15. Bella

15

BELLA

R iver's mouth spreads desire across my skin, brushing away my tumultuous thoughts. I sink into the sensations of wet heat surrounding my breast, sucking at my nipple before dropping down the center of my stomach.

With a hand in his hair, I drag him back up my body and claim his mouth with my own. The wide expanse of his chest presses against mine, sending a zing down to my toes. I curl around him, legs wrapping around his waist as the purely sinful way our bodies match up has me reeling with need. Even though I've already come for him twice.

He groans into my mouth, rolls his hips over mine, and every slide of flesh against flesh renews my need until I'm whimpering at the lack of penetration. I want him inside me so desperately.

"River," I whine in the barest space between us. My heels hook his hips in an attempt to slide the hard length of him into my core. "River, please."

Bracing himself on his forearms, he leans back to look me over again. "Fuck, baby, you are the prettiest sight in the world when I have you begging for my cock."

Rolling my eyes, I send a knuckle into his ribs. He jerks and frowns at me.

"Come on, baby. You know I'm not into pain."

"Oh, really?" This time, I sink my nails into his back and drag two paths from his shoulders to his hips.

He shudders, eyes hazy before snapping back to my gaze. That quirk at the corner of his mouth makes me many, many promises. "So, we're going to play like that, are we?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Fingers sink into my hair at the back and lock into place. Heat zaps me and makes me wetter. If that's even possible. And River is there, teasing my entrance, spreading me all over him before he thrusts inside me with one long thrust.

My moan seems to have the same effect as my nails, his biceps shaking by my ears and his grip tightening in my hair.

I swear to God, he slows down. After a few slow strokes, he presses into the very ends of me, groin against my swollen and sensitive clit until I offer him a weak cry, my thighs shaking from the pleasure without the hard thumping I really need.

Another score of my nails down his back sends his hips back into motion, and finally, I get the hard and determined thrusts I seek. They build me up, pulling a low, steady hum out of me as I stroke his back, finding every new mark on him.

There are so many.

Emotion twists in my chest, and the pleasure plateaus.

He's been hurt so many times. Almost died who knows how often. And he kept me from being there through any of it, kept me waiting even though he told me that's not what he wanted for me. Like he didn't know I would come to expect a call to say he was gone. Truly gone. I expected one every day for years, wondering how to tell my daughter when the time came.

And this asshole survived.

My taking in a shaky breath catches his attention, and he smooths a thumb across my forehead. Our gazes lock, and he's searching me for something that I don't know I can give him. I've tucked so much of myself away because it hurts too much to keep accessing it.

But the tenderness in him haunts me—or maybe he's haunted. I don't know anymore. I can see how much he missed having me. But maybe that's just the pleasure. Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe we're both feeling a bit nostalgic.

This can't mean anything more than that.

It just can't.

I latch onto the back of his neck and move with him, our foreheads pressed together. God, we feel good together like this. My every sense leans into it, and River can feel the change. He always could.

He draws up one knee and tips his hips to just the right angle. My breath hitches, and I'm catapulted into a new level of ecstasy.

River nibbles down my throat, sinking his teeth into that spot in my neck. My toes curl.

"Fuck, Bella. Can I come in you?"

"What?" I'm going to come. It's too much.

"I don't want to presume."

If it would make him move with a bit more gusto, I wish he would. "Yes. God, come in me."

Oh, and he moves just the way I want him to, longer, withdrawing thrusts and punctuated pumps into me. I hover for just a few seconds before everything inside me blitzes. I'm breaking apart and molten at the same time.

He draws it out, hard and heavy, until he stiffens and bows over me. Grinding. Filling me up.

Nuzzling my neck, he leans into me, locking us together as we recover. He's warm, and I don't want to brave the chill of the room without him.

He stares at me, eyes bloodshot and raw, his voice a mere croak as he pleads for forgiveness. A tremor runs through his broad shoulders.

"Bella," he whispers, his voice thick, "I know I've been a fool. I said things, did things, that I can never take back." He reaches out, his hand trembling as it hovers inches from my face. "Can you ever forgive me?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating. Forgiveness? After all the pain, all the loneliness? It feels like an insurmountable task, a mountain I'm not sure I can climb.

Yet, as I gaze into his tortured eyes, a flicker ignites within me. I see the broken man beneath the hardened exterior, the soldier ravaged by the ghosts of war. I see it all, and I can't be cruel. Not when my whole body is so clearly opposed to it.

Without a word, I reach out and take his hand, the warmth of his skin stark against the coldness that has settled around my heart. He flinches, as if expecting me to recoil, but I hold on tight, my grip a lifeline.

"Come here," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He hesitates, his eyes searching mine for any sign of rejection. But all he finds is a longing, a yearning for the connection we once shared.

I pull him toward me, and he collapses into my arms, his body racked with sobs. I hold him close, my fingers tangling in his hair, the scents of whiskey and old books filling my senses.

We sink to the floor, the worn rug cushioning our fall. I drape a throw over us, cocooning us in a makeshift haven. His head rests on my chest, the steady rise and fall of his breath a comforting rhythm against my skin.

The room is silent, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock and the soft snores that soon escape River's lips. His grip on me tightens, his body seeking solace in my warmth. I stroke his hair, a silent lullaby for the troubled soul within.

At this moment, as I hold my broken soldier close, I know that I won't be able to walk out on us. It won't be the same, and there's so much I have to tell him. God, I don't even know how he'll react if I get to the news of Ginny—although I'm nowhere near telling him. I'm most definitely still mad at him.

But we can stay here a while longer.

River's eyelashes flutter, and he calls out my name as he drifts in and out of dreams, his sleep light. I touch his chin with my fingers, admiring him and also hating that he's this beautiful, even in the most haunted state he's ever been. I get why he did it. He's apologized enough. I gently extricate myself from his grasp and tuck him properly into the throw. Then, I move toward the door. Just next to it, there's a table with pens and notepads. I pause, turn to watch him snoring, and smile. He could do with a little note, because I don't want him to wake up and think I've bolted. To my room, of course. Where else would I go when the world is basically buried in snow?

With a muffled sigh, I leave the study and head upstairs. The others are still in the kitchen, from the clink of glasses and the distant chuckles that float into my ears. For no reason at all, I'm blushing. Good thing I don't need to encounter either of them on the way.

Up in my room, I settle down next to my laptop, but sleep is dulling the edges of my thoughts. Yawns come unbidden, so I get into the comfort of the large bed and drown myself under the quilt.

My eyes close to the memory of River's mouth on my body.

Yes, I sleepily think, I'm still a little mad at him.