A Monster In Bed (Erotica) novel Chapter 11

Then he hugged her to him, holding her, savoring her touch and smell. He pressed his lips to the top of her head and closed his eyes, giving silent thanks that she hadn’t bolted. That she had enough guts to give them a chance.

It was all he’d ever ask. If he could have this, he’d never ask for another single thing in his life.

“Sandra, look at me, honey,” he said gently, putting enough distance between them so he could angle her head upward. So she met his gaze.

“If it makes you this unhappy, then you have to know I won’t ask it of you. I only want you to be happy. For us both to be happy. Preferably with one another.”

“I won’t know if you—this—will make me happy unless we try,” she said softly. She licked her lips, nervousness evident in her features. “I do want to try, Derrick. But you have to promise to be patient with me. I don’t know what to do here. I don’t know how to act or react. I’m without a guidebook. This isn’t something I ever imagined happening.”

He caressed her cheek, wiping away the last traces of tears.

“We have all the time in the world, Sandra. No rush. No impatience. Give me your trust. And your submission. I’ll do my very best to ensure you never regret it.”

Her expressive eyes gleamed with sudden light. Her pupils flared and he saw the stirrings of desire in the deep pools. Asking for her submission had fired her imagination. Had reminded her of all she wanted.

“What do we do now?” she whispered.

“For now, come inside. Let me make you a cup of coffee. There’s nothing more I’d love than to just sit with you awhile. We can talk. Just be. We’ll talk about us. Make a date. I want to take my time with this, Sandra. It’s too important to rush. I’ve waited this long. I’ll wait a hell of a lot longer if I have to.”

“I’d like that,” she murmured, her eyes warming.

He saw her acceptance. Not only of what he proposed, but of the inevitability of them. As a couple. He watched closely for any signs of hesitation. Of fear or uncertainty. But her gaze remained steady until he was satisfied that this was truly what she wanted. A chance. His chance to have her.

He was nearly undone by the implications. She in his arms. In his bed. His.

“There are other things I need to discuss with you,” he said, reminded of his conversation just moments ago with James.

She cocked her head to the side, evidently picking up on the change in his mood.

“What is it, Derrick? Is something wrong?”

He tucked her hand into his and then guided her into his house.

“No, nothing’s wrong. Just something I want you to hear from me.”

She tensed but remained silent as he took her into the kitchen where the half pot of coffee remained from earlier.

He poured two cups and warmed them in the microwave before returning to her, handing her one of the mugs.

“Let’s go into the living room where we’ll be comfortable,” he urged.

When he had her settled on the couch, he took the armchair that was diagonal to the sofa, even though what he wanted most was her in his arms. Against him. Her body warming his.

He sipped idly at the coffee, wondering which of the two tasks he should tackle first. Cement their relationship? Or possibly crush her with the news that he was replacing Clement?

He winced, deciding to postpone the latter until after they’d discussed their relationship.

“I know this was a lot for you to take in, especially on the day of Clement’s death,” he began. “I need you to understand that I didn’t plan it that way, Sandra. You forced my hand when I saw you at The House. Yes, I absolutely intended to make my move. Soon. But the anniversary of your husband’s death wasn’t when I wanted to begin this with you.”

“I understand,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry, Derrick. I don’t remember if I told you that or not. But I am. Sorry for the way it happened. For it even happening at all. You have to know that wasn’t one of my prouder moments when you saw me at The House. I was . . . embarrassed. That certainly wasn’t the way I would have wanted to tell you.”

(2 Weeks Later)

Derrick lowered his body to hers, allowing his weight to press down on her, but he propped himself up on his forearms so he wouldn’t crush her. She was tiny and delicate, so much so that she looked as though she could be broken if handled too roughly. But it wasn’t her body he was most concerned about. It was her heart. Her emotions. He didn’t want to overwhelm her. He didn’t want her to fear him. Never that. Anything but that. He couldn’t bear it if she ever looked at him with fear in her beautiful eyes.

Holding himself up on one arm, he traced the lines of her face with his free hand, committing to memory every second of this first time. He could scarcely comprehend that she was finally his. That she was in his bed, naked, and that he’d be making love to her in just moments.