Текст книги "The Affair"
Автор книги: Beth Kery
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Chapter 20
It was a brisk, precise pop of his cupped hand against skin. This time, she kept her mouth closed over the cry that jumped out of her throat, muting the sound to a whimper. It didn’t hurt terribly. It did burn. The prickle of nerves amplified the simmer of her clit. He kept his hand on her, massaging the stinging skin and muscle. That made her moan and her pelvis strain forward slightly. She wished like hell she could press her pussy against something solid.
“Speak to me,” he said gruffly. “Do you want me to stop?”
Keeping her mouth shut tight, she shook her head.
“Emma?” he grated out.
“No, I don’t want you to stop,” she said emphatically, irritated that he’d made her put it into words and just . . . turned on. Her nipples ached. Her cheeks were on fire.
“That’s all I wanted to hear. Three more.”
His hand rose. Her heart stopped and then leapt against her breastbone when he landed another spank on the cheek he’d smacked first. It wasn’t any harder than the first or second swats, but it stung more for having been previously punished. She bit her lip to stifle a sound. He caressed the prickling cheek, soothing the madly firing nerves. It aroused her, his big hand palming almost her entire ass cheek, massaging the warmed flesh.
“You have a very spankable ass,” he said, and she took heart from the heat in his tone. “Tight and round and ripe,” he added distractedly as he continued to massage her. Then he was palming her other cheek, now using both hands, his actions unapologetically greedy and lewd. Emma bit harder on her lip to prevent crying out.
“Bend over again,” he directed, and she realized she’d straightened slightly as she tried to get friction on her sex.
He palmed one cheek from below, squeezing it, and applied two firm, succinct spanks on the captive flesh. Emma started and couldn’t stop herself from crying out softly. He rubbed both of her cheeks at once.
“There. It’s all done. Your first spanking. How was it?”
“Okay,” she managed.
“Okay? Or better than okay?” he asked, continuing to squeeze and massage her ass.
Shyness suddenly fell on her, a strange, unwanted feeling that mixed oddly with her intense arousal.
“Better than okay. Much,” she whispered the last.
His massaging hands stilled. “You’re so sweet.”
She just stood there, speechless at something she heard in his voice.
“I told myself I could wait for dessert, but I’ve never had to wait for something like you,” he said, his warm breath ghosting her breast. Then his hands were on her upper arms and he was pulling her closer.
His warm mouth closed around an aching nipple.
“Vanni,” she said shakily, her hands pulling on the restraint at her wrists. It wasn’t that she wanted to escape. It was just that his warm, wet mouth and laving tongue on her nipple were unbearably pleasurable. She panted, her body strained tight, feeling deliciously trapped as he resumed massaging her ass as he sucked on her nipple, and all the while, the damn vibrator continued on its merry way. Oh God, she couldn’t take it anymore—
His finger was suddenly on the end of the vibrator on her clit, pressing lightly, tapping out an electrical code in her flesh. An electrical command. Her eyes sprung wide beneath the blindfold. Her muscles jerked tight.
She ignited. She cried out as orgasm shuddered through her. As soon as she began to quake, he slipped his finger beneath the vibrating tip and rubbed her manually.
He was better than the vibrator.
Much better.
Her cry escalated to a scream that she tried her best to contain. After a pleasure-hazed moment, she realized that he’d stopped sucking on her nipple and was holding her sandwiched between both hands, one spread on her ass, palming a buttock, the other open along her belly, his reaching thumb still stroking her burning clit between her lubricated labia while she gasped and shivered.
“You’re beautiful when you come,” she heard him say.
He’d been watching her while she lost control. His thumb strummed her clit, and another shiver went through her. “Amazing,” he rasped, stroking her again ever so lightly. She rippled with pleasure and whimpered.
She felt his lips press to her belly, and his thumb moved again. It struck her that he was feeling her body tremble with his mouth. The caress felt deeply intimate, poignant . . . sacred, even.
But suddenly, his mouth and deft finger were gone and he was pushing her back gently. The vibrator was back in place, but he must have adjusted the controls. The instrument still buzzed her overly sensitive clit warmly, but with a weaker pulse.
She just stood there, breathing heavily, nerves she hadn’t even known existed throbbing and aching and tingling all over her body.
“It’s back to the game then?” she asked raggedly, striving for some levity in the midst of almost strangling sexual excitement and intimacy. She hadn’t been prepared for the latter. The patch of skin where he’d kissed her belly still burned.
She heard his rough laugh, then a slight scraping on the bed, and she knew he’d picked up the desserts again. “Yes. Back to playing. Let’s see if your little punishment increases or decreases your sense of taste.”
“What do you mean?” she asked through pants, puzzling out his words in her head. “Do you think I’ll miss because of anxiety over being . . . spanked?” she said, hesitating over that last volatile word.
“No. After watching the way you just lit up, I think you might miss because you want to be spanked again,” he growled softly. “Now open your mouth, Emma.”
She opened her mouth to protest what he’d said—she’d never been the type of person to lose at a game on purpose—but then the fork was slipping between her lips. She closed around it instinctively and moaned. The taste of a light, sweet cream filled her mouth.
It was delicious.
“This one is more complicated,” he said. “There are two fruit flavors you have to name, one obvious, one more subtle.” She had a sudden, vivid picture of him sitting on the bed, watching her with a narrow-eyed stare. Did he hope she would miss so that he could spank her again? Had he enjoyed it?
As much as she had?
She forced her attention off her graphic imagination and the mind-hazing buzz on her supersensitive clit. She focused on her mouth. Her tongue felt the round berries, her crushing teeth bursting the fresh, vibrant flavor onto her tongue.
“Blueberries,” she said before she continued to experiment with the flavors on her tongue.
“There’s another fruit. In the cream,” he prodded.
She nodded, straining to taste. The need to swallow overcame her.
“Can I have another taste?” she asked.
“No.”
She frowned at his calm, steadfast reply.
“Well then, it’s either lemon or orange.”
“Which one?”
“Lemon,” she said more confidently than she felt.
Her skin tingled as she waited. She realized her skin was damp in several places: at her inner thighs, between her breasts, and the nipple he’d sucked on so abruptly, setting her body alight. She was going to end up a pile of ashes if he kept playing with her.
“Well? Was I right?” she asked desperately. “Why are you so quiet?”
“Because you were right,” he said after a short pause. “And I was considering telling you that you weren’t.”
She laughed softly. “You’re not as selfish as you make yourself out to be.”
“Oh yes I am,” he growled softly. “And just to prove it, if you miss on this last one, I’m going to spank you over my lap. And then I’m going to bend you over this bed, and no more playing. Understood?”
“And if I don’t miss?” she couldn’t resist asking.
“You’ll just have to wait until another time to discover what you really missed out on, won’t you? Now . . . open your mouth again, Emma.”
He saw her pulse leap faster at her throat when he said that, could almost hear her mind churning over his response. She looked sublimely beautiful in that instant, the striking paradox of innocence and flagrant sexuality. A light sheen of perspiration had appeared between her thrusting breasts, and all he could think about was sweeping his tongue along that sweet valley. Watching her mouth move so sensually while she tasted the desserts, staring at her flushed, pink, bow-shaped lips, inhaling the perfume of her arousal; all of it had sharpened his hunger until it cut at him. He craved her sweat on his tongue.
The fantasy of tasting her pussy plagued him.
She parted her lips, waiting. Doing his best to ignore the stab of arousal at his cock, he lifted the apricot fromage blanc to her mouth. When she closed around it, he pictured those pink lips clamping around his cock. She chewed slowly—agonizingly, as far as he was concerned—and then swallowed. He waited on a bed of nails.
“Peaches,” she whispered.
He leaned forward and whisked the blindfold off her head. She blinked several times, dazed by the light. He held up the carton.
“Apricot. I’m sorry,” he said, setting aside the desserts.
“No, you’re not.”
“No,” he admitted honestly. “I’m not. Did you guess wrong on purpose?”
Her back stiffened, making her breasts thrust forward. “No!”
“Okay. I was just asking. You’re going to get spanked, one way or another.” Her dark eyes widened at his frank response. He leaned closer to her. “Close your legs a little.” She followed his instructions quickly enough, despite her show of pique. He pushed her panties down past her knees where they fell to her ankles. He reached between her thighs.
“Fuck,” he rasped under his breath. He’d just meant to quickly remove the vibrator, but her juices were everywhere, and she was so blessed warm and soft. He closed his eyes briefly, steeling his will. She whimpered when he slid the vibrator out of her. He tossed it onto the bedside table, gritting his teeth all the while because his fingertips and knuckles were now coated in her sweetness.
He put his hands on the taut curve of her hips. “Lie down on the bed, across my lap. I’ll help you,” he added, knowing her wrists were restrained. He guided her as she knelt on the bed next to him, holding her body weight until she came down over him and her elbows hit the mattress. “Settle down,” he told her, his voice patient even if his cock was roaring in protest at being kept waiting. It grew even testier at the sensation of her weight pressing down against it experimentally. Emma tensed, and he knew she’d felt his cock lurch at the contact.
“Let your ass curve across my thigh. Put your breasts on the outside of the other one,” he instructed, closing his legs slightly to fit her measurements. He swept a hand along her smooth thigh and palmed a buttock, subtly guiding her precisely where he wanted her. “Let your weight go, Emma,” he said sternly when he realized she was holding herself slightly off him with her elbows and knees, like she thought his cock was a red-hot poker or something. “Extend your arms above your head.”
She followed his instructions with a muffled whimper. Without her elbows to support her, she sagged onto his lap. He grunted at the impact. He grasped her shoulder with one hand and then swept the other over her naked length, relishing the feeling of her silky skin, glorying in having her naked in his lap, helpless to resist his touch. She flowed beneath him as he whisked his hand along her thighs and over her ass and along her elegant back. Still, he could feel her rising anxiety.
“Why are you so tense?” he murmured. “It didn’t hurt that bad before, did it?”
“No,” he heard her muffled reply. Her forehead was pressed against the bedding.
“Why then?”
He saw her shake her head as he palmed a round ass cheek.
“I just wish you’d get it over with,” she mumbled.
“All right. Open your legs some.”
Her thighs parted. He let go of the smooth, firm globe. She was a little pink from her previous spanking and his forceful massaging of her ass. Nowhere near as pink as he’d like to see her. He landed a brisk slap against the tempting curve at the bottom of a buttock. His cock lurched at the feeling of firm, taut flesh stinging his palm. She jumped slightly in his lap, making him grimace at the stimulation.
“Stay still,” he ordered, landing another spank on the lower curve of the other buttock. Her whimper transfixed him. His hand lingered, caressing warmed, smooth skin. His fingers stretched as if of their own volition. He couldn’t resist. He thrust his forefinger into her slit.
God, she was drenched. He saw red for an instant as he plunged in and out of her snug sex. He blinked when she wriggled in his lap and moaned.
“I said to stay still,” he reminded her thickly, firming his hold on her shoulder and removing his finger in order to grip her ass.
She stilled, her muscles straining tight. She made a soughing, choked sound, as if it’d taken effort to force herself to stop writhing. Her attempt at restraint pleased him, but strangely displeased him, too. He found himself wishing she’d lose all sense of control, lying there in his lap.
“That’s so good, baby,” he soothed, aware that clawing lust had made him sound sharp before. “Just a few more.” He lifted his hand and cracked off two in quick succession. She muffled a cry. His cock swelled dangerously. He rubbed his stinging hand against her hot flesh, trying to soothe her as well as restrain his mounting lust. It didn’t really work. He found himself releasing his hold on her shoulder and pressing down on her back, pushing her against his cock. She gave a frantic, muffled moan as he lifted his hips slightly, grinding their flesh together. It felt so good, his awareness hazed. “I’m going to fuck your juicy little pussy so hard in a few seconds, Emma, and I want to hear you scream to the high heavens. I’m tired of you holding it in. Do you hear me?”
“Yes,” he heard her say in a cracking voice. She sounded every bit as dazed and rabid as he felt.
“One more now,” he said, straining to keep his voice even as he rubbed her bottom. “You’re doing well. Your ass is getting nice and hot. For the last one, I want you to raise it a little for my hand.” He heard her breath soughing in the tense silence that followed. He waited, triumph slashing through him when she tensed, sliding her knees up the bed, raising her ass off his thigh. He’d like to drown in her sweetness. Still, he was selfish.
As always.
“Now ask for your spanking,” he said roughly. When she hesitated, he was ruthless. He plunged his forefinger into her slit. She gasped loudly. He finger-fucked for a moment, grinding his teeth together at the wet, sucking sound it made. “Ask for it, Emma.”
“Spank me. Please . . . give me the last one.”
Chapter 21
She sounded wild. He drew his finger out of her channel and popped her raised ass, this time a little more forcefully. She yelped. No sooner had he done it than he was gathering her in his arms, lifting her as he stood.
“Playtime is over,” he growled, turning and placing her hastily, but gently, on the bed. “On your hands and knees,” he directed, too strangled by lust to be polite. He waited while she steadied herself with her bound hands. He started to move away to find a condom, but she looked over her shoulder. He halted. It would have been easy to say she’d stopped him in his tracks because of the vision she made, naked on her hands and knees, the light pink blush on her ass a beautiful contrast to her flawless pale skin.
The hard thing to admit was that while all that was true, what had jerked him to a stop in the midst of frantic lust was the expression in her dark eyes.
He hardened his resolve and took a long stride to the bedside table, where he extricated a condom from a drawer. When he returned, she still was watching him over an elegant, sloping shoulder.
He began to unfasten his belt, holding her stare. “I was going to taste you first,” he bit out. “But then you had to go and look at me.” He saw one eyebrow go up at that. He realized why. He’d sounded almost angry at her . . . and he was, in a way. He was about to burst with uncontrollable, boiling lust, and he wasn’t so sure he liked this feeling of another human being controlling him. “Now I’m just going to have to wait to taste you, and I don’t like to be made to wait,” he said pointedly as he jerked down his pants and slid his hand along the underside of his cock, snarling at the resulting shiver. He was stretched so tight, even the slightest touch was almost unbearable. He rolled on the condom and looked up. Instead of being miffed or offended by his words, she was staring at his cock, her flushed lips parted.
“Jesus, face that wall,” he grated out, pointing at the wall opposite from him. He moved behind her and she turned her head slowly. He became uncomfortably aware that he was panting, and that she could probably hear him. Still, he couldn’t slow. Not with heaven within his reach. His hands on her ass, he pulled her to him, positioning her. He parted her buttocks wide, salivating at the view. She was a glossy, vivid pink that acted on his brain like the stimulant of the red flag to the bull.
“Lower your breasts to the bed,” he insisted, lifting his cock with his hand to her slit. He instinctively felt the ideal give in her flesh when she took the position and thrust. She gave a little yelp, and he tried to soothe her with his touch. He couldn’t stop, though. He thought he might be grinding a layer of enamel off his teeth as she enclosed him, squeezed him like an exquisitely tight, soft suck. Gripping her ass, he watched himself sink into paradise.
She was just a woman, like so many before. He knew this.
So why did it all feel so different?
His shaved balls bumped against her damp outer sex, and the frothing boil of lust overtook his brain. He lost all ability to think. Instinct took over. He firmed his hold on her and began rocking her ass back and forth, driving his hips in a counterrhythm. Her soft moans and surprised little gasps and whimpers when he thrust with more force intoxicated him. He’d like to fuck her forever.
He needn’t have controlled her hip movements so greatly, because he could feel her moving against him with a strength and mounting excitement. Even so, his arm muscles tightened as he crashed into her. Crashed her into him. He didn’t know which. His pelvis was smacking against her ass faster and faster, a little cry erupting out of her throat when he popped against her outer sex and drove deep.
“You feel so fucking good,” he ground out, sounding crazed to his own ears. She was driving him over the edge. He couldn’t get enough. He lifted her hips, holding her against him, taking her lower body weight. Her knees slipped off the edge of the bed. His arms flexed hard, serving her pussy to his cock, pounding into her high and hard. Her cries rained down on him, whetting his appetite even more. He was feasting, gorging himself . . . but he wanted more.
“Scream for me, Emma,” he grated out. He drove into her, a raging male animal intent on one thing. “Scream.”
He kept fucking her, hanging by a thread. Then it came, a high keen that grew louder like an oncoming train the more he pounded into her clasping body. He felt her muscular walls convulse around him. He let the savage loose. Placing her knees back on the bed, he fell down over her, bracing himself with his arms. He drove straight and hard into the hot, molten core of her, grunting. He lit up like a roman candle, popping and firing at first, aching and straining for full detonation. He heard Emma scream louder, her channel gripping him, and it happened.
He exploded into a million pieces.
She came back to herself, knowing she was still the practical, dependable Emma Shore she’d always been, and yet somehow knowing at the same time that she’d never be that girl again.
She absorbed the sound of their twining, panting breaths. It was a nice sensation. It lulled her. His weight was partially on her, pressing her down into the mattress, and it, too, was delicious: a heavy, solid comfort. She wished he’d press her down even more firmly. The idea of fusing with Vanni Montand even more securely and deeply created a sweet, swelling sensation of longing in her breast.
The feeling of him sliding out of her tender body was jarring and highly unwelcome. She must have made a sound of protest, because he kissed her ear and spoke in a sex-roughened, low tone that raised goose bumps along her damp nape.
“Here. Get under the covers. I’ll come and join you in a minute.”
She felt the edge of the sheet and duvet brushed against her naked hip and realized he’d pulled back the bedding. At the urging of his hands on her waist, she rolled over and swung her body so that her head sunk against a decadence of pillows and her feet slid between cool, exquisitely soft sheets. She blinked woozily, staring up at the striking image of him as he stood next to the bed and pulled the sheet and fluffy comforter over her. She curled onto her side, her cheek pressing against the silk of the pillow sham. Her gaze dropped over him and she swallowed thickly. He was still dressed in his crisp white dress shirt. He’d jerked up his pants as he stood, but his cock still protruded from the opening of his fly. The condom clung to his relaxed, but still-formidable sex. Her muzzy, sexually satiated state partially evaporated when she recalled how he hadn’t removed all of his clothing with that woman—Astrid—either.
He turned, and she saw him in profile, and the intrusive thought scattered. He was so beautiful. It didn’t matter what she knew about his lack of interest in intimacy with women or his challenging sexual practices. It didn’t matter that he would get his fill of her soon, she realized as she watched him walk to the adjoining bathroom and open the door.
Her hunger for him wasn’t something to be picked apart and tested rationally. It just was, and all she could do was pray she’d survive relatively unscarred after he’d gone.
When he opened the bathroom door a minute or two later, her eyelids were drifting closed. She immediately perked up upon seeing Vanni walking toward her wearing a pair of low-hanging black pajama bottoms that left very little to the imagination. Once again, she was struck by the golden-brown smoothness of his skin. His naked torso was a living sculpture of lean, well-developed muscles, his abdomen so taut she could have easily bounced a quarter off his flat stomach. Ridged, oblique muscles slanted like an arrow to his crotch, seeming to defy her not to look in the downward direction. He stalked toward her and the bed. Despite her acute awareness of his gaze on her, Emma couldn’t tear her gaze off the image of his cock pressing lightly against soft cotton and hanging between his strong thighs: the very picture of temptation.
“Emma.”
He stopped next to the bed. She looked up at his face sluggishly. His aquamarine eyes were narrowed and his angular jaw was hard.
“Yes?” she rasped.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
She had a vivid memory of him saying something similar when he’d bidden her to him that first time in the Breakers’ dining room, and how intimidated she’d been.
Why are you looking at me like that? he’d demanded.
For the first time, she realized he’d seen naked desire in her eyes even back then, and had recognized it when she hadn’t. Understanding that, her former confusion melted away. She continued to stare up at him, sliding her gaze over his torso and lingering on the small, brown disks of his nipples. Her lips parted in wonderment when she saw them roughen and tighten. Slowly, she met his gaze.
“I can’t help it,” she said softly.
His eyes seemed to spark. Her heart jumped with excitement but she forced herself to remain still when he abruptly reached for the corner of the bedding and flipped it back, exposing her naked body. His gaze traveled over her, hot and possessive.
“Why shouldn’t I look at you, when you look at me like that?” she whispered, her skin prickling and her nipples tightening under his stare.
“Because your eyes make me want to do things I shouldn’t,” he said, his gaze fixed between her thighs, his stare hungry. Her clit pinched tight. She had an almost overwhelming urge to touch herself to ease the friction. He came onto the bed next to her, and her excitement only amplified. He took her into his arms and drew her against him. A small shudder went through her at the delight of pressing to his hard male length, the tips of her breasts crushing against warm, smooth skin. Their close contact was momentarily broken when he twisted, turning out the bedside lamp.
Then he was gathering her into his arms in the darkness. Emma exhaled shakily, her cheek pressed against a dense pectoral muscle. Her thigh was wedged beneath his legs. She could feel the outline of his cock. He was growing erect again. He felt sublime. Her curiosity goaded her.
“Why shouldn’t you do those things to me?” she whispered. His cock swelled against her thigh. For a moment, he didn’t speak, and her entire awareness focused on the feeling of his penis throbbing next to her skin.
“Because I rode you hard earlier, and I took you like an animal just now. You will be tender.”
Emma shifted slightly against him, focusing her attention to the sensation between her thighs. He was right. She was slightly sore. With her amplified awareness of him, however, her sex also felt tingly with excitement. She swept her hand along the smooth, taut skin that covered his ribs, a spike of excitement going through her when she felt him shiver and his cock lurch.
“I feel fine,” she whispered. She started slightly when he captured her wrist and pinned it next to her outer thigh.
“Don’t try me more than you already have,” he said.
She blinked in the darkness at his hard tone.
He exhaled heavily, and she sensed his frustration and regret. “I want to talk to you about something else,” he said, his voice calmer and hushed. “Are you on birth control?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “The pill.”
“I would like it very much if you saw my personal physician tomorrow before we return to the suburbs. I’ll see him as well.”
“Why?” she asked numbly.
“So that we can both have exams in order to determine if we’re safe. Sexually.”
She didn’t respond, her mind whirring.
“Would that be all right? We can sign releases so that we can see each other’s results.”
She leaned away from him, cool air filling in the space between their pressing skin.
“You really do think that I’m still sick in some way, don’t you?”
“No,” he said emphatically, his hand curling around her shoulder and bringing her back against him. “That’s not it at all. I just want to be inside you.”
“You mean . . . without a condom?”
“Yes. If you’re on birth control and we’re both healthy, I don’t see what’s preventing it.”
She sagged against him. He brushed his fingers through her hair, causing prickles of sensation along her neck and ear.
“What are you thinking?” he demanded.
“Well . . . it’s just . . . how do you know I won’t sleep with someone else while you’re away one of these times?” she fumbled.
His stroking fingers paused. “Do you plan to?”
“No!”
“So what you’re really asking is, how do you know that I’m not sleeping with someone else when we’re not together, is that right?”
“Yes. I guess so.”
He resumed stroking her hair. She could almost hear him thinking in the silence that followed. “Vanni?” she prompted after a moment, her anxiety getting the best of her.
“I was just thinking of how to respond to reassure you,” he said quietly. “The only thing I can think to do is be honest. It’s up to you whether or not you believe me. I’d understand if you didn’t. Do you recall me telling you at the beach after I returned from France that I was having trouble sleeping and eating because I couldn’t stop thinking about you?”
“Yes,” she whispered, entranced not only by his words, but also by the deep rumble of his voice vibrating against her skin and ear.
“I tried to be with another woman.” She stiffened in his arms. “I’m sorry to be so blunt, but I thought, considering the circumstances, maybe it was called for.”
“What happened?” Emma whispered warily.
“I started out with the single-minded intention of getting you out of my head,” he said thoughtfully, his fingers curling in her hair, his palm cupping her head, his fingertips rubbing her scalp. Despite her anxiety over the topic, she found her eyelids drooping at his touch. “But it didn’t work. I didn’t want her.”
“How do you know there won’t be another that does make you forget me?” she whispered.
Her head dipped as he exhaled deeply. “I just know. You have my word. I know I’ve told you I’m selfish, but I’m also honest.” One finger caressed the shell of her ear, making all the tiny hairs there stand on end. “I’ve never asked this of a woman before. I’d prefer to have the boundary there, to be honest. Both in the literal and figurative sense,” he added dryly. “But you’re very rare,” he continued slowly, his voice low and gravelly. She had a distinct mental image of him staring up into the darkness, his expression thoughtful. “I dislike myself enough at times. I couldn’t bear to make it any worse by . . . spoiling you in any way . . . something so fresh.” Her heart paused in her chest when he faded off. “It’s something I just couldn’t do,” he resumed more firmly. “So in short, the only thing I can give you is my word. Maybe that’s not enough for you. I can tell you this, though. When I was in high school and college, I was a walking, talking lit fuse. I was determined to travel fast and furious all the way to hell without even a brief stop. Nothing made sense to me. Nothing mattered. It’s a wonder I made it to adulthood alive. Then something happened that brought me to my senses, something that made me realize the one thing that did matter, the one thing I could control, was my word. I couldn’t control anything else but that. It became my anchor. If I said a thing was going to happen, it happened. Too much else in the world didn’t make a bit of sense, but that, I could control. I’ve fought to make that my reality ever since then.”
She exhaled shakily and touched her lips to the crinkly hair on his chest. It felt like fingers clutched at her throat hearing him say those poignant words.
