Chapter 224 Chapter 224
Chapter 224 Chapter 224
Kyra POV
“Uncle Tor?” She’s standing next to the couch, gently pulling on the sleeve of my shirt.
“Yes, love?”
“Can you read to me?”
I lower the volume on the movie I’m watching and turn to face her. She’s wearing her pajamas and holding onto an old book I used to read to her when she was little.
“You know how to read, Kyra. You don’t need me to read for you anymore.”
“I know, but I like to hear your voice when I fall asleep.”
That puts an instant smile on my face, and now I want nothing more than to read to her. Smiling, I take the old worn book from her hands, which I have memorized from reading it to her so many times.
“Well, I can’t argue with that, now can I?” I reply, winking at her.
She shakes her head back and forth and smiles.
“Nope.”
Kyra
Tor’s been going a bit stir crazy in the house, so today I drove him to the beach so we could walk around and get some fresh air and sun. We hold hands and walk along the edge of the water with our shoes off and watch the seagulls.
“I love having you at my house every day,” he says, squeezing my hand.
“Now I don’t want it to stop.”
My heart soars. I can’t even put into words how much I’ve enjoyed being with him every day.
“I don’t want it to stop either. I never want to leave.”
“Someday, you won’t have to. That’s the goal, right? To live together?” He glances down at me.
“That’s definitely my goal. Can I start working at the shop when you go back?”
“Of course. Are you sure that’s what you want to do?”
“I’m positive.”
“Then you can. Gretchen can spend a few days with you before she moves to train you on some things.”
“That would be great.”
Something catches my eye along the water, and I let go of his hand to step forward and grab it. It’s an old glass bottle.
“Damn, I thought it was a message in a bottle,” I say, frowning.
“Nope. Just some asshole’s garbage.”
There are no trash barrels around, so I have to put the bottle back down in the sand.
“I’m bummed. I’ve always wanted to find a message in a bottle.”
“Isn’t it only worth it if it’s written for you?” he asks, reaching for my hand again.
“That’s so true. Even if I found one, I’m not sure I could open it and read it. It’s so invasive. But how fascinating would it be to just see one? I’m curious how the paper and ink would look. I wonder how the ink and paper would hold up after years of floating in the ocean, tossed around by storms, and then warmed by the sun over and over again.”
“Only you would think of that, Angel. But… Here's some food for thought—how will you know if it’s for you or not unless you open it?” he teases, bumping my shoulder.
I gape at him in mock irritation.
“Now that’s just mean and torturous.”
He gestures up toward an ice cream stand in the distance.
“Let me buy you some ice cream, and then I want to take you home and torture you in ways that are much more fun.”
My pulse speeds up as I go up on my toes to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear.
“Ice cream sounds yummy, but I really want to lick you.”
He groans and puts his arms around my waist, pulling me into him.
“You naughty thing. I may not make the drive home if you keep talking like that.”
As soon as we get inside his house, he backs me up against the wall. His lips cover mine hungrily, and his hands move slowly up my arms to rest on either side of my neck, holding my face to his as his tongue twists with mine.
“My body’s not that sore anymore, baby,” he says, voice raspy from the kiss.
“And it wants you in a bad fucking way.”
“I’m all yours,” I whisper against his mouth, sliding my hand down his chiseled body to grope him through his jeans, squeezing gently. Any shyness I had about touching him has slowly faded over the past few weeks after taking care of him while he was recovering. Bathing and showering with him was the perfect opportunity for us to reach an even deeper level of intimacy, and I took advantage of it to explore every inch of his body.
He sucks in a breath, watching me with dark, lust-filled eyes as I slowly slide down the wall until I’m kneeling in front of him. I hold his gaze as I unzip his jeans and pull them down along with his boxers.
He lets out a low sound as I take him in my mouth, moving slowly, my focus locked on him. One of his hands braces above me on the wall while the other cups the back of my neck, thumb brushing my cheek.
“I love when you do that,” he breathes, his voice rough.
The sound sends a shiver through me as he moves against me, his control slipping. I keep my pace steady, feeling the tension build in him until it finally breaks. His grip tightens in my hair as he leans his head back with a deep groan.
When it’s over, I swallow and look up at him. He looks completely undone, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. His hand softens against my cheek.
“You just wrecked me,” he finally says.
“I hope that’s good?”
I stand slowly and lean back against the wall where he had me. He leans down and kisses me again, slower this time, deeper. His hands settle on my hips as he presses closer.
“It’s beyond good,” he murmurs against my lips, gently biting my bottom lip.
“Now I need more.”
We move to the bedroom where he makes love to me until I’m completely exhausted. Afterward, we fall into a nap. When I wake, he’s sitting up in bed shirtless, playing his acoustic guitar while I rest my head on his thigh, listening in a soft, hazy calm.
He’s been playing a lot since the accident, and I love that it seems to be therapeutic for him now rather than a bitter pill he was forced to swallow years ago.
He plays the ballad he played a few weeks ago at the bonfire, and while he doesn’t sing, I know the lyrics by heart.