It's hard to admit but I'm struggling. Even my tired eyes in the reflection, depicting the excessive lack of sleep, don't convey the exhaustion I feel. The swell of emotions that rock through me are unforgiving, like the crash of waves upon a rocky shore. The granite counter in the bathroom offers me support as I grip it with every ounce of strength I have left after today.
I don't want to admit it, but I am struggling.
Every thought I've had of these moments months ago have dwarfed into the background of a fantasy. I didn't know it would be like this.
I didn't know... no one told me... that I would be scared.
With the creak of the bedroom door behind me, my heart wretches and my grip turns white knuckled. All of the air in my lungs leaves me as I drop my gaze to the tiled floor of the master bathroom suite.
Thump, thump. I should be waiting for him. I used to so easily. I'd wait on my knees, kneeling and ready to please him. My love. My husband.
Guilt walks with me, shame leading me forward like a leash buckled tight around my throat. I can't swallow as my feet pad from the tiled floor, to the plush carpet in the bedroom. The site of his polished black oxfords sends a wave of heat through me, but it's dulled, so much so than it has ever been with Carter Cross.
My gaze travels up the length of his muscular body, taking in the detail of the expensive tailored seams of his crisp suit. The roughness of his hands provides memories that fuel the flames of desire, licking and cracking in the pit of my belly. His broad shoulders, rippling with masculinity ignite the vision of his hard body over mine, as he takes what he demands, and then more, over and over.
His throat tightens and I watch the cords move as he swallows. His tie hits the floor with a dull thud as I meet his heated stare. He's silent and so am I. The sharp lines of his jaw and the roughness of his short stubble are at odds with the soft storm that echoes in his eyes. Carter Cross, with all his hard features, has a soft look in his eyes when he gazes at me. The intensity of it burrows through me, making its way through my fear, through the fatigue, and claiming my submission.
My knees hit the floor with a harshness I've come to love and I close my eyes as my cheek rubs against the expensive fabric of his suit. I may only be kneeling beside him, but it feels like he engulfs me. I wait, with baited breath, and he gives me what I need, his large hand spearing through my hair until his thumb softly caresses my cheek.
A sense of satisfaction used to be easy to claim in these moments. Although the love is still there, as he hushes me, as he comforts me, it's not enough to ease the fear. Not anymore.
