Chapter 210

Iris

Miles has been asleep for hours now. Cliff has long since left, trudging downstairs to his own apartment. The apartment is quiet, save for the soft crackle of the record player in the corner of the living room, and Arthur and I are far from sleeping ourselves.

We sway slowly to the soft music, our feet barely moving across the hardwood floor. This feels like old times, happy days when we used to dance just like this to the same music.

“I’ve missed this,” Arthur murmurs into my hair. “I’ve missed you.”

I tilt my head up to look at him. “It was too quiet here without you,” I murmur, and it’s true. Even Miles was subdued while Arthur was gone.

For a moment, we just look at each other. The amber lamplight casts soft shadows across Arthur’s face, highlighting the angles of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the depths of his green eyes.

Then, without a word, he leans down and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant, but it quickly deepens as we both give in to the longing we’ve been carrying around with us as of late. Before I know it, my arms are winding around his neck and pulling him closer as his hands slide down to my hips, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress.

Arthur breaks the kiss, but only to trail his lips along my jaw, down my neck, across my bare collarbone. Each touch makes more and more warmth pool in my low belly, like honey being poured over my head and drifting downward.

“I want you,” he whispers against my skin. “I need you.”

“Then take me,” I breathe.

He doesn’t need to be told twice. With a low growl, Arthur lifts me into his arms. I wrap my legs around his waist as he carries me toward the sofa, our lips never parting for more than a second at a time.

He lowers me onto the cushions, his body covering mine. My hands find their way beneath his sweater, exploring the warm skin and taut muscle I’ve ached to touch for weeks.

Arthur’s fingers tangle in my hair as he deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine. His other hand trails down my side, over my hip, finds the hem of my dress and pushes it up, up, up until his palm is flat against my bare thigh.

I arch into his touch, desperate for more, desperate for him. It’s been too long—far too long—since we’ve been together like this. I fumble with the hem of his sweater, wanting to feel more of him, all of him.

Arthur helps me, shrugging out of his sweater and tossing it aside. I trace my fingertips over his bare chest, following the lines of his muscles, the curves and planes that I know as well as my own body.

His hands then find the zipper of my dress and slowly pull it down. He peels the fabric away from my shoulders, his lips following the path of the retreating material, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

I’m lost in the sensation, in the taste of him, in the familiar weight of his body against mine. This is right. This is where I belong. This is—

A sudden thought slices through the haze of desire. My hands go still on Arthur’s shoulders, and I freeze mid-kiss.

Arthur immediately senses my tension and pulls back to look at me with concern. “What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head, struggling to find the right words. “No, it’s not that. I just… I need to ask you something.”

He shifts, sitting up so he’s on his knees between my splayed legs. “Anything.”

I swallow hard, already hating myself for asking, for potentially ruining this perfect moment. But I have to know. I push myself up slightly. “When you were with Veronica… when she had you under her control… did you… did the two of you ever…”

I can’t finish the sentence, but Arthur understands. His expression turns sour, not at me, but at her. He looks away, and even in the dim light, I can see a muscle feathering in his jaw.

“I… I don’t know,” he finally admits after a long moment. “It’s all so foggy. Like trying to remember a dream.”

My heart sinks, and I sit up fully, tugging my dress back into place over my shoulders. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” I say quickly, even though the thought of not knowing might be worse than the truth.

“No, I want to be honest with you,” Arthur says. “There were… kisses. Many of them. But they were always her way of overwhelming me with that perfume to keep me under her control.”

I nod, trying not to overreact even as bitter jealousy twists in my gut. It’s irrational, I know—he wasn’t himself, wasn’t in control. But the image of Arthur kissing Veronica, holding her, touching her…

“But we never had sex,” Arthur insists. “I know that much. I don’t think Veronica really wanted me for… that. She wanted my money, my position, my power. Not my body.”

“How can you be sure?”

Arthur’s lips quirk upwards in a humorless smile. “Because there was one time she tried. We were at her penthouse, and she was… insistent. But I couldn’t…” He clears his throat, a flush creeping up his neck. “I couldn’t get aroused. Not for her. She got frustrated, gave up, and never bothered again.”

“Oh,” I say, oddly relieved.

“I think, deep down, even when I was completely under her control, some part of me knew she wasn’t you,” Arthur adds softly. “Some part of me knew I belonged to you and only you.”

The sincerity in his eyes brings tears to mine. I reach up to cup his cheek, feeling the slight scratch of his stubble against my palm. “I’m sorry for asking. I just… needed to know.”

“Don’t apologize,” he says firmly. “You have every right to ask. After everything that’s happened, everything I’ve put you through…”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I remind him. “None of it was.”

“Still.” He turns his face to press a kiss to my palm.

I watch him for a moment, his eyes shut as he nuzzles his cheek into my palm. My face warms slightly as I hesitantly suggest, “Maybe we should just… Go to bed. Hold off on the sex for now.”

Arthur’s eyes open, and for a moment I fear he’ll be disappointed. But to my surprise and relief, he smiles softly. “I think I’d like that. I slept like shit without you, as you well know.”

I can’t help but snort faintly at that. “I know. I could hardly sleep, either.” I don’t need to tell him that I spent most nights painting in my studio until I would pass out on the daybed, because he already knows. The most depressing thing about all of it is that I didn’t even manage to paint anything I liked. Everything got trashed eventually.

With that, we turn off the record player and the lights, check on Miles one more time, and then retreat to our bedroom. It feels strange and wonderful to watch Arthur move through these familiar rituals again—brushing his teeth beside me at the sink, changing into his pajamas, pulling back the covers on his side of the bed.

When we finally slide beneath the sheets, Arthur’s arms open for me, and I nestle against his side, my head finding its place on his chest, my arm draped across his abdomen. The sound of his heartbeat beneath my ear instantly soothes me.

We don’t have sex tonight, but somehow, it’s even more intimate than any sex could ever be. For now, it’s enough to be here, in Arthur’s arms, listening to his breathing slow and deepen as he drifts toward sleep.

It’s enough to know that he’s mine again, truly mine, and nothing can ever take him from me again.

As sleep begins to claim me, I feel Arthur’s lips press softly against my forehead, and I smile into the darkness.

We’re finally home.