Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75288 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Later, back at the house, I pass Kira at the base of the stairs that lead to the main floor.
There’s a question in her eyes, but I don’t answer it with words.
I stop and stand there with her.
I don’t retreat. I don’t disappear.
When her eyes soften, I brush my hand along her jaw, touching the smooth skin there, before I cup the back of her neck and bring her in.
Today, kissing her is about exploration instead of desperation. I take in her taste, the fullness of her lips. I listen to the way she responds.
She puts a hand on my side with a light touch, and I bring her closer for a moment, breathing her in.
When I pull back, I look her in the eye, and then we continue on our way.
CHAPTER 41
ATLAS
Kira's a different woman than the one we found that night in the snowstorm. The changes in her are small, but significant.
She no longer hesitates in doorways. She leans into touch instead of bracing for it. And now that she's come to a new understanding with Silas, she moves through the house like she belongs here.
As she should.
Because she does.
Kira spent last night with Silas, and unless my hearing's playing tricks on me, I'd swear the man was humming in the kitchen this morning.
Tonight, she's with me, the sweet sounds of her pleasure making me feel like I’m twenty years younger.
It was frigid cold today. A couple of hours after dinner, I drew a warm bath for Kira and left her alone with a book so she could relax for a while. Before the water had time to get cold, I returned to soap her up and rinse her off, then I wrapped her in towels, and carried her to my bed, where she is now.
Her skin is humid, droplets of water clinging to tendrils of her hair, heat radiating between her legs. My tongue is focused on her clit, and she’s writhing beneath me, heading toward her second orgasm.
“Andrew. Oh god, Andrew!” She comes apart, her pussy, so wet and perfect, throbbing on my mouth.
I sheathe my cock and sink into her heat, then roll onto my back and bring her along so she’s riding me.
“Have your way with me, sweetheart.” I make a show of folding my hands behind my head, even though I know I won’t keep them there for long.
Her eyes sparkle with mischief and desire as she caresses my chest and arms. Her pussy grinds down on my cock in a rolling rhythm that immediately makes my fingers ache to touch her. Makes other parts ache, too.
I feast on her with my eyes as her breasts bounce and her lips curve in a radiant smile.
She comes again, all her doing this time, and then I loosen my restraint and allow myself to follow after her, holding her steady as I thrust up into her over and over until I’m drained.
She rests in my arms afterward, warm and solid, in a way that’s as satisfying as the sex.
Gently pulling her hair free from its tie, I let it fall over the both of us. “Stay,” I say.
She looks up at me, her chin on my chest. “Hmm?”
“With us,” I clarify. “With me. With Boyd. With Silas.” I swallow. “You and the baby. Stay with us, and I’ll take care of you both, always.”
Her eyes go glossy, but she doesn’t say anything for a long moment. There’s a lot going on behind those eyes before she finally says, “Things wouldn’t be so quiet around here with a child running around.”
“Good,” I tell her.
She blinks at me. “Do you mean that?” After a pause, she adds, “Did you ever … want kids?”
A thick lump rises in my throat, but I swallow it down before it can choke me. Someday, I’ll tell her about Sarah’s miscarriage. Now, when she’s full of hope about her daughter, isn’t the time for a story like that. “I did,” I say. “It wasn’t meant to be.”
She takes that in for a moment, then whispers, “I’d like to stay.”
I hug her closer. “Then it’s settled.”
And something settles inside me that’s been restless for years.
In the middle of the next day, when everyone’s occupied elsewhere, I stand alone in my bedroom, slowly turning my wedding band on my finger.
Twist. Stop. Twist.
The motion is intentional now, not automatic. I’ve been doing it less often these days.
The ring’s never been off my finger since the day I made my vows, but the time has come.
I open the small lockbox in my dresser that holds things I can’t afford to lose, and set the ring inside, resting it carefully on a folded strip of cloth.
“I miss you, Sarah. And I’ll always love you.”
There’s still an ache when I say her name, but it isn’t sharp like it used to be.