“Do you think that really happened? That she tried to drown me?” I wonder out loud, feeling his body wrap tighter around mine and his muscles tense. We’ve talked some about how it was for me growing up. I try to avoid talking about it as much as possible, even though he asks often. I just don’t like the look that comes across his face when we do discuss it.
“Do you?” he asks gently.
I take another deep breath, tucking my face into his neck, letting his warmth and smell take away the last of the nightmare. “Yes.” I nod, feeling his arms go tighter before he lets me go and gets out of bed, muttering a quiet, “Fuck,” under his breath.
“Oh God,” I whimper, feeling sick. I sit up, holding the sheet to my bare chest, looking around for quick escape. Tears start to sting my nose and I fight them back, knowing that there is no way in hell I will cry in front of him. Not now.
“Fuck!” is roared, and I turn my head just in time to see one of the new bedside lamps fly across the room, hitting the sliding glass door. The lamp bursts into thousands of pieces while the door somehow doesn’t shatter. “Fuck, f**k, f**k,” he chants, pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair as I try to think of something to do or say to calm him down.
“I’ll leave,” I tell him quietly, fear settling in my gut.
His pacing doesn’t change, and his fists clenching and unclenching tell me everything I need to know about his state of mind. I start to wonder if I do this to people, if I make them want to hurt me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whimper.
His head swings my way, and his eyes look me over, going from hard to soft. “Jesus, baby.” He comes towards me and I hold up my hand, trying to ward him off. His eyes drop to my hand then move back up to my face. “I would never hurt you.”
I know this; I know deep down that he wouldn’t, but I just watched him freak out, and that has put some fear in me.
“Never,” he repeats, and that’s when I notice that my body is shaking so hard that the bed is vibrating. “It was either the lamp or track down your mom and put a bullet in her.”
I feel my eyes widen as he shakes his head.
“I would kill her, baby. Without a second thought, I would end her. I know you don’t understand, but this is me. I protect the people I love. I hate feeling helpless when I know I can fix this. Knowing that someone who has harmed you is out in the world, walking around, does not sit well with me. It goes against everything I am to let her get away with what she did to you.”
“You love me?” I ask, ignoring everything else he just said, my mind zeroing in on that one fact.
His eyebrows rise and he shakes his head. “What do you think we’re doing here?”
I swallow and shrug my shoulders at his familiar words.
“Baby, you need to start looking at what’s going on around you.”
“You never told me.”
“I show you every day,” he says, looking dumbfounded.
“You should have told me you loved me.” I resort to getting angry. Why the hell are guys so damn stupid?
“Love.”
“What?”
“I love you. It’s not past tense. I love you now and will love you until my heart stops beating.”
My belly flips and I shake my head. “I’m in a whole lot of love with you too.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks, his eyes narrowing.
“I didn’t know until today.” I shrug, pulling the sheet up higher on my chest.
“What?”
“I didn’t know.”
“I know you love me,” he says, and I’m sure he did know, because he knows what love feels like.
“I have loved—really loved—only one person, and that was my son.” I look around, trying to think of a way to explain it to him. “My love for him was different. It was one-sided and pure of any other emotions. Then, today, you sent me a text message, and when I read that you would meet me at home, something in me clicked into place. I have never had that—a home or someone to go home to. That’s when I understood what I’m feeling. You’re my home. You’re the person I belong to.”
“Stop,” he growls, and I know that he understands now.
“You’re the glue that holds all of my broken pieces together,” I say quietly.
“Autumn—”
“You love me for me,” I whisper, and I know he’s done when he plows into me, his body knocking mine backwards onto the bed, caging me in.
“I said shut it.” His mouth comes down on mine, his tongue seeking entrance.
I open my mouth under his. My hands go to his back, feeling his warm, smooth skin under my fingers. His fingers go to my center, where he pulls my panties to the side. Then his fingers run down my slit, causing my hips to jerk at the contact.
“Lift your hips.”
I do what he says, raising my hips off the bed. His hands pull my panties down my thighs, his weight leaving me only to drag them off me. As soon as they’re gone, his fingers go right back to where they were, making my hips shift and jerk once again.
“I think it’s time I get your mouth. What do you think?”
My pu**y convulses, sucking his fingers deeper.
“My girl likes that idea,” he says, licking up my neck before rolling to his back.
I watch as his hips lift and he pulls his boxers down, kicking them off the bed. His hand wraps around his cock, stroking twice and causing a bead of pr**cum to seep out of the tip. My mouth waters and I lick my lips. His groan has my eyes going to his as I bend forward on my knees to lick the tip. His taste bursts on my tongue, and I want more, so I wrap my hand over his and close my lips over the tip, swirling my tongue around it.
His fingers run over my cheek, around my ear, and down my neck, shoulder, back, and ass before hitting me just right. I moan, taking more of him into my mouth.
“Com’ere,” he groans, shifting my hips over his head. The second his tongue touches me, I cry out, forgetting what I’m supposed to be doing. “You stop, I stop,” he growls, slapping my ass. I moan, taking him as deep as I can, causing him to hit the back of my throat, which makes me gag.
I can feel his fingers holding me open while he licks and sucks, not missing any part. I feel my orgasm approaching and know that it’s going to be huge. My hips start bucking against his face, my hand working fast with my mouth. Do I know what I’m doing? No, but I know him, and I know the noises he makes when something feels good. I know we’re both close, but then he lifts me off his face with an order of, “Ride me.”
