Crestfallen [COMPLETED]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ - 46

Joanna

Alex's arm wraps around me, holding me close against him.
His face is buried in my hair. His limbs have been interlaced in mine for the last eighteen hours or so. It doesn't feels like that part of last night happened when he asked me all those questions. His touches are gentle and his eyes kind. My heart feels so much at ease and I never want to think about that uncomfortable conversation again.

I try to move, to rise from the bed, but his grip tightens around me, his hands gently urging me to stay.

He stirs awake beside me, and I feel the soft brush of  hair from my neck as he shifts closer. His fingers tuck a loose strand behind my ear, and then his lips press against the nape of my neck, leaving a warm, lingering kiss.

A shiver runs down my spine as his mouth moves across my skin, every touch sending a jolt of sensation through me.

I bury my face in the pillow, feeling the wetness of his tongue, the pressure of his teeth as he leaves a trail of bite marks.

The soreness and pleasure mingle, making my body come alive.

I press my face into the pillow harder, my breath hitching as his fingers graze my hips, his kisses slow and deliberate there.

Every nerve in my body is on edge, as his touch ignites fire within me.

I shift in bed, facing him. His actions halt, and his gaze meets mine as he adjusts to our new position.

He pulls me closer, possessively, his fingers teasing my lower lip. He tugs it gently, his mouth descending to press a kiss to the center of my bottom lip.

His lips move along my jawline, planting soft kisses, each one sending a jolt of desire coursing through me. He presses a lingering kiss to the hollow of my neck, his breath warm against my skin.

Yet, he's teasing me.
His lips trail over my skin, but they never fully meet mine.

I bring his face closer to mine, attempting to crush our lips together. But he shakes his head, withdrawing from my grasp.

"Playing hard to get, huh?" I ask with playful exasperation.

"Maybe," he responds, a teasing glint in his eyes, as he steals a kiss on my shoulder, torturing me further.

"You know what, husband," I say, lowering my voice huskily, locking my gaze with his heated one.

I grasp the nape of his neck firmly, pinning him slightly as my other hand rests on his chest.

"I have never turned down a challenge," I declare.

I bring his mouth down to meet mine in a searing kiss.
A groan escapes him, as our mouths devour each other.

..................

I hear footsteps approaching,and I turn my attention to the entrance of the kitchen.

Alex appears, his shirt and pants slightly crumpled, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

But when his gaze lands on me standing by the kitchen counter, his expression changes, and his eyes widen in surprise.

I point the spatula playfully in his direction, a smile tugging at my lips.

"Teach me how to cook," I declare, my voice filled with enthusiasm.

He takes the spatula from my hand, looking at me with a mixture of amusement and wariness.

"Think we can skip that part, Jo?" he asks, his smile tight lipped.

My mouth falls open slightly, his words catching me off guard.

"I can cook well, you know," I retort, a hint of defensiveness in my tone.

He chuckles softly. "Yeah, just like how the sun can rise from the west," he mutters to himself, a smirk playing on his lips.

Undeterred, I stand my ground.

"I just need good guidance," I insist.

He shakes his head, disbelief evident on his face, as he pulls out a pan and turns on the stove.

"So, what are we making?" I inquire, placing a cherry in my mouth.

"I am cooking, and you are.." he begins, looking above, as if he's mentally searching for a term.

"The esteemed audience" he finishes.

"No way," I say firmly.

"Okay, okay," he nods. He places a bowl of potatoes in front of me.

"Peel these," he instructs.

I look at the pile of potatoes, feeling a tad disappointed.
"Just this?" I ask, my disappointment evident, and I make a face.

He chuckles. "Believe me, sweetie, this is a lot," he reassures me.

Determined, I start peeling the potatoes one by one, even though my hand burns slightly from their warmth.

Alex efficiently chops other vegetables and stirs them in the pan.

I glance back at my bowl, still so many potatoes left. I am not even halfway with this.

"Poor me," I mutter, but then I take a deep breath.

"This is why people order," I sigh looking at the giant task ahead of me.

"You are free to be the esteemed. . ."

"No way!", I interrupt before he gets to finish.

"I'm going to conquer this task," I declare with newfound determination, nodding to myself.

Alex gives me a look, meanwhile as he continues working on various dishes in the kitchen, his movements smooth and confident.

After some time, he fries the flour wraps stuffed with the mashed potatoes ( which I peeled obviously) on the stove, the sizzling sound filling the air.

We arrange all the food on the table, and the spread looks absolutely delectable.

I sigh, feeling a sense of accomplishment laced with exhaustion.

"That was tiring," I admit, and Alex chuckles at me, leaning in to kiss my nose softly.

"Did I really tire you out?" he asks, his tone playful, and I roll my eyes at his mock innocence.

"Let's see if I managed to ruin your cooking too," I say.

Alex reaches for my hand, lifting it gently and pressing a kiss on each of my fingers.

"You don't ruin things, Jo. You make them beautiful. Exquisite," he whispers softly, his words filled with so much emotion that my heart skips a beat.

I bring his hand closer to my lips, pressing a tender kiss on the center of his palm. His gaze turns tender as he watches where our hands connect.

"Even your cooking?" I ask, breaking the spell of the moment, and his laughter fills the room.

"That's up for debate," he says, laughing wholeheartedly.

I join in the laughter, drawing him unexpectedly in a hug.

My arms wrap around him, and I wait for his to envelop me in an embrace.

He finally pulls me close, his arms encircling me tightly.

I close my eyes, feeling the significance of this moment, too emotional.

To hold him after so long. To be in his arms. To forget the rest of the world.

How can anything else compare?
How could I ever think  I will possibly get over this wonderful man, who's only been mine?