Custom Love by Chantal Fernando
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Trade wakes me up with his mouth between my legs, and we have slow, sensual morning sex to start the day.
We then have a long-overdue talk.
“You were right. This whole time you were right. Damon may not be innocent, but he didn’t kill Ariel. I’m so sorry I was against this at the start, and I’m so fucking happy you pressed this. Now we know who actually murdered Ariel and can get the justice she deserves.”
“It was hard for you.” I shrug. “For everyone. I get that.”
“And what about us?” Trade presses. “You had us on pause before this whole thing blew up. How do you feel now? Do you still need more time to think about it?”
“I know that I want to be with you,” I assure him. “I think we just need to take it slow, and talk to each other more about how we’re feeling, especially me. I hide so much because I don’t want you to think that I’m being petty or insecure, when I should just tell you. If I can’t open up to the man I love, then who can I open up to, right?”
“You can tell me anything. There is no judgement. I love you. You don’t have to compete with a ghost,” he says. “And I’ll do anything to be with you. How can I prove that to you?”
I realize he can’t change his history, and I have to either accept him with it or let him go. It’s not fair to him otherwise, or to me either.
“Just love me, always.”
“That’s a given,” he says, smiling.
“And never call me by another woman’s name,” I add, arching my brow. “If you want to live.”
He laughs, and rolls me under him. “Fair enough. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
The next morning, with my back pressed against the wall, Trade slides inside of me, kissing me deeply. When I walked out of the shower, dropped my towel in front of him and did a sexy little naked dance, he picked me up and pinned me to the wall, and I was laughing until those laughs turned into moans.
And now I’m on the verge of an orgasm, but the asshole keeps stopping before I can get there, purposely dragging it out.
I score my nails down his back. “Trade—”
“Mmmmm.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
He laughs into my neck, pulls back and cups my face. “I fucking love you.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Tell me you love me.”
His strokes get harder and faster, and I moan loudly, pushing back against him. “I love you.”
“Good girl,” he murmurs, reaching between us to touch me, instantly sending me over the edge and into oblivion.
He finishes a few strokes after me, and then carries me to the bed, still inside of me, and lays me under him. I stroke his hair while we gather our breath, mainly him from holding me up and doing all the work. I can feel his heart race, and then slowly even out.
“Would you move in with me? I mean, when you are ready,” he asks, lifting his head and looking at me.
I think about it. I do love my house and having my own space, but I would also love waking up to him every morning. “I would,” I tell him. “Not yet, though. Maybe if we wait a bit. But I would love to work toward that. I think the kids will need time to adjust.”
“You’re right. Thank you for thinking about my kids and what’s best for them.” He nods, smiling. “But I appreciate you being honest and telling me it is something you see for us.”
I fall asleep smiling.
Trade is one of the best things that has happened to me, and I love every second of being with him.