20. The Aforementioned Words

The Aforementioned Words

Terra

E mily braids my hair while Kaleigh paints my toenails.

"This is unnecessary," I say.

"Bullshit. Totally necessary." Emily tugs on my braid harder than is necessary. "We're fighting forever, I hope you realize. You got married, by Elvis , WITHOUT ME !"

"It was spur of the moment."

"I demand naming rights of your firstborn as payment for this deep, deep betrayal."

I snicker. "Yeah, okay."

She pulls my head back by the braid and glares down at me. "Who's kidding?"

"Em…"

"You got married without me."

"Em—"

"No, I get it. It's cool. But I'm naming you guys' firstborn."

I sigh. Look up at her upside down. "Fine. Deal."

Kaleigh just snorts. "You two are so weird."

"You have no idea," Emily says. "Okay. There. Done." She waits until Kaleigh finishes and then shoves her aside to sit on my lap, facing me. "Now. Real talk."

Kaleigh caps the nail polish. "And that's my cue to let you two lovebirds talk this out, or whatever weirdness is happening."

She leaves, and it's just Em and me in my penthouse suite at the Bellagio, which, I admit, is pretty fucking swanky. Having an unlimited expense account has its perks, I'll say that.

"Em…" I start.

"No, no, no. You shushy time." She puts a hand over my mouth. "Repeat after me."

"Em—"

" SHUSH . Repeat after me."

I sigh. "Fine. Weirdo."

"I…"

I roll my eyes. "I…"

"Love…"

My heart freezes. "Em."

"Say it."

"They're just words."

"No, they're not."

"Say it." She takes my mouth in her fingers and squishes my lips together as If I'm a puppet. "I…love…you."

"Mmmmm—" I try, but she's still pinching my lips together.

"You've processed, Terra. He gave you three days, no questions asked. He married you, on a whim. You murdered a criminal for him. You've been here in this sweet-ass fucking penthouse for three days, alone, eating junk food and freaking out. Now. You've had your freakout… get over it , woman. You love him. You know it, he knows it, I know it, his friends all know it. You're making a big deal out of nothing."

"Telling a man you love him is a big fuckin' deal, Emily."

"Why? Because he doesn't know?"

"No, because—" I fail to find a reason. "Because…well shit."

"Because you're scared of the words. You think they have some magical, mystical power. They don't." She wiggles her butt on my thighs. "Watch this. I hate you, Terra. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you." She widens her eyes at me. "Did that make it real?"

"You're grossly oversimplifying things."

"No, you're grossly overcomplicating things. They're just words. They don't make anything happen. You're putting undue weight on this. You're holding yourself back. I know you love me, even though you've never said it to me. He knows you love him, and that's what makes it real. You saying the words to him or not saying the words to him, that doesn't change the fact that you do."

"I want to say it."

"I know , dummy. That's why we're doing this. You're gonna practice on me." She pats my cheeks. "Now. Try it, one word at a time. It won't hurt, I promise. Cupid won't strike you down with a flaming arrow."

I roll my eyes. Grip her wrists. "I…love…you."

Emily gazes around in dramatic terror, cringing as if waiting for the aforementioned arrow from Cupid's bow. "We're alive!" She looks at me with wide, wonder-filled eyes. "You did it!"

"You're such a bitch," I laugh. "So mean."

She shrugs. "I know."

I hold her wrists and meet her eyes. "I wasn't just saying it, Em. I was saying it to you . You saved my life. Taught me how to live—you showed me how to be myself. I literally wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you, so…I…I…I love you, Emily. You're not just my best friend, you're my soulmate."

"Bosom buddies," she whispers, laughing.

"Buddies with bosoms."

At that moment, I hear the private elevator ding, and the doors open.

"He's here!" I gasp, standing up with Emily still on my lap.

"Whoa! Okay, guess that's my cue." She lands on her feet and pulls me in for a hug. "Go get 'im, tiger." She saunters off, and I hear her voice. "Got her all primed for you, big fella. Just doin' the Lord's work."

I cackle. "You're still here?"

"I'm leaving, I'm leaving!"

I hear the elevator again, and then, before I'm ready, Saxon is swaggering into the room, dressed in faded, well-worn blue jeans that hug his long legs and extra fine ass, a plain black crewneck T-shirt, a backward ballcap, and vintage Nike high tops.

Instantly, my vagina is on high alert—soaked, pulsing, and begging for him.

His eyes tell me he feels the same—the bulge in his jeans says so even more loudly.

I stand up. Face him. "Hi."

He stops a few feet away. "Hey, there. Have a good time?"

I nod, grinning. "I watched reality TV, ate junk food, drank too much wine, and took a bubble bath."

"You process things?"

His hands are in his hip pockets, eyes searching me.

He's not even looking at my chest, which tells me he's really nervous, despite his assurances before I left.

"You like my robe?" I ask, putting my hands in the pockets. "It's complimentary. Comes with the room!"

He laughs. "Penthouse life, baby."

I toy with the knot holding the robe closed. "I did have time to process things, yes." I take a step closer. "Thank you for giving me that time."

"Come to any conclusions?"

I shrug. "It's not that kind of processing. But I do understand few things."

"Such as?"

"I won't miss Boston. I might need help turning this whole designer thing into a bigger-scale operation because Jean-Paul wasn't kidding—my email is flooded with requests. Also, I missed you."

He lets a small smile curve his lips. "You did, huh?"

I shrug. "A little."

"How much?" Closer. He towers over me, gazes down at me. Touches my lips with his, briefly, softly. "This much?"

"Mmmmm…" I shrug a shoulder, smiling against his lips. "A little more than that."

He cups my face and really kisses me, claiming my tongue, searching my mouth, taking his time and kissing me so thoroughly I forget my name for a moment.

"That much?" he whispers.

"What?" I blink up at him. "Oh. Oh, um…?" I step back away from him, pick open the knot, and let the robe fall open. Shrug it off. "Maybe just a little more."

His eyes widen, as if he's never seen me naked. "Jesus, you're so fuckin' perfect. You take my breath away every goddamn time I look at you, Terra."

He steps toward me, but I back up. "You're wearing far too many clothes." I point at myself. "You don't get any off this ," I point at him, "Until I get off all that ."

He grins. "Yes ma'am."

He tosses his ballcap aside, revealing messy hat hair that's so unbearably sexy I growl impatiently and stomp toward him and start ripping at his jeans while he peels his shirt off. Seconds later, he's naked with me, his erection tall and proud and begging for my touch.

I resist, just for a moment. Take his hands in mine, tangle our fingers, palm to palm. Stare up at him, opening my heart and my soul, letting it all shine out through my eyes.

Emily was right—having gotten past the block, I find the words have lost their hold on me.

They're just words…

Just the three most important words one human can say to another.

"I love you, Saxon Oliver Cabot."

His jaw clenches, and his throat works. His eyes mist. "Terra…god, I…"

I touch his lips. "Shush. This one is all for me. I love you. I fucking love you." I step into him, breasts pressing against his chest, his cock hot against my belly. "I love you so fucking much it's crazy. I just met you, but I've somehow always loved you. I don't know how that works and I don't care."

"I had this whole thing planned out," he whispers, swallowing hard. "But you distracted me with your boobs, and then you tell me you love me, and it all went out of my stupid head."

"Pivot, baby, pivot."

"Pivot, yeah." He blinks. "You fucking unman me, you know that?"

I laugh. "No, I do not unman you. I make you feel things."

He grabs his jeans off the floor and digs in the pockets, coming up with not one but two black velvet boxes. Peeks at one, and then turns it to face me, opening it. "I had a whole speech. I was gonna do this whole thing, like a real proposal."

It's a huge emerald-cut diamond, set in what looks like platinum. Solitaire. At least four carats. My eyes leak hot tears.

"Jesus, Saxon."

"I paid a fortune to have it done this fast, but good thing I've got a fortune to burn." He plucks it from the pillow setting. "May I?"

"Please. And no, you can't propose—I already did. No takebacks or do-overs." I hold out my left hand, and he slides the ring on. It fits perfectly, of course.

"What's in the other box?" I ask.

He shows me: a matching pair of wedding bands, also platinum, plain and unadorned, and perfect. "Gotta make it all the way official."

He slides mine on, and it snugs my diamond into place. I put his on him. "The bands of all three rings are made out of my coin."

I gasp. "What?"

"I had it melted down. They used the palladium to make those rings."

"But…but…"

"You're my future. That's my past. I'm not looking back."

"You just had to one-up me, didn't you, you big butthole?" I laugh, even as I reach up and cup his nape. "We're married."

"For really real," he says. "You're my wife."

"And you're my husband." I reach between us and find him. "Now, husband, I believe it's time you did your marital duties and fucked my brains out."

"What if I want to make sweet, sweet love to you instead?" he asks, eyes stuttering and rolling as I stroke his hot hard cock.

I kneel and gaze lovingly at his magnificent organ, then lick the tip. Grin up at him. "What if you sweetly and lovingly fucked my brains out?"

"Terra, god, I…oh. Oh, fuck."

I snort a laugh as he goes cross-eyed, knees already giving out.

"Wait, wait, wait." He pulls away, tensed, panting.

Before I can say "Boo," he's picked me up and is carrying me across the suite to the bedroom. He sets me down carefully, as if I'm made of glass. I reach up and cup his face.

"Come here," I whisper.

He kneels on the bed between my thighs, and I sit up, claim his mouth in a kiss—the kiss to end all kisses, knotting my fingers in his hair, pulling him down over me.

I splay my thighs wide to accommodate him, reach between us and guide him to me, still kissing him, desperately, moaning.

He breaks the kiss to groan as I take him into myself, and his face buries in my breasts. I hold him there, wrapping my heels around his back.

"Terra," he whispers, shaking.

"I know," I whisper back. "Me too."

"You feel too fucking good," he growls.

"Show me."

He digs a hand under my head and cups the back of my neck, and his eyes bore into mine from inches away, and I see his soul laid bare, pouring into me.

We move together, and he's all I need—us, like this. I feel it rising, and I don't fight it, don't push it back or hold it off, because I know he's right there with me. His eyes never leave mine, not for a moment.

There's no fanfare. It's not the most powerful orgasm he's ever given me. It happened pretty fast, all told, but it's perfect.

I explode into climax, and I feel no shame in my tears. "Oh god, Saxon, oh god—I love you, oh god, I love you, I love you, Saxon, I love you—"

He lets his own tears fall at my words, unashamed, as he releases in sync with me. "Terra, Terra, my love, my love—oh god I love you."

I kiss his tears as he pours himself into me, and then I taste salt, my tears on his tongue, and I know that no matter what he may have said, he needed to hear it, needed to hear me say it.

When it's over, he collapses on me, and I cradle his head to my breasts and feel him breathe, and hold him. Stare at my rings—my diamond catching the morning light, my wedding band glittering.

"Husband?" I say, tucking my chin to look down at him.

He grins up at me. "Yes, wife?"

"Fuck me again. Please?" I push against him, feel him respond. "And then take me home so we can christen your bed. And your shower. And your floor. And maybe a few walls."

He laughs. "Just a few of the walls?"

"Fine, all of them."

He rolls me to my stomach, presses kisses from my shoulders to my spine to my ass, kissing me there, everywhere, endlessly, before he pulls me to my hands and knees and drives inside me, and fucks me senseless.

And then we go home—to Club Sin, where we christen all the aforementioned places.

And one of the benches in the gym.

And the stairwell leading up to the parking lot.

But mostly, he just loves me, in bed and out of it.

THE END