Page 63 of Vow to Protect
Inside, a haunting piano solo fills the gallery to the high ceiling. Obsidian frames surround a sprawling view of De Courcy land. Lush and prosperous. Winter green foliage blends with bold blue on the far-off horizon. A sign of liberation.
I lock the door behind me, locating her in the light of a new day. Wavy strands are pinned to the crown of her head. A messy pale blue shirt hides sexy curves, ending mid-thigh with baggy sleeves rolled to her elbows. Lucy wears the same outfit every time she loses herself in the art studio.
My woman wears my shirt. Unwashed, with barely noticeable cologne lingering on the fabric, apparently holding me close even if I’m playing the part of being head teacher.
A forest green gaze finds me. Concentration drifts to delight. Her palm floats to the buttons between her breasts, and the corners of her mouth lift to bright eyes.
I raise the edible gift in the air and stroll towards a mounted canvas.
She holds out her palm. “Don’t look!” Bare feet pad around the stand, blocking her artwork. “It’s not finished yet.”
“You promised me.” My brows hitch.
Her lip dents under her teeth. “I want it to be perfect.”
“I don’t care for perfection, Lucy.”
She reaches out and pinches the fork. “Florent will tire of baking me cakes, eventually.” Silver prongs dive into rich brown layers.
“Are you tired of them?”
“Never.” Chocolate coats her tongue as she chews slowly, seductively.
“Good.” I step closer, careful not to clip her toes. I reach for her concealed cleavage with greedy fingertips. Every time I touch her, it feels different than the last. More intense. More insane. More fucking right.
She pierces me with a blistering gaze, daring me to kiss her. My blood hisses, pumping straight to my dick all over again. I’ve made up for lost time these past few months. Waking up beside Lucy has been my salvation. I can’t imagine us ever returning to Dublin. My parents will eventually sign over the De Courcy ancestral estate, yet that pull of home doesn’t come from stone and mortar. It lives within the women I love. Wherever they are, I exist. Wherever they settle, I live.
The sexual tension crackles between us. From her muddy chocolatey lips oozing temptation to her rising chest lifting with anticipation, my body responds to her flushed cheeks, as it always does when she sees right through me. “You don’t have to bribe me with cake, Brett.” She licks the fork, and my sight goes fuzzy. “I’ll let you see the portrait later.”
“It’s not bribery.” I chuckle. “It’s my punishment for associating sex with cake. My secret fetish. My fantasy of the forbidden. A gesture of the bond designed with a scaffolding of crumbs glued together with frosting and sealed with the hottest kiss of my life. Please let me see it.”
That statement pleases her. “I’m right here, with or without cake.” Lucy lifts to her tiptoes. “Our bond is unbreakable. I’d die for you, Mr. De Courcy.”
My spine stiffens at that admission. Death is a master I’ve grown to respect and despise with equal measures. The promise of its certainty scares the fuck out of me. However, a life unlived is a shameful slow creep towards the afterlife. An already dismal departure while the heart still beats. She’s my reason to pick up the pace. To rule the darkness with a prism of colourful love.
I haven’t forgotten my first love, Syrah. There will always be a place in my heart where her smile lives on. However, Lucy is my happily ever after. We don’t need verbal vows or bands of gold to marry what’s already written in fate.
I am hers.
She is mine.
Our love was born from tragedy.
We created our passion from pain.
We’ve woven our future together with hope.
Lucy runs her fingers through my hair. “Put the cake down,” she orders.
I lower, setting it on the floor. When I rise, towering over her, I’m reminded of the unruly power she has over me. How I have no resistance. In a single breath, we go from separated to united. My hand secures her nape. Her lips part. The sugary aroma hurtles us back to the apartment where it all began, where I gave myself permission to change the course of solitude for eternity.
Buttons pop and ping. The shirt puddles at our feet. She yanks open my trousers, dragging them to my knees with my boxer briefs in tandem. My fingers tangle in her hair. Lust darkens her gaze, making me even more breathless. Spinning her around, I push her forward so those eyes of hers drink up the acres beyond.
“I let you leave,” I growl, stroking my palms over her fleshy ass. “And you stayed with me.” Her hands land on the glass as she bends forward. “Why did you stay?”
She sighs when I find her slick entrance, rubbing along her heat with my solid erection.
“Because I’m yours.” She whimpers when I spear inside. Deep. Tight. Complete.
