Page 92 of Conflagration
Moving closer, I slip off my shoes and lower myself on the chair until we’re in the spooning position, my arm coming around her waist. As much as I want to wake her, to see her beautiful eyes, to finally talk this out, I revel in this moment, vowing to never go another day without her wrapped up in my arms. This feels right. This feels like home. I’m never letting this go again. This is the only thing I want—the only thing I need—in my life. Everything else is a bonus, and it took losing her to realize that. As I hold her, I vow to never let it happen again.
“Branson,” I hear, her warm breath on my skin.
For a split second, I think I’m dreaming. Then I feel soft lips brushing mine and a body pressing up against me. As I slowly open my eyes, I see that Ariana’s awake and studying me.
“Hey, baby,” I whisper, my voice gravelly.
“What are you doing here?”
“You said you were coming home tomorrow. I couldn’t wait that long,” I answer honestly, and a small smile crosses her face, giving me hope.
“Do I even want to ask how you found me?”
Shaking my head, I press my forehead to hers. “Probably not. Just know—I’ll always find you.”
“Took you long enough.”
I can’t tell if she’s teasing or not. “I know. I should’ve been here sooner,” I admit, sighing out loud, knowing I wasted too much time wallowing in self-pity.
She sits up, and I miss the warmth of her body pressed up against mine. “No, I’m glad you didn’t.” She shakes her head when I frown. “I needed to time, Branson. You broke something inside me that day. You didn’t trust me, through no fault of my own. I know I should’ve answered your questions when you asked, but it was humiliating admitting to you I’d nearly married someone who didn’t love me.”
Sitting up, I take her hand and cup her jaw with my other one. “I know, baby. I fucked up. I was wrong to listen to them, and I was wrong for how I reacted. I’ll be paying for it for the rest of my life if I lose you. I’m so sorry, Ariana. Forgive me, please.”
Her eyes shimmer in the moonlight, and I wait for her to say something. To say that it’s too late. To say that I’ll never lose her. Just… something.
“Branson…” she breathes, and I brace myself.
“What?” I ask, pulling back, looking into her eyes.
“I need you,Branson.”
“Ariana,” I start, but she presses a fingers to my lips, deciding to take control. I shut up. If this is what she needs, then I’ll give it to her and hope that, when we talk later, she’ll forgive me.
She climbs into my lap, pushing me back down on the lounge chair. Her legs straddle my waist, and I instantly harden as I feel her core connecting with my dick. I watch in awe as she undoes my belt, slides down my zipper, then slips her small hand into my boxers. As much as I want to flip her over and fuck her senseless, I give her this. I give her me. She lifts up, pushing her shorts to the side, and lines the head of my cock at her entrance.
“God, I’ve missed this,” she breathes out as she slowly sinks down on me.
I struggle to not move as she takes all of me. As much as I want to grip her hips, I keep my hands at my side, allowing her to move up and down at her own pace, slowly circling her hips. This is about her, and if this is what she needs, I have no problem giving it to her.
She leans forward, crashing her lips down on mine. This time, I allow myself to touch her. My hand slips into her hair, holding her in place. As she continues to ride me, our tongues tangle in dueling fashion. Our kisses are frenzied, hungry, almost as if we’re making up for lost time. I lose myself in her, and all too soon, we’re coming together, both sent over the edge simultaneously. It’s been twelve long fucking days since I’ve felt her, and I know I’ll never let her go again.
“I’ve missed you,” she murmurs, laying her head on my chest.
I’m still inside her, and I don’t want to move. I want to stay in this moment forever. “I’ve missed you, too, baby.”
Nothing else is said between us as we lie there, trying to catch our breath. I want to know what she’s thinking, yet I’m too scared to ask. Right now, in the darkness, I’m willing to pretend—at least for a little while longer.
Ariana shivers as a cool breeze fills the air, and even though I don’t want to move, I stand up, her legs still straddling my waist, and take us inside.
We make love two more times, all thoughts of discussion curbed for the time being. I’m terrified that she’s avoiding it, that I haven’t proven my love for her.
As I stare up at the ceiling, I know exactly what it is I have to do.
NOW I know how Branson felt the morning he woke up it Atlanta. Except I don’t have a hangover. When I wake up in bed, ready for a bout of morning sex, I’m disappointed to see his side of the bed empty. Knowing I didn’t dream him up, I slip on a T-shirt and walk through the cabin, only I come up empty. I check the deck, wondering if he’s enjoying the view I’ve come to love, but he’s not there either. It isn’t until I look out front and see his car gone that my heart starts to sink.
Confusion washes over me. Last night was perfect. Even though he wanted to talk, it’s the last thing I wanted to do. I didn’t need his words. I needed him. I needed to feel him, and when he let me take control, he gave me what I needed. He showed me, yet again, that he does trust me, and at the moment, nothing else mattered.
So why is he gone?
