Laney
I JUMPED WHEN the apartment door swung open without warning.
My heart thudded in my chest as I saw Ash standing there, his suitcase at his feet, his key in his hand.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped, one arm in my coat sleeve.
“The tour finished and I caught a flight from Dallas.”
“Yes, but what are you doing here now?”
He cocked his head to one side, staring at me, puzzled.
“I came home.”
I stared back, transfixed. He looked the same, but different. The same long, lean build. The same mahogany hair and feline eyes the color of Irish whiskey. The same sharp cheekbones, the same strong, unshaven jaw. But there was a new confidence in the way he held himself, a new certainty that he was doing what he needed, and standing where he belonged.
“I was supposed to meet you at the airport.”
“You’re not happy to see me,” he said, his voice flat.
“Are you nuts?” I shrieked. “I’ve missed you so damn much!” And I threw myself at him.
Ash staggered, catching me before his back thudded against the wall. He grabbed me around the waist, his lips sucking on my neck as I tackled his belt buckle.
“We don’t have time for this,” I muttered, ripping open his shirt to expose his smooth chest, ignoring the buttons that ping-ponged across the wooden floor. “We’re having dinner with my family.”
“What sort of world is it where I don’t have time to make love with my wife?” he asked, his words finishing with a groan as I wrapped my hands around his hot, hard dick.
What kind of world is it? I didn’t have an answer for that. The world spun around us at a dizzying pace, our lives a confusing mass of moments, colored by highs and lows, joys and sorrows.
He grabbed my grasping hands, laughing with the sheer pleasure of living in this moment. And then he carried me to our bedroom.
It was rough and messy, heated, hedonistic thrusting, gasping into each other’s mouths as he pinned me to the bed and fucked me until my body shuddered with new pleasure. He trembled above me, and his eyes squeezed shut. Then with a satisfied grunt, he pulled out and rolled onto his side.
“Holy shit!”
I laughed a soft papery laugh that was part longing, part joy, part tears that threatened to fall, a pouring out of release that was too much to keep inside.
“We’ll be so late,” I whispered as his thumbs brushed tears from my eyes.
“I don’t care.”
“Me neither.”
He gave me a huge, beautiful smile that I’d missed so much, and flung himself onto his back, pulling me against his chest, his gentle hands sweeping across my shoulders.
When we made love again, I kissed every scar on his back, soothing the scars on his soul and mine.
I kissed his fluttering eyelids and watched his lips curve upward in a smile.
“I’m not doing that again,” he said, his eyes sliding open to gaze at me.
“What?!”
His chest rumbled as he laughed.
“Oh, I’m definitely doing that again,” he chuckled. “I meant I’m not touring without you.”
“Ash . . .”
“No, I mean it, Laylay. It’s not worth it. Nothing is worth being away from my sunshine.” He took a deep breath. “Selma said she wants to take the tour to Europe next year. Come with me, my love.”
“I don’t think that would . . .”
“That is your problem,” he said, tapping a long finger against my forehead. “Too much thinking. Whatever happens, we will face it together. Be with me, Laney. It’ll be the next adventure.”
I sighed. “It does sound amazing, but . . . let me think about it.”
“Sure,” he said, rolling from the bed and peeling off his ruined shirt. “But you’ll say yes in the end.”
“I don’t know if . . .”
“You’ll say yes,” he said confidently, leaning down to kiss me into silence.
When he stood up again, he was grinning at me and tucking a semi back in his pants. It was a good thing I was well this week, because his smile told me to expect little sleep tonight.
My eyes slid across his beautiful body, a little thinner than last time we’d been together. And then I saw it.
“You got a new tattoo?”
He nodded, his eyes slanting across mine.
I looked closer, studying the intricate work in ink.
It was a depiction of the sun peeking from behind a cloud, and arcing above it in flowing script was my name.
“My sunshine,” he whispered, his eyes soft.
I reached up, my arms wrapping around his neck as I stroked the soft skin, and I kissed him to say thank you—thank you for being my husband, thank you for being with me, thank you for being the love of my life. Thank you for being you.
I wondered later if our love was built in tiny, paper-thin slices, moment by moment, day by day. I asked Ash about it once, when he fell in love with me. His answer was enigmatic—typical Ash.
“When I felt my heart beat again.”
THE END