Bearing the Ruthless Alpha's Twins novel · Chapter 30 of 32

Chapter 30: Forgiven in Pieces

I did not take the key back.

I closed his fingers over it and held them there.

"Carry it," I said.

He looked down at my hand around his.

"Ingrid," he said.

"The twins are sleeping at the baker's tonight, the whole row of grandchildren, with popcorn."

"I arranged it this morning, before the first person came in to apologize."

His throat moved.

"You knew," he said.

"I knew I'd want to decide, whichever way it went."

I turned the sign in the window and locked the front door and went up the back stairs.

He followed one step behind me, which was the right distance.

In the flat I did not turn on the lamp.

The light came in orange from the street and lay across the kitchen floor, and I stood in the middle of it and looked at him.

He stood in the doorway with his hands at his sides.

"Come here," I said.

He came.

I put my palms flat on his chest and walked him back until his shoulder blades met the door.

His heart was going hard under my hands.

It was only one heart now, and I could hear it clearly, and it was his own.

"You said you'd come when I called," I said.

"I did."

"Then keep your hands where I put them."

I took his wrists and set them against the wood on either side of his head.

His eyes had already started to go gold.

I undid his shirt one button at a time, and I took my time over every one.

His skin was hot under my fingers.

I pushed the shirt off his shoulders and kissed the middle of his chest, and I felt him shudder from his knees up.

"That's what you get for the hallway," I said.

"All of it?"

"Some of it."

His mouth twitched, and then he caught himself and went still again, because I had told him to.

I led him across the room to the armchair by the window, the one with the frayed arm, and pushed him down into it.

"Hands on the arms."

He put his hands on the arms.

I stood in front of him and took off my sweater, and then my bra, and watched his eyes follow every inch.

I unzipped my skirt and let it fall, and then my underwear.

His breath went out of him in a rough sound.

"Look at you," he said.

"You said that in the boathouse."

"I meant it then too."

"I know," I said.

I knelt between his knees on the worn rug.

His cock was already straining against his jeans, and I put my palm over the length of it through the denim and felt it jump.

"Ingrid, fuck."

"Hands," I said.

His knuckles went white on the chair.

I undid his jeans and pulled him out, hard and heavy, the head dark and wet.

I took it in my hand and stroked it once, slowly, root to tip, and he made a noise low in his chest.

Then I put my mouth on him.

He was salt and heat on my tongue.

I took him in as far as I could, and drew back, and took him again, and the arms of the chair creaked under his grip.

I put my tongue under the head, where his sounds told me he liked it, and when I sucked he groaned out my name.

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