That he wants me to come, even though it’s so soon.
“We’ve got all day,” he groans. “And all tomorrow…” he adds, reminding me that him claiming me isn’t a one-off affair.
Proving his point by flexing himself inside me and making me moan louder, uncontrollably as he easily probes my new favorite spot perfectly.
My hands find his arms again, stabilizing my body as I lift my legs higher, feeling him go deeper and harder, faster than ever.
“Come in me,” I beg him, biting my lip. “Come inside me…. Nathan… Nath-” I manage to get out before it happens.
My whole body seizing up, stiffening in short bursts with his own climax as we share what I just know will be the first of many together.
Chapter Sixteen
Nathan
She’s mine now. No doubt about it.
We both have the same smile that proves it and our intertwined bodies on the bed we’ve just shared is proof of that.
Signed and sealed, forever.
That’s my take on it, and I only look to her with the same question in my eyes, just so I know I can rest easy from now on.
No more worrying about where she is or will she, won’t she.
What’s mine is mine, but I want her to know I’m all hers too.
“I don’t know how or why, but yes,” Lucy murmurs half-asleep, half-awake.
“I’m all yours, Mr. Cartwright,” she adds, pulling herself closer to me and sighing heavily. Easing my mind and my soul in one statement.
“I’m gonna hold you to that,” I murmur back into her ear, kissing her before I remind her just how I feel with words.
“I love you, Lucy,” I tell her again seriously. “I mean it,” I add before she can try to doubt it or herself ever again.
She gives me a glowing look, but I notice her brow creasing. “What about the convention?” she finally asks, making me crease a frown of my own.
“I’ll handle that stuff later,” I remark, telling myself that too.
I’ll deal with everything like that as it comes up from now on.
“I’m not letting you go again,” I promise her. “Not gonna rush off to do book signings, speeches, or anything else without you by my side.”
She smiles but looks a little nervous. The memory of the press before dinner last night in her eyes.
“We don’t have to do everything in public, either, Lucy. I’m a private guy for a reason. I don’t like the spotlight,” I tell her truthfully.
“So why do the convention?” she asks me out of sheer curiosity.
Hooking an arm around her, I pull her closer and move the covers up over us both, settling in to relax instead of rushing to do anything else.
“I got sick of being told where and when to be a long time ago,” I reflect.
“When I was not much older than you it was exciting to have a full schedule of people dying to talk to me, wondering what I thought about this or that…”
“But then?” she asks, genuinely interested in my personal history.
“I mean, you said you took over managing your own affairs recently, I take that to mean you must have toed the line for at least a while to get where you are?” she asks, almost wincing but smiling once she knows she’s asked a good question.
“You sound like the crowd from the conference,” I laugh, running my hand up her arm and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“It’s a strange life. Having so much at your disposal but no one to share it with apart from sycophants and thieves,” I muse almost cryptically.
“What I mean is, it’s been a lonely life without anyone to share it all with,” I add with a smile.
Hoping she catches my meaning, but she obviously has a lot of questions still.
It’s okay. I’ve claimed my prize and now I have to play catch up. I get that.
“I’m not my books, nor am I the characters in them,” I have to remind her several times.
Wondering if I should just have that made up into a line of tee shirts and mugs. Because it’s true.
I don’t try and speak over her, not at all. I think about each of her questions and answer them honestly in turn. Exactly like I would anywhere else, but with different words now that we’re so… familiar.
“I don’t mean to annoy you,” she blushes, nuzzling into me. “I just have so many questions. Mostly what I’ve asked myself a million times since-”
She stops suddenly, embarrassed.
“Since what?” I inquire, interested more than ever now.
“Since I fell in love with your photo,” she confides, admitting she’s never really read any of my books until they had a romantic bent. Just bought them for my portrait.
I feel my brow rise with amusement but wonder too, just how many books I’ve actually sold just by being on the back cover.
“And the real thing?” I ask her, letting my hand stray to her chest under the covers, making her groan with abandon before she giggles.