Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)

by J. L. Berg

  “I don’t even think he knew what he was doing over there. He looked completely confused when the little blue lacy thing landed on his head,” I replied.

  I sipped on a bottle of water as we came to a brief stop.

  The wedding was officially over, and we’d just had our grand departure. We could have stayed at the hotel where the reception was held. It was a beautiful and well-known establishment in New York, but for our wedding night, I wanted to be as far away from our friends and family as I could be—or at least as far away as the city would allow.

  Tomorrow, we would board a private plane and begin our honeymoon, but tonight, I wanted Lailah to be comfortable and relaxed. I knew the day had probably already drained her. Adding a flight to that was more than I would be willing to risk. Her health was always the most important thing to me. I would never take the chance.

  “I have a feeling that Marcus might have had something to do with that,” she interjected, lifting her feet up onto my legs.

  I slid off her shoes and began rubbing her sore feet. “Oh?”

  “Well, I saw them talking minutes before you dived under my dress,” she said, giving me a hard stare.

  “That is how you’re supposed to do it!” I feigned innocence. “I looked it up on the Internet.”

  “I’m pretty sure you gave some of the old ladies in attendance a heart attack.” She laughed.

  I shrugged. “I was just doing my job as a new husband.”

  “Anyway,” she went on, “Marcus seemed to be herding Roman in that general direction after I’d tossed the bouquet. He must have decided Roman needed a bit of fun.”

  “I’m not sure my brother really understands the word unless it involves alcohol and hookers.”

  “Jude!”

  “Come on, Lailah. Why do you keep defending him?”

  Her focus shifted to the passing building as we drove down the streets of the city. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just the fighter in me. I’m hoping that, somewhere deep inside him, there’s someone worth saving.”

  I leaned forward, my thumb grazing her cheek. “How do you always manage to see the good in people?” I asked.

  “Because everyone deserves to have someone on their side.”

  “Even Roman?”

  She smiled softly. “Especially him. He’s your brother.”

  “You’re entirely too good for this world.” I sighed as the car finally pulled up to our destination.

  I’d picked one of the oldest, most grand hotels in New York and requested only the best for our wedding night. I wanted her to feel like a princess. In my eyes though, she was a queen.

  “Hopefully, not too good,” Lailah commented offhandedly as I moved toward to the door.

  “Huh?” I turned to see a wicked smile curving around her lips.

  “I mean, it is our wedding night. I don’t think you want me to be a saint.”

  She bent forward to crawl toward the car door. It was practically necessary, but the way she did it was not. Slow and sultry, she made the most of whatever was underneath that dress, so deliciously jutting her breasts forward as she squeezed her arms together. It accentuated every deep curve, and I suddenly felt my mouth go dry.

  “I think we need to check in—quickly,” I said hoarsely.

  “Agreed.”

  All those days so long ago, when I’d walked into a hospital room and met a shy, sweet girl—who later managed to steal my heart with her courageous spirit and zeal for life—I’d never expected to see her blossom into such an amazingly voracious woman. I’d loved her then—when she’d been young and naive about the world around her—and every day since, I’d found new pieces of her to fall for all over again as she took her place in this life she so desperately deserved.

  The chauffeur held the car door open for us, and we both stepped out, mindful of the billowing fabric that encompassed Lailah. Every time I looked at her, I still found myself doing a double take. On a normal day, she was lovely, a vision even. But today? I couldn’t even find words. I couldn’t stop staring at her. I was dumbfounded by the fact that, just mere hours ago, she’d stood in front of a church filled with our family and friends and pledged her life and soul to me.

  In all my days, I’d never understand how I deserved so much.

  With her hand tightly laced in mine, I tugged her toward the entrance, not bothering to wait for our luggage. The chauffeur knew what to do. I had other things to worry about—like just how many buttons were on the back of that heavenly dress and how long it would take me to get it off her.

  Check-in was quick, and within minutes, we were gliding upward in the elevator toward the top floor.

  “Oh, no. What have you done this time?” she asked warily as the numbers zoomed by, and we climbed higher and higher.

  “Don’t fuss. It’s our wedding night. I only did what was required for such a monumental occasion.”

  I didn’t miss the slight roll of her eyes, but she didn’t say anything further. She must not have noticed the quick swipe of our key across the elevator panel before the doors had closed. Once they opened again, the gasp of surprise that escaped her lips immediately filled the tiny space.

  This hotel room wasn’t an ordinary room. It was the presidential suite, and it took up the entire top floor. When the doors parted, we were met with dozens of glowing candles lining the private entryway into our suite.

  “Jude,” she whispered, her hand reaching up to clutch the spot where her heart resided, “it’s beautiful.”

  “Not as beautiful as you.”

  “Will you let me carry you over the threshold?”

  She simply nodded, her eyes dotted with tears. Bending forward, I lifted my bride, my wife, and my reason for breathing, and I carried her over the tiny threshold of the elevator and into our future.

  “YOU’RE INSANE!” I exclaimed the minute my feet touched the plush carpet of our suite.

  If you could even call it that.

  Mini palace stuffed inside the inner workings of a hotel seemed a bit more adequate.

  “Maybe a little,” he said.

  My eyes continued their seemingly endless tour from one side of the living area to the other. Through a slightly open door, I could see another room, which appeared to be a library. It looked to be covered in wood paneling and filled with books.

  Our honeymoon suite had a library.

  A freaking library.

  “A simple bed would have sufficed,” I muttered, pulling my eyes away from the books. I tried to hide the drool as I secretly wondered what treasures might lie inside.

  He chuckled as our eyes met. “I’ll let you dive in there—later,” he said, the light green of his irises darkening. “Much later.”

  My stomach clenched in anticipation. Books, a fancy hotel room, and every other detail that was floating around in my erratic brain suddenly went dormant, except for one—Jude.

  There was only him.

  And every part of me wanted to melt into his warmth and his unwavering strength and never solidify again.

  He must have noticed the change in my tone. One second, he was playfully smiling at me from across the room, and the next, I was in his firm embrace.

  “You are my wife now, Lailah,” he said softly, the words spoken with such reverence.

  My breathing slowed as I inhaled each beautiful word.

  “The other half to my soul. The angel I managed to steal from heaven itself.” His fingers lifted to brush hair from my eyes. “I didn’t think it was possible that I could love you more, but you constantly prove me wrong, each and every day.”

  I couldn’t take any more. Could a woman’s heart actually fail from too much romance?

  Because one more word, and that new ticker of mine might combust.

  He was too good. I could spend a lifetime doing nothing but good deeds, and I’d never fully earn the love he believed I was worth. He thought I was the better half of the whole we’d created, but he was so incredibly wrong.

&nbs
p; He was my better half in every way, and the fact that he didn’t see it proved my point exactly.

  Before he had a second longer to utter anything more, I silenced him with a kiss—the kind of kiss that spoke a hundred words and a thousand emotions without a single sound. It spoke of love, commitment, and devotion without syllables or vowels. Poems and stanzas were unnecessary when two mouths moved against each other in perfect synchronization. A sonnet or even the most captivating ballad couldn’t surpass the incredible masterpiece that was made when his lips touched mine.

  Our kiss never broke as he bent down and lifted me into his arms to carry me to the bedroom. I’d like to say the rest of the grand suite was beautiful and well-appointed, but I honestly didn’t look.

  I only saw Jude and those amazing green eyes staring back at me.

  Quickly kicking off my shoes as we entered the room, it took a moment before I noticed the candles. Much like the entrance, the bedroom was awash with dozens of tiny candles covering nearly every surface. Rose petals adorned the bed, and somewhere, a speaker softly played our song.

  He gently set me down and turned me so that I could fully see the room.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said.

  “Mmm,” was the only reply I got as his fingers found the top of my zipper.

  “Oh, thank God. No buttons,” he commented as the sound of my dress being slowly unzipped filled the air.

  “I specifically requested that.”

  I smiled, remembering the way I’d blushed like a fool when I asked for that particular customization on my dress. The original design had tiny pearl buttons down the back, and after one glance, I knew it would drive my impatient new husband insane, so I’d asked if they could add a hidden zipper and faux buttons. As my face had turned beet red, the shop owner laughed, taking my hand into her own.

  “Oh, honey,” she’d said. “Believe me, you’re not the only one who’s asked for that specific alteration to a dress. Men”—she’d winked—“are not known for their patience.”

  As the dress fell to the floor with ease, I was thankful I’d taken the risk and done what I wanted, regardless of the initial embarrassment it had caused me.

  I stepped out of the gauzy skirt and turned. Jude’s face was worth all the embarrassment in the world, and I was so glad it hadn’t taken forever to figure out how to get me out of a dress.

  “So, this is what heart failure feels like?” he joked, clutching his chest. “Good to know.”

  “Is it really that good?” I asked, looking down at the lacy ensemble Grace had picked out. I didn’t know much about lingerie, having been too scared to go into a store by myself. Now that I got a good look at myself, I guessed I didn’t look that bad, maybe a little hot even.

  “Good? That’s not even close to the word I’d use to describe what you look like right now.”

  I took a step forward and saw him blow a ragged breath out through his lips.

  “Today, when I saw you walking down that aisle, you were ethereal, so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at you.”

  “And now?” I bit down on my bottom lip as he stepped forward.

  “Now, you look like the devil incarnate, and all I can think of is throwing you on that bed and burying myself in all that wickedness.”

  When his fingers touched my bare skin, it felt like a bolt of lightning was igniting every limb, each nerve, and the muscles in my body, awakening the deepest parts of me.

  With a single touch, I was his, ready to go wherever he might lead.

  It was not like the first time his hand had reached out for mine so many nights ago in that dark hospital room. Somehow, I’d known that my mysterious visitor would one day own my heart. And I, the shy and naive girl, had willingly given it.

  But I was not a girl any longer.

  “Show me,” I whispered.

  His hand tightened around my waist, proving just how much he was holding back. Our lovemaking was always passionate, full of the emotions that had set the stage for our breathtaking love story. But I knew he held back. Even after the kitchen had been dusted with flour and he’d taken me against the counter in more ways than one, I had seen it in his eyes—restraint.

  In his eyes, I’d always be that girl, lying in the hospital bed, with tubes and wires attached to me, the one with the broken heart he had to care for. As much as I loved him for it, I didn’t want to be fragile in the bedroom. I didn’t want to be weak when his body moved against mine, and I certainly didn’t want to be thought of as a paper doll on the night of my wedding.

  Sliding my hands up his chest, I slowly slid the sleeves of his jacket down his shoulders until it fell to the floor. His hooded eyes watched as my fingers worked his tie, pulling it free from his neck, until it joined the growing heap of fabric below. Silently and with slow precision, I bent my head to each cuff link and kissed the turquoise stone before removing them from his crisp white shirt. He said nothing. He just watched with intensity as I undressed him, taking one button at a time, until my hands touched the smooth skin of his chest. Much like his jacket, his shirt dropped from his shoulders and floated like a white dove until it landed softly below us.

  If we lived to be a hundred or older, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the sight of him standing before me like this. His height towered over me, and when I collapsed into his arms, I fit perfectly within their embrace, like I had been created to be tucked inside them for safekeeping. His body was fierce, toned, and physically strong—thanks to years of solitude, which had been spent doing endless hours of jogging and lifting weights. It was something he’d lightened up on since I moved in, choosing time with me rather than an abundance of time spent in the gym, but somehow, the minimal time he put in worked.

  Of course, thirty or even fifty years from now, if I were lucky enough to still be walking this earth with him by my side, I wouldn’t think any different.

  My hands met at the center of his rib cage as he lazily watched my exploration of his body. I caught the small note of surprise the second I pushed him back, pushing his large body onto the bed.

  Male laughter followed.

  It was not exactly what I was going for.

  His eyes glittered with joy and light amusement as I crawled onto the bed to straddle him. I reached behind my back and unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the ground. All laughter and humor died as his eyes suddenly darkened, and I felt his body go rigid. Rotating my hips, I ground myself against his pelvis. A low growl vibrated from his throat.

  “What are you doing, Lailah?” he asked, his voice ragged and breathy.

  Over the two years we’d been together, I’d mastered the art of flirting. I could flirt my way to the bedroom like a pro. A dirty comment, a sexy move—I had all of that down to an art form. But once we got to the bedroom, it would be all Jude. I’d occasionally have moments of spontaneity, but it was rare. He’d lead the show, and I’d gladly comply. We never talked about it, but we both knew that Jude had the experience, and—well, I didn’t. I never asked how many girls he’d been with before Megan, but I imagined it was more than one. I was completely fine with letting him take charge when it came to sex, but sometimes, I wondered if he was.

  Did he ever want more?

  “Taking what I want,” I whispered, hoping I wasn’t ruining my wedding night by pushing something that maybe wasn’t wanted.

  His nostrils flared as his cock twitched between my thighs.

  I mentally gave my budding seductress a high five.

  I bent forward, taking his mouth in a fevered kiss. Grabbing his hands, I placed each one on my bare breasts. With my small hands over his, I felt as he cupped and rolled my tender peaks, his thumbs rubbing the taut nipples before pinching the tender tips. I’d felt him do this a hundred times, but with my fingers resting over his, it was much more intimate.

  Breaking our kiss, I redirected one set of our merged hands over the puckered skin that rested between my breasts. His eyes met mine as his lips found the pink skin of my sca
r, leaving a trail of kisses. My stomach fluttered, as I watched him lower our hands until they drifted over my belly button. My breath faltered when our fingers slid beneath the lace of my thong and sank into the warm heat of my core.

  The invasion sent me skyward, as Jude kept my body pinned against him and slowly worked my clit.

  “Oh God,” I panted, feeling every move he made as my finger followed his lead.

  “Shh . . .” His free hand tenderly touched my chest, pushing me against his raised knees. Removing the scrap of fabric around my waist, he freed me of my thong, never removing our joined fingers. His darkened gaze centered on me. “I’ll follow your lead,” he said.

  I mentally gulped.

  I had grown up in a hospital. Most of the time, the door had either been open or ajar. It wasn’t until I was over a certain age when I’d demanded more privacy, and even then, I’d still had nurses walking in on my half-dressed body nearly daily. Add in a controlling mother who had barged in on me at home, and it hadn’t been the best environment to . . . explore myself.

  After I’d met Jude, I hadn’t really had a need.

  Seriously, he was sex on a stick. Who needs a vibrator when you have that sleeping next to you every night?

  So, the M word . . . we weren’t well acquainted—at all actually.

  The brave little seductress cowered in a dark corner of my mind.

  I couldn’t do this. I’d come so far, so fast, but I’d always be that girl in the hospital—naive, shy, and meek.

  I looked up at Jude. His breath was ragged, and his eyes were so intense that they were nearly black.

  I’d done that—not the girl or the woman or whatever label I was seeking to place on myself.

  Just Lailah, his wife.

  My fingers tightened around his, guiding him slightly upward, which sent a zing of fire to my belly. My head fell back, and I moaned.

  “Gorgeous,” he said.

  His praise was exactly the courage I’d needed. Together, I moved our hands, slowly at first, circling my clit, sending shock waves throughout my body. My heart accelerated with each touch, and soon, I was shaking in anticipation.