The Brit

“You’ve made a woman very happy,” she says quietly.

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t mean me.” She looks across the kitchen to Esther, who’s happily loading the dishwasher. “She has a twinkle in her eye.”

She really does. And she’s humming to herself while she potters around, a certain lightness to her steps. And she looks younger, far nearer her forty-seven years. “And what about you?” I ask, nudging Rose to win back her attention. “Do I make you happy?”

Her eyes are questioning, her smile unsure. “That’s a silly question. I just agreed to marry you.”

I shrug. “You could have been scared to say no.”

“Actually, I was scared to say yes.”

I nod mildly in understanding. We’re both way out of our comfort zones. “I was scared to ask.” I take her hand and bring her ring to my lips, kissing the diamond. “I’ve never been scared of anything in my life, Rose. Until you.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me.” Her fingers slip into my hair at my temples, massaging gently. “I am just a woman who loves a fucked-up man.”

“And I’m just a man who loves a fucked-up woman.” My hand finds her nape and pulls her mouth onto mine. “Always be strong for me, Rose.” I feel her frown through my kiss, though I try to kiss it away once more, limiting space for her to question my reverent words. It might only be Rose’s strength that sees us to the end of this nightmare.

“I’ll give you two some privacy.” Esther’s voice interrupts our moment, and we both break away. “Thank you for dinner.” She smiles.

“Thank you for cleaning up my mess.” My gratitude is a simple display of appreciation. But it’s a first, and I can tell it means the world to her.

“Goodnight.” She bows her head and slips out of the room quietly.

And now it is only us.

Us and need.

I stand and help guide Rose’s legs around my back, and she smiles, her face close to mine. I walk us up to the bedroom as the speakers around the house keep our ears filled with music. The playlist moves to the next track, and The xx’s Intro begins as I place Rose on the end of the bed, pushing into her chest with my palm to encourage her down to her back. She goes with ease. Of course she goes with ease. The music seems to enhance my want, the dulcet, almost sexy beat sinking into me. I take her sweats and drag them down her legs, dropping them to the floor. Then I strip her of the lacy fabric concealing her from me until all that remains is the jumper. I don’t remove it, just push it up her chest until her bra-less boobs slip free. Her wounds are healing. Once they’re gone, there will be no more.

I cup one boob in each hand and massage gently, and she sighs, the breathy sound stretching on and on, her arms settling above her head. The fire inside of me crackles and spits, and my hands pause in their feeling, my gaze drifting across her face. If there were ever two people who were meant to be together, it’s us. It’s undeniable. Life to this point now seems like a compulsory trek through a warzone. A fight for survival in a world that would conquer me if I didn’t conquer it. It’s ironic that now, with every intention of walking away from that world, I find myself more fearful of a life without looking over my shoulder. A life without blood, sin, and death. Loving Rose is far scarier than any of those things. Or letting her love me. Yet it’s also unstoppable.

Together, we’re a force. An inexorable force. A dangerous force. But there are only two potential sufferers.

Me.

And her.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, looking up at me through heavy lids. Her question brings me back into the room. It also makes me think. Because how could there be anything wrong? My lightness is being weighed down with a heaviness I hate.

Instead of answering, I push my sweats down until my dick falls free, kick them to the side, and rip my T-shirt over my head. Taking Rose behind her thighs, I drag her down the bed. “Nothing is wrong.” I lift her foot and kiss her ankle softly. She tenses, her chest starting to swell and subside with her deep breaths. Dropping to my knees, I pull her down farther until her arse is on the edge, her feet resting on my shoulders, my hands wrapped around her ankles. “You’re here. I’m here. Nothing’s wrong.” My lips kiss their way up the inside of her leg, her body solidifying, and when I reach her inner thigh, she throws her head back on a whimper. “Good?” I nibble at her flesh, brushing my nose from side to side, relishing the smell of her skin. Of her sweet essence just inches away.