Beth Kery - Because We Belong

“I think you look like a thousand suns in my eyes. I’ve never seen you so radiant.”

Her smiled faded. No matter how many times she experienced his sudden, sober intensity, it never ceased to leave her breathless.

“When I was looking at your painting,” he said thoughtfully, “I realized how nice it would have been to have been married here, in the springtime. Do you think I was selfish, insisting we marry while I was still in the hospital? It wasn’t the most romantic of settings. I only know that suddenly, I couldn’t wait.”

“I know,” she, touching his chest, holding his solemn gaze. “That’s what made it so special . . . your having the faith to take a leap into the future. I wouldn’t have had it any other way. But if it would make you happy, we can renew our vows here anytime. Every spring, if you like,” she said, smiling.

He stood, her hand still in his. “Come with me,” he said.

They walked together out through the screen doors onto the small stone terrace. It was a resplendent June night. The distant forest seemed to clamor with fertile life—tree frogs croaked, grasshoppers chirped, and a breeze rustled the tops of lush trees, making a soft sound like a sigh. She breathed the scent of freshly mown, dew-wet grass and honeysuckle as she followed Ian off the terrace into the yard. They walked without speaking. Ian paused after a moment. There was enough moon and starlight for her to make out a sitting area, one she hadn’t discovered as of yet, hidden behind a thicket of rosebushes. When Ian sat in one of the wooden recliners, she made for the one next to it, but he pulled her toward him.

“Come here,” he said. “You can’t think I’d let you sit over there when I haven’t seen you in days.”

“Of course not,” she said drolly, laughing. She started to sit in his lap, her back to his front, but he stopped her.

“No, face me,” he murmured. “And lift your dress.”

Her laughter faded and her sex clenched at his taut demand. She’d heard the need ringing in his voice and it ignited her own. She lifted the hem of her sundress to her waist, saying nothing when he put one hand on her hip and the other on her bare belly. They both watched him touch her in the moonlight, his masculine hands looking dark next to her pale skin. He moved, caressing and stroking, his hands seeming to spin a sensual spell over her. She felt her sex dampen and the familiar, sweet ache swell inside her.

“I still can’t believe it,” he murmured, caressing her belly.

“I expect it’ll take both of us some time to get accustomed to the idea that a baby is growing in there.”

“I don’t mean the baby. I mean . . . I do. But I didn’t mean just that. I meant I still can’t believe you’re mine. Most of the day I do, but at moments like this it seems so . . . incredible.” She saw the gleam in his eyes when he looked up at her. She palmed his jaw tenderly. Their gazes held as he lowered her panties. His fingers moved deftly in her outer sex. He grunted softly when he found her damp. “Thank you for not giving up on me. Not in the beginning, when I didn’t understand what was happening between us because I had no yardstick to compare it to. Not when I left you. Not even when I came back, and still felt I couldn’t offer you what you deserve.”

She sighed as he stimulated her clit and pushed a finger into her slit. It felt sublime. “You didn’t give up on me, either. I thought you had, but you hadn’t. You knew better than me what was required to make you feel whole.”

“What I need is you,” he said, a steely thread of urgency entering his tone. He removed his hand and she saw the glimmer of his belt buckle as he unfastened his pants. In a matter of seconds, she was sitting in his lap facing him, his cock embedded in her flesh. For several moments, they just sat motionless in the moonlight, touching each other’s face and neck and arms, fused.

“It seems impossible,” Ian said in a strained voice, “that I lived all those months without you. Even when I’m away from you for days, I start to feel like I can’t breathe. I honestly don’t know how I did it before.”

“Some part of you knew it was required for you to heal,” she said. “You did it because it was necessary, and you couldn’t think much beyond that.” His hands moved on her bottom, palming her buttocks. She quickened, tightening her vaginal muscles around him.

“It was like living in hell.”

She blinked at his stark, raw confession. He’d never described it so blatantly before. He groaned in agonized pleasure and moved her on his cock. A muscle twitched in his tense cheek. “Tell me I never have to go back, and I’ll believe you,” he said between a tight jaw.

“Never,” she whispered fiercely. “You walked through that hell for us, but now it’s over. We’re together. For always.” She lifted herself and then sunk him deep, squeezing him tight. “Believe it, Ian. We’re exactly where we belong.”

Lin Soong hurried down the sidewalk, her face coated in a thin layer of perspiration overlaid with an autumn mist. Damn this fog. There hadn’t been an available taxi for blocks, and she’d finally ended up just walking the three quarters of a mile from Noble Towers to the restaurant. Her feet were killing her after a long day’s work and rushing in high heels. To make matters worse, her hair would be a disaster from the humidity. She imagined herself at ten or eleven years old and her grandmother standing over her wielding a comb and a hair straightener like a warrior’s weapons.

“You got this hair from your mother,” Grandmamma would say, her mouth grim as she dove into her straightening task. Lin had been left in little doubt as to what her grandmother thought of the potential threat of her mother’s rebellious streak surfacing in Lin herself. According to Grandmamma, hair was like everything else in a person’s character: something to be conquered and refined by smoothing and polish.

Lin plunged through the revolving doors of the restaurant and paused in the empty foyer, straining to calm her breathing and her throbbing heart. She despised feeling flustered, and this situation called for even more than her usual aplomb.

By the time she entered the crowded, elegant restaurant, she’d repinned her waving, curling hair and used a tissue to dry her damp face. She immediately spotted him sitting at the bar. He was impossible to miss. For a stretched few seconds, she just stared. A strange mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbled in her belly.

Why hadn’t Ian mentioned that his half brother looked so much like him?

She soaked in the image of him. He was very good looking, even if that frown was a little off-putting. He wore a dark blue shirt; the rich brown of the rugged suede jacket brought out the russet highlights in his hair. Kam Reardon didn’t know it—and she’d never tell him—but she herself had picked out the clothing he wore. It’d been part of the mission Ian had assigned her to make his half brother presentable for a potentially lucrative business deal here in Chicago. Ian had suggested a new wardrobe for his trip to the States. Kam had grudgingly agreed after some skillful nudging on Ian’s part, but insisted upon paying. It’d been Lin who had actually chosen the items, however, and sent the articles to Aurore Manor in France. It warmed her to see him wearing the garments, firsthand evidence that he’d considered the clothing suitable to his taste.