Page 25 of Undercover Shadow
“I used to imagine this,” I admitted. “You cooking for me. Us being domestic together.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yeah? What else did you imagine?”
Heat crept up my neck. “Things.”
“What kind of things?” He set a plate in front of me, then took the chair across from me. “Tell me.”
“Tag…”
“I want to know.” His foot found mine under the table. “I want to know everything you thought about. Everything you wanted.”
I took a bite of eggs to buy time, but he wouldn’t relent.
“I used to imagine you coming to Damascus and not leaving. Staying in my apartment. Waking up with you.”
“What else?”
“You touching me.” The words came out barely above a whisper. “I was in love with you,” I said quietly. “Even then.”
He froze. “Leila?—”
“I know.” I forced a smile. “I don’t expect you to say it too. I know this is…whatever this is. But I wanted you to know.”
He stood abruptly, coming around the table to pull me to my feet. His hands framed my face, and when he kissed me, it was with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “Let’s go upstairs,” he said against my lips. “Let me show you…let me…” He struggled for words, then gave up, kissing me again instead.
This time when we made love, he treated me like I was precious. He laid me out on the bed, worshiping every inch of my skin with his mouth, avoiding the places that were too sore. When I tried to reciprocate, he caught my hands.
“This is for you,” he said. “Let me give you this.”
He used his mouth and fingers to bring me to the edge over and over, easing off each time until I was begging, my mind blank from the intensity of it. When he finally let me come, itwas with his mouth on me, his fingers gentle inside me, and I shattered so completely I thought I might never find all the pieces again.
Afterwards, he held me, whispering soft words against my hair. “So beautiful. So perfect. Mine.”
“Yours,” I agreed, and he shuddered against me.
We dozed for a while, wrapped around each other. When I woke, gray light was filtering through the windows. The rain was still falling, but lighter now, less violent. The storm was breaking.
Tag was awake, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my bare shoulder.
“Morning,” he murmured.
“Is it?”
“I’ve no idea, to be honest. How are you?”
I took inventory. Sore in places, but not unbearably so.
“Good,” I said. “Really good.”
“Liar.” But he was smiling. “Stay here. I’ll run you another bath.”
“Stay with me instead.”
He didn’t need more invitation than that. We made love again, slow and tender as he watched for any sign of discomfort. There was some—I was too new at this for there not to be—but the pleasure far outweighed the pain.
“I could get used to this,” I said afterwards, sprawled across his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
His arms tightened around me, but he didn’t respond, and that should have been my first warning. Instead, I was too lost in the afterglow, too drunk on the sensation of finally having what I’d wanted for so long, to fret over the way he’d tensed at my words.
