing a black suit with no tie that molds to his body, accentuating his muscles and his powerful stance. His hair is still damp, draping slightly over his eyes, and my skin prickles with goosebumps at how handsome he is—chiseled, and fresh, and oozing with pure sin.

He comes in front of me, kneeling down to help me get a pair of black heels on, which I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to walk in. They fit me perfectly, and so does the dress. He really pays attention to everything, and right now that worries me.

When he’s done, we both stare at the image of us in the oval mirror facing the bed. Him kneeling, and me sitting on the bed above him, with my hand on his shoulder and the enormous diamond on my finger. I stare and stare and trace the lines of us with my mind’s eye, never wanting to forget the way we look together—that he’s mine.

“Come on,” he says, taking my other hand in his and pressing his lips to my skin.

I get up on wobbly legs and he snakes his arms around me again, lifting me up. Then, relaxing into his wall of muscle, my head dips back against his shoulder and I close my eyes, letting him take me wherever he wants. I don’t open them again until I hear the crackling of a fire and feel the hot, smoky air brush against my skin.

The back garden is alive with muted lights placed around a table with two chairs. A small pillow cushions one of them. Flickering candlelight bathes the table in a warm glow, where the silverware and glasses lie meticulously arranged. Black napkins folded into an elegant design and restaurant menus lie on top of the plates. Right to the side of this arrangement, a fire burns in a metallic bowl, its flames crackling and throwing off sparks against the night sky. And there are flowers everywhere. Vases of different sizes filled with roses, lilies, and dahlias in hues of early fall.

So beautiful.

Approaching the table, Rowan lowers me into my seat. The softness of the cushion soothes me, my body instantly releasing some of the tension it’s been holding onto. Butterflies spring to life in my stomach, palms becoming sweaty as Rowan places his suit jacket on my shoulders. I’m not cold, not with the fire so close by, but he does it anyway, and I relish in his scent enveloping me. Then he stoops and finds my lips with his, pressing a long, charged kiss into them that takes my breath away.

“The chef from the restaurant I was going to take you to agreed to serve us here tonight. Thought we might end up staying in, so I arranged for him to come here earlier.”

“Oh. W-Who is he? And when did you do all of this? I heard nothing. All day, I was—”

“Working.” He dips his jaw as he takes his seat across the table. “His name is Marco Bellini. I discovered him years ago at a government party, when he was just starting. His signature arancini are just… ridiculous.” He laughs. My eyes widen at the sound of it: warm, low, and beautiful, and unlike any other laugh I’ve ever heard. It makes me lean forward in my seat, chasing more of it. He continues, “Super crisp on the outside, creamy on the inside, with just the right hint of truffle. I could eat a hundred of them and still want more. Marco makes them better than anyone.”

I narrow my eyes. “And you got him here… on a busy Friday night.”

“I will get him here every night if you tell me you like his food.” He takes his menu off the table, extending his hand, a silent invitation to have my pick. But I don’t follow suit. Not yet.

I gather my strength and do another sweep of the setting with my eyes. It’s beautiful and perfect, and I want nothing more than to just accept the ring on my finger without a fight. Because he’s right. We belong together, and marrying him would be a wish come true. But the circumstances… the urgency surrounding them… I know what he’s doing. And I won’t let him throw his life away for me.

I swallow. “You… you asked me to be your wife.”

But he surprises me, like he does, when his lips curl into a smile at the sound of that.

The menu in his hands is back on the table and his eyes are on mine as he says, “No, angel. I never asked.”

Rowan

Her beautiful plump lips are moving with the sound of a question, but all I can think of is that ring on her finger. Fuck. I waited too long. I should’ve done this way sooner. All this time I told myself I couldn’t do it—couldn’t give my heart to one woman and be someone I’m not. But with Dove, none of that mattered. She saw me for who I am—scarred, and controlling, and with dangerous impulses, and she loved me regardless. I know I scare her sometimes. That I challenge her beliefs and make her furious with me. But she sees everything else about me… everything else I didn’t think I was.

“Back when you came to my apartment that night,” she says, shifting in her seat, “when Jared came by…” I flinch at the mention of that asshole’s name. “You told me I always had a choice. That I could leave at any time. Did you lie to me then?”

“No.”

“But is that still… Do you still mean that?”

The question doesn’t worry me like it should. If she thinks I’ll let her go, she’s wildly mistaken. At first, I only said it because I hadn’t come to terms with involving her in my world. I didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, and it was her right to back out. But now… things are way fucking different now.

I know my silence comes as a surprise when I pull out the pink ribbon from my chest pocket. The thin layer of satin molds to my touch as my fingers play with it on the table—it feels the same, maybe a little worn out, but still the same as it’s always felt in my hands whenever I took it out over the years. Across the table, Dove’s restlessness is almost palpable as she struggles to remember the item.

“It’s yours,” I say, continuing to look at it. “Picked it up from your apartment one day . You were out, having drinks with Sterling. So I went in, and I just…” The corner of my lips twitches. “I saw a bunch of ribbons on the backrest of your chair. I didn’t think you’d notice if I took one.”

Her voice comes out soft, reverent, as if the memory comes back to her on a gentle wind. “I did.”

“You did. You freaked out over it, thinking you’d gone mad.” I laugh and lift my gaze, seeing how fucking beautiful she is in the little red dress I bought her. I could get used to this— dressing her like my own personal fuck doll. My beautiful, smart, innocent fuck doll.

She crosses her arms. “I like to be organized, and I remember where I put things. You know that.”

I do know that. I know everything about you, because you’re my favorite thing to look at.

“I held on to it,” I continue. “Had it in the chest pocket of my uniform all the time. This pink ribbon was often the only colorful thing in a room full of grim faces and disgusting news. And I felt it there, against my chest, and I could breathe a little easier knowing you were with me. I know it sounds crazy, but I made do with what I had— any part of you was better than none. And I did this for years and years and years until the day I called.”

Her brows pull together as if to scold me, but the restrained smile gives away how she’s really feeling about it.

“So I hope you can understand when I tell you, Dove, that you can ask me for anything, anything in this world, except… giving you up. Not after everything.”

Her hair sways with the movement when she shakes her head. “I can’t believe you, you know? You’re the most insane person I’ve ever met.” She huffs a sweet little laugh. But there’s something else behind that laugh… a kernel of something sad that makes my wrath flicker under my skin, reminding me of the day I lost her. “I don’t want that. I’m not trying to say I want out. But Rowan, I don’t think you should marry me when—”

I listen with all my senses perked up, but the server Marco brought with him from the restaurant approaches the table, and she goes silent, back into her head.

“Good evening, Sir… Madam…, may I take your order, or would you like more time to decide?”

“We’ll need more—”

“No, that’s all right,” Dove chimes in, smiling at him. I blink, taken aback by the simple gesture. The fact that she’s still smiling after everything that happened to her makes my chest tighten—with guilt, and pride, and a flicker of relief. The server returns it, and I’m suddenly overwhelmed with needing to rip his fucking mouth with the butter knife in front of me. Dove continues, “I think I’ll have the famous arancini, please.”

“Certainly. And for you, sir?”

My voice comes out tense. “Two of those. And a bottle of Massandra sherry.”

“Excellent choice. Mr. Bellini is eager to cook for you again.”

I drum my fingers on the table, eager for him to leave us alone. When he does retreat back to the house, I hold my breath for whatever else Dove is ready to talk about. No matter what troubles her pretty mind, it’s my job to find out and fix it for her. It’s what a good fucking husband does.

She blinks, avoiding my stare. “I haven’t met your parents. You haven’t met my mom—not properly. Sterling doesn’t even know what happened to me. And, of course…” she adds as an afterthought, “I don’t know if I’ll live to see another day. I guess… I guess what I’m trying to say is I don’t want this to be rushed because we’re running out of time and—”

This isn’t what I was hoping she’d think about tonight, but I suppose we were going to get here eventually. She’s right, but at the same time she isn’t , because I’ve already taken care of everything she’s worried about. Only I can’t tell her that without having to answer questions I don’t want her knowing the answers to.

“Hey.” I extend my arm around the small table. “Come here. Come into my arms.”

Hesitantly she gets up and makes the two steps toward me. I help her flop down on my knees, inhaling the faint smell of strawberries from her collarbone. Out of nowhere she flinches, tensing up above me, as if she wants me to stop.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“I… um… Sorry.” Her hand looks for mine as she swallows hard. “It reminds me of… of the man in the basement cell. He asked me to sit on his knee and then—”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, angel,” is all I can say to that. Because there’s no erasing those memories—no physical monster I can fight. The ghosts of the past now live in that beautiful mind of hers, and I know that even with everything I’m doing to help her, it won’t be enough. The weight of the situation presses down on me in full force. I move the plates around, lift her up in my arms, and sit her down on the table in front of me with my hands on her thighs.

“How’s this?”

She smiles faintly. “Thank you. And I’m really—”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t apologize on that asshole’s behalf. We’ll get through this, angel. You and me. Okay?”

I let my hand move up and down her thigh, centering her back to the present moment. I know the situation isn’t ideal, and I wish I could’ve given her more time to adjust to all of this—to making her my wife. But the reality is, I don’t have it. That time is almost up.

“You know, when I was a kid my father used to tell me I didn’t have what it took to follow in his footsteps. He used to say…” I inhale. “That I’m impulsive. Hotheaded. That I’d never make it far unless I changed everything about myself. And maybe he was right.” My jaw tightens. “But it didn’t matter what I did. It was never enough for him. I was never enough.”

“If your grandfather was alive, he would’ve whipped you until your flesh came out.”

“Man the fuck up, boy. No wonder your mom can’t even look at you.”

“Get out of my face. You’re embarrassing me.”

I trail my hands down to her shins, trying to remain present, but it doesn’t stop the memories from clawing their way in. “I tried to prove him wrong. I really did. But I couldn’t be who he wanted me to be. Because I didn’t want to become like him. He was…” My voice falters, and the memory hits me.

I’m five. My mom brings out the birthday cake, her sweet voice filling the house with the first words of the Happy Birthday song. My father just stands there in the hallway with his combat boots still on. His face changes, scrunching under his incoming rage.

“Where the fuck is the food?” he yells. “I come home after the worst fucking day at work and this is what I get?” He disappears into the small adjacent kitchen, then comes back with a knife in his hand.

My mom has stopped singing. My heart thrashes in my chest, knowing what’s next.

“Come here, both of you.” He yells and yells, cursing as the vein on his forehead threatens to pop. His muddy boots pound through the spotless hallway as my mom and I back away. I keep close, knowing I’ll be the first to die before I let anything happen to her.

“Barrett… please,” my mom sobs, the cake shaking in her hands. “Please, think about Rowan. Please.”

I wave the memory away with a swipe on Dove’s skin. “I thought I could be different. Thought if I waited, if I planned everything perfectly, I could protect you—could keep you safe. But…” I look up at her, hoping she can’t see the cracks in me. “So far, all I did was to prove him right.”

Her eyes soften, but she keeps listening.

“That’s why I waited so long to make you mine. Even if I may be everything my father tells me I am, this decision wasn’t made today. It was made five years ago, when you smiled at me with tears in your eyes. Do you understand? This isn’t some… some thing I decided on a whim. I’ve been waiting for this day my whole life. For you to come in and show me what it’s like to—” I swallow.

“T-To what?” she whispers.

My throat swells, and I make a conscious effort to keep the words locked inside. But it’s my heart—my fucking heart —that grabs them and throws them out so she can hear me. So she can see more of who I am, more of who I was before her. I’ve given no one a look inside before, not even a glance. Dove… she gave me all of her, even when she didn’t know she was giving it. I took and took and took and only gave back small bits and pieces. Not because I didn’t want her to know me fully, but because… I think deep down, I was afraid she might not want me anymore.

“To live,” I say. “And not walk around life half-dead all the time.”

She offers me a faint smile and a gentle touch on my arm. “I’m… I’m sorry. I had no idea your father was so tough. What about your mom? They’re still together, aren’t they?”

I nod. “She never left him, not even after I’d made something of myself and told her I could provide for her. I couldn’t understand it, not for a long while. But now I think that in their messed-up, toxic way, they love each other, or need each other like they need air.”

“Codependency,” she murmurs.

“Something like that. When I got older I could fight him, put him into his place. He hasn’t laid a hand on her since, but he’s still a bastard every chance he gets. We’ll never have a relationship, him and I, and neither of us intends on starting one. We’re civil only for my mother’s sake.”

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “And I hope you don’t believe what he says, Rowan, because it’s not true. You are good enough. God, you are more than good enough. You’re…” She breathes out. “Everything.”

I smile, not daring to agree, because I don’t know that I am.

“So you’ll marry me.”

She wraps her arms around my neck, stooping so her minty breath tickles my lips. “Still not a question.”

“No,” I say, trailing my finger up the slit of her dress, enclosing on her pussy. “And I don’t think you want to be asked, angel. I think you want me to take you. Use you. Have my way with you and make you mine in every way there is. That’s the kind of girl you are, Dove…” Her breath hitches, my finger drawing circles on the inside of her thigh. “And it just so happens that I’m the kind of man who delights in doing just that.”

She whispers, “But what if… what if…”

“No. No what-ifs. I’ll take care of everything. The only thing I need you to do is pick the white dress I’m going to rip off you on our wedding night. Will you do that for me?”

“Look at you, asking me a question. I knew you had it in you.”

She laughs. Marco’s arancini arrive. And I spend the whole evening whispering sweet nothings in my wife’s ears, charging me with the strength I need to do what needs to be done a few days from now.