Till Forever

by Elena Matthews

  “You look beautiful.” His voice sounds rough.

  I suddenly struggle to take a steady breath. He edges closer until the heat of his front is inches away from my back, and his fingers trace the bottom of my dress.

  I tremble.

  Even though he’s not touching me, goose bumps spread across my skin, as if he were caressing every inch of my body. Unable to resist, I arch my back, pushing my ass against him, and he heavily sighs.

  “Jesus, now that you’ve put that dress on, all I want to do is take it off,” he speaks in a low, guttural growl, his fingers continuing to trace the hem of my dress.

  His growl alone is enough to heat me to my core. My insides pulsate at his proximity. He doesn’t have an inch of skin on mine, but he might as well be touching me right now as electrifying tingles scatter all along my body.

  “Being in a room that has a bed is way too tempting. If we don’t leave this room in the next five seconds, we won’t be leaving at all.”

  I heavily gulp at his erotic threat, and I almost want to take him up on it. The thought of him throwing me on the bed and stripping me bare is all I can think about, all I crave, but the sensible side knows sex was never the issue in our marriage. We can’t get swept up in it, no matter how much I want to.

  On a deep breath, I sidestep him and grab a jacket from my closet. I stride to the door as I slip it on. “Let’s go then,” I throw out as I exit my room.

  I can’t keep the smile off my face when I hear him say from behind me, “Goddamn it, woman.”

  I blink in surprise as we pull up outside the Italian restaurant that started it all off for us. Also, it’s the same restaurant as that dreadful date.

  I turn to Tyler with confusion. “You’re bringing me here for our second first date? I would think this would be the last place you’d want to take me, given the bad experience of last time.” I wince, remembering the train wreck of last Friday.

  Shit, was that only last week?

  He turns off the ignition and turns to me, smiling warmly. “Last week was…” He sighs, pausing. “It wasn’t great, but regardless of that evening, this place still holds a lot of good memories for us, including our first date, and since I’m trying to woo the shit out of you”—he grins—“I’m doing everything to remind you of our good times together. I want you to feel how we felt that night.”

  I unbuckle my seat belt and place my hand over his on the steering wheel. “I’ve never forgotten a moment with you, especially not our first date. I had the most amazing night with you that night, and knowing you’re bringing me to the same restaurant for our second first date, I love you all the more.”

  He glances at my hand on his, his smile growing wider. He returns his gaze to me. “You know, it’s usually dating suicide to say the L-word on the first date.”

  I laugh. “Well, this is a second first date, so different rules apply.”

  “So, if different rules apply, would it be okay if I leaned over and kissed you now? Since kissing usually happens at the end of the date.”

  My heart picks up speed at the thought of kissing him. “I wouldn’t object.”

  His fingers drift from mine, and he shifts closer to me. As if on instinct, I meet him for every inch until we’re centimeters away from each other.

  “Is the kissing restricted to this area?” he whispers in a low voice, his thumb coming to a rest on my lips. “Or can it be permitted in other areas, like here?” he continues, now drifting to my neck, fingers pressing against my pulse that’s beating rapidly under my skin. “Or here?” His hand caresses down my chest until his thumb brushes over my left nipple.

  My thighs tremble, as if anticipating where his next stop might be, but my hand reaches out to his before he can go any further, and I lead it back to my lips where his thumb lingers against the spot.

  “I think lips are the safe bet for now because, if you kiss me anywhere else, I don’t think we’ll even make it inside.”

  He grunts, sliding his thumb across my bottom lip. He leans closer, and as he removes his thumb, his lips are quick to trade places. The kiss is slow and perfect, but it isn’t long until he’s pulling away.

  “On second thought, kissing right now isn’t a good idea.”

  He glances down at his protruding bulge, and I pull back with a giggle.

  “Well, you never did have much restraint.”

  He grins. “One, I’m a guy. Two, well, look at you.” He points at me, and I blush. “Let’s go inside because, as much as I’m horny, I’m hungry, too, and there’s a calzone with my name on it.”

  He exits the car, and I’ve just got one leg out of the door when he appears at my side, frowning.

  “Mia, what are you doing?”

  “Um, getting out of the car,” I answer.

  “Get back inside, and shut the door. I want to open the door for you.”

  I burst out laughing. Not that it isn’t sweet, it is, but he’s just not the open-the-car-door-for-his-girl kind of guy, never has been.

  “Tyler, I don’t need you to open my car door for me. It’s a moot point now anyway, as I’m almost out of the car,” I say with one leg and half of my butt already poised at the ready to step out.

  He leans his arm against the door and looks down at me, his eyes pleading. “Well, maybe I want to be the guy who opens the door for you.” His words hold a deeper meaning, one that really says, I’m fighting for you. I love you. Please let me prove my worth to you.

  My heart squeezes, and I can’t help but find this side of him endearing. Everything he does, he does it with reason, with purpose, with fight.

  “Okay,” I say, positioning myself back inside the car. I close the passenger door with a smile.

  A second later, he opens the door, and I step out.

  “My lady,” Tyler greets with a cheesy grin.

  I let out a girlie laugh, a resonance that sounds foreign to my own ears but one I’ve also missed. “Thank you.”

  He shuts the door behind me, and with his hand placed against my lower back, he leads me toward the restaurant.

  “I have a reservation for Bailey,” Tyler tells the maître d’ at the reservation desk.

  I watch as he smoothly slips a twenty into the Italian man’s hand. I always find it sexy as hell when he does that, his confidence showing no bounds.

  “Ah, yes, Mr. Bailey. Welcome,” the maître d’ says in a thick Italian accent. He grabs two menus and steps out from behind the desk. “Follow me,” he instructs.

  He takes us through to the main restaurant area, seating us next to the window, where it overlooks a beautiful garden strewed with fairy lights against the trees.

  The maître d’ sets down the menus in front of us and tells us our main waiter will be with us shortly before he sashays off.

  Silence sets over us, and I glance over at Tyler and smile shyly, as if this really were our first date. He’s my husband, so I shouldn’t feel nervous, but I do. I’ve shared parts of myself with him I’ve never shared with anyone else. He’s witnessed me violently throwing up after a hard night of drinking. He’s even bought me tampons on the days I couldn’t bear to leave the couch even though he always bought me the wrong flow size.

  He soon eases my nerves by simply speaking up, “It doesn’t seem like five minutes have passed since I brought you here on our first date. Is it weird that I remember exactly what you were wearing and what you had for dinner?”

  I shake my head, grinning. “It’s odd, but it’s not weird.”

  His brows furrow with confusion. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

  “No. I mean, odd in a sweet way. Weird would be if you remembered when my menstrual cycle was. Remembering the finer details of the outfit I wore on our first date is odd because, well, it’s not usually a guy thing to do.”

  “I don’t know if that’s an insult or not.”

  “It’s not.” I grin. “So, what was I wearing?” I ask, testing him on his knowledge.

  He sets his elbows on
the table and leans forward, a sentimental smile on his face. “You were wearing a red V-neck backless dress that flowed all the way down to your feet. I remember the phenomenal view I had of your tits, but then you turned around, and I thought I was going to come on the spot at the sight of your bare back. So sexy,” he husks out in a dreamlike voice.

  I feel the heat begin to rise through my body, my cheeks flushing at his compliment. I heavily gulp, wishing the waiter would hurry up so that I could order a drink.

  “And what did I have for dinner?”

  “Well, that’s easy. Bucatini arrabiata because that’s the only thing you order from here.” He grins proudly, as if he’s outsmarted me.

  I blink with confusion. “That can’t be right. I’ve ordered other dishes.” I’m not that predictable, am I? “What about fettuccine Alfredo? That’s my all-time favorite dish. Surely, I’ve ordered that before.”

  He knowingly shakes his head. “Nope, you only like my Alfredo. You occasionally have a side salad and maybe some bread now and again, but every single time we’ve been here, you’ve ordered bucatini arrabiata.”

  My mouth gapes wide open when I realize he’s right.

  Well, shit.

  “Well, I’m ordering something completely different tonight.”

  “Like what?” Tyler asks with a bemused smile.

  “Like…” I drawl out as I open up the menu and say the first thing I see, “Linguine di mare.”

  “That has all kinds of fish in it.”

  Shit.

  I glance down at the menu in search of the next thing I see. “Fine, I’ll have the Denver steak then.”

  He roars out with laughter. “Since when do you eat steak?”

  “Since always. I love steak.” I don’t. I hate steak, but I’m trying to make a point that I’m not as predictable as I seem. A point I’m quickly failing to make.

  “Yeah, and I love chick flicks with Zac Efron in them,” he deadpans.

  A waiter finally comes to our table and asks for our drink order. After we order a beer and a still water, the waiter steps away.

  “You don’t have to order something different just to prove a point. I find it cute that you order the same thing every time,” Tyler tells me.

  “And you don’t think it’s boring?” I ask seriously.

  “No, you just know exactly what you like. It’s endearing.”

  I smile, looking back down at the menu, my eyes falling on the house classics. “Still, a change might do me some good. So, I will have mama’s lasagna.” I pick at random and shut the menu.

  He tilts his head back and stares at me through his thick lashes, a distrustful grin on his face. “I bet you twenty dollars you’ll change your mind by the time the waiter comes back to take our food order.”

  My smile widens as I hold my hand out to accept his wager, and we shake on it.

  “You’re on.”

  Soon enough, the waiter returns, sets our drinks down, and asks if we’re ready to order. Tyler orders the calzone, and as the waiter turns to me, Tyler closely looks at me, a smirk playing at his lips.

  “And what can I get for you, miss?”

  Unable to keep the smile off my face, I look Tyler dead in the eye, my expression one that says, Cough up the money.

  “I will have the mama’s lasagna, please.”

  Once the waiter walks away, Tyler gives me a round of applause, clearly impressed, laughing under his breath. “Well played, Mia Bailey. Well played.”

  I give out a satisfied smile as I reach for my glass of water. “What can I say? I’m awesome.”

  “That you are,” he agrees before taking a pull of his beer.

  I take a sip of my drink before setting it down. I notice Tyler’s eyes follow it, and then a look of worry crosses his features.

  “What is it?” I ask, biting my lip with concern.

  He holds out his beer. “I’m the worst date ever. Ordering beer when you’re on your health kick. If it bothers you, I’ll get the waiter to take it away, and I’ll order a soda.”

  I let out a breathless laugh, shaking my head. “I’m not an alcoholic, Tyler. So, stop worrying, and enjoy your beer.”

  He breathes a sigh of relief. “It would have been a shame to send it back. It’s a pretty awesome beer.”

  I give a theatrical roll of my eyes. “All right, you don’t have to show off that you have a beer, and I don’t.”

  He barks out a laugh. “Okay, I’m sorry. It’s odd to see you without a drink though. The last time I saw you without a drink was when you were pregnant.”

  Immediately, he freezes, regret paling his complexion. I can’t deny it doesn’t hurt, the mere mention of the pregnancy before I lost the baby, but instead of freaking out, I’m able to rationalize and keep calm.

  “Mia, shit. I’m sorry. It just slipped out.”

  I wince, hating that he sounds almost terrified, as if he’s anticipating me flipping out, screaming, hitting him, anything. I feel sad that, a couple of months ago, that’s exactly what I would have done. I was completely out of control.

  I reach out for his hand and take it in mine, our fingers slipping between each other’s. “It’s okay,” I say softly, slowly. “It’s a part of us, of our past. I don’t expect you to ignore it, and I’m sorry if I made you think you had to tread on eggshells. You don’t. I mean, I’m still struggling with the loss. I don’t think it’s anything I will truly recover from, but the pregnancy is something I will never feel sad about. Those first five months were one of the happiest times of our lives.” My throat grows thick with emotion, but I don’t try to hide it. Instead, I show it for all it’s worth. “We might not have met her when she was alive, but while she was growing inside me, I felt a connection with her that I will never forget.”

  His intense green eyes sparkle with the onset of unshed tears, and the look of pure love radiates from his gaze alone. It’s an inner-soul, earth-shattering, electrifying kind of gaze that I feel to my very bones. I experienced it the day I met him, the day he married me, and every other day in between.

  “I didn’t think it was possible, but, damn, I’ve fallen in love with you all over again. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

  His words are a direct line to my whole nervous system. My breath hitches, my lungs constrict, and a sudden rush of heat sets my heart on fire. I try to speak, but it seems my vocal cords are working alongside my emotions as I fight not to cry.

  “I know we’re taking things slow, and we have so much we need to talk about, to deal with, but, God, I wish this table weren’t between us right now. In fact, I wish we were back at your place,” he complains, his voice suddenly husky, still entrancing me with his stare.

  He’s all I can see, all I can focus on, and the rest of the world seems to fade into the distance.

  “Why?” My one-worded question is barely audible, my throat rough.

  He leans even closer, and his proximity causes the air around us to thicken. It’s not just my emotions that are going haywire now; my libido is joining in, too.

  He lowers his voice, and I inch toward him. “Because I want to strip that hot-as-fuck dress from your body and lavish you with my lips, my tongue. Then, I want to bury myself inside that pretty little pussy of yours where I’d plan on being for the rest of the night.”

  I press my lips together to stop the moan from slipping from my mouth and squeeze my thighs together.

  Jesus Christ, the temperature has suddenly risen by about thirty degrees.

  “Oh,” is the only breathless response I can give.

  Shit, I wish I hadn’t ignored my sexual urges earlier this evening, as everything he described is everything I want. Desperately so.

  He sits back and throws back his beer while I sit here, trying to get my lungs to cooperate with my racing heart.

  Fuck.

  “You know, if you keep talking like that, our second first date will end the same as our first date,” I manage to speak out, my breath still a little chop
py.

  Tyler’s eyes grow wide with elation, and he pins me with another alluring gaze that tells me tonight isn’t ending until both of us are in bed. Together.

  A little over an hour later, Tyler is already pulling up outside my apartment. We decided to skip dessert and coffee, as it seemed like indulging in dessert was the last thing on our minds. After that moment in the restaurant earlier, something in the air shifted, and although the food was great, it was impossible to enjoy, as all I could focus on was Tyler and wishing I were devouring him instead of mama’s lasagna. I’d spent months with my sexual switch turned off, unable to feel, but now, I am hornier than I’ve ever been.

  Learning my lesson from earlier, I stay seated until Tyler rounds the car and opens the passenger door.

  “You’re a quick learner,” he quips with a grin as I step out of the car, clutching hold of a takeout box filled with two slices of New York–style cheesecake. Just because we skipped dessert doesn’t mean we don’t want it later.

  “I could get used to this.” I match his smile as he shuts the door.

  “Good,” he says, turning to me. He begins to guide me up the path. “Because you’d better get used to it.”

  We walk up the steps to my second-floor apartment before I let us both inside. I head into the kitchen and set the cheesecake in the fridge. I turn to Tyler just as he enters the room. I shrug my jacket off and place it over the back of a kitchen chair.

  “Do you want a drink?”

  My question goes unanswered as he simply stares at me. It’s a gaze that holds a lustful command, and my breath hitches at the impact his green eyes have on me. He’s looking at me as if he wants to cherish me yet rip my clothes off at the same time. The heat I’ve felt scorching through my body since the restaurant rises even more until I feel like I might combust at any given second. He stalks toward me, finally answering my question.

  “I don’t want a drink, but I know what I do want.”

  “And what’s that?” My inner thighs begin to shake as a mixture of anticipation and sexual awareness becomes a living, breathing thing. The air grows heavy between us, and my lungs burn as I struggle to breathe, the lack of oxygen enough to make me light-headed.