Chapter 113

Christian and I fuck…for hours.

Or, well, is that even the right term? Because some of it is fucking, surely – the times when he pounds himself so hard into me that the bed shakes, that I grip the blankets and raise my hips to him, wanting to take him deeper and deeper until I can’t take anymore.

But other parts – god, other parts are so sweet, and so tender. The way Christian cups my cheek as he presses into me – how he tucks his head down against my shoulder and presses a kiss there, his arms wrapped around me like I’m the most beautiful and precious thing he’s ever found. The way he kisses me so softly that I feel that I could happily stay in his arms forever because there is so much more life here in this bed than I’ve ever experienced, ever, anywhere.

We fall asleep eventually, of course, completely exhausted. But even in my sleep I find myself wound around him, not wanting to let him go, wanting to feel the weight of him pressing down into me all night long.

So, when my eyes flicker open the next morning, I’m not at all surprised to find myself curled against him, my back to his stomach, his arm wrapped possessively around me, my head tucked under his chin. And I grin, awash with happiness and pleasure, cuddling even closer to him – to his warmth, his steady bulk behind me, his smooth, soft, tanned skin.

Even though he’s asleep – and I can tell he is because his breathing is still deep and even – Christian tightens his arm around me, holding me close.

I press my lips together, hard, to keep from squealing. Because I’m not sure I’ve ever been so happy in my life. Honestly, if I didn’t wake up here in his arms, I would have thought that maybe I imagined it – it was just…way too perfect, too wonderful to not be a dream.

But here he is, curled around me. And here I am, beloved and secure.

I take a deep, contented breath and lazily cast my eyes around the room. My eyebrows shoot up, though, at what they see.

Because…well, because we kind of wrecked the place. I mean, not in any bad way – nothing’s broken – but it is…evident what happened here last night. There are blankets and sheets and clothes strewn everywhere. And feathers, too – at some point we must have burst a pillow open, because they’re strewn all over the room. I laugh a little at this, unable to help it.

Poor pillow.

Christian starts a little at the sound of my laughter, going still behind me, the rhythm of his breathing interrupted. I grimace and go desperately still, not wanting to disturb him, wanting him to sleep as long as he needs…

But then he growls a little, a happy, playful noise, and grabs me tight against him, ducking his head low against my neck and nipping my shoulder with his teeth. And I laugh harder now, because there’s no more denying that he’s up.

“Nooo, Christian,” I murmur, snuggling tighter against him. “Go back to sleep, I didn’t mean to wake you –“

“Yeah right,” he mutters, and I can almost hear him roll his eyes. “Why the fuck would I sleep? I have Iris Smith naked in my bed – god, I’m ashamed of myself for even closing my eyes –“

I laugh, turning in his arms and pressing my stomach tight against him, beaming up into his face. I reach up, brushing his hair back so that it doesn’t flop across his forehead anymore. “We have to sleep sometime, Chris –“

“Lies,” he snarls, and I burst out laughing as he turns onto his back, taking me with him so that I’m laying across his stomach and chest. “No sleep, ever, just sex –“

“Unrealistic,” I mutter, smacking him half-heartedly on the chest. “I, after all, need sleep –“

“That doesn’t have to stop me –“

“Ew!” I gasp, sitting up straight and staring at him.

Christian bursts out laughing now too, putting one hand flat on either of my thighs as I straddle his stomach, frowning down at him.

“You’d better not secretly be gross,” I growl, pointing a finger into his face.

He smirks, smacking my hand away. “I’ll only be as gross as you want me to be, babe.”

“Mmkay,” I murmur, lowering myself again so that my cheek is pressed to his chest, my stomach flat against his. My eyes flutter closed and I smile, content, as I listen quietly to his heartbeat. He raises one hand, slowly letting his fingers trace lines up and down my back, his breathing peaceful and contented.

“You’re so important to me, Iris.”

I blink a little out of a half-sleepy daze, kind of surprised by the seriousness of Christian’s tone.

“You’re important to me too, Christian,” I say quietly, resting my chin on his chest and peering at him. “You always have been. And I don’t think…I’ve ever given you a reason to doubt that.”

“No,” he murmurs, shaking his head and letting his hand drift over my hair, petting me a little. “You’re too good that way. I’m so sorry about…about all of it. About…Violetta.” He shakes his head. “I wanted you…from the moment I saw you in the club. Before I even knew it was you, I wanted you. But then, when I saw it was you…” he shakes his head and gives a deep inhale of breath.

Something significant turns in me, and I don’t precisely know what it is. But I breathe in with him, listening with my whole heart.

“It took everything I had not to grab you off of that stage and kill every single man in there for daring to look at you.”

“So why didn’t you?” I whisper.

Slowly, he shakes his head. And I get it – because I know this world by now, I know the rules in it.

Christian – bring home a stripper? One he cared about that much? Just…a recipe for disaster.

“We ended up here anyway,” I say quietly, giving him a little smirk. “Maybe would have just been easier to grab me.”

He laughs a little, shaking his head, looking up at the ceiling as he continues to stroke my hair. “Maybe. But we’re here now, and it’s the best I’ve ever felt. I tried so hard for so long to do what…what the criminal world said was right, what my family would want me to do. And it was a mistake.”

“It’s better now,” I whisper, really meaning it. Christian nods, and smiles at me. I bite my lip a little, hiding a grin.

“What?” he asks, his smile growing now, knowing me enough to know that I’m holding something back.

“No,” I say, the world muffled and embarrassed as I tuck my head down against his chest, saying it against his skin.

“Tell me!” he laughs, dipping his hand below my chin to turn my face back up to him. I just smile at him, hesitating. “Please, Daisy. Tell me.”

“Okay,” I say on a sigh, and then I hesitate again, but he just waits. “Um…did you…did you like, have a crush on me? When we were kids?”

He stares at me for a long moment and then bursts out laughing, lifting his hands to cover his face.

“What!” I shout, smacking his chest again, bursting into a grin even as my heart tightens with anxiety. Because, well, what does that mean!? Is he covering his face because the answer’s yes and he’s embarrassed!? Or – or because he doesn’t want me to see him laughing at the question!

Oh my god. He doesn’t want me to see him laughing at the question.

“Okay, let’s pretend I never asked!” I say hastily, starting to scoot away, my cheeks blushing pink.