Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Jessie
Ilook over at him snoring on the couch, his broad chest rising and falling rhythmically. His words have been running on replay in my mind for hours. Eli’s scream fest was the only time I was able to get it out of my head.
Now I lie next to him, our heads only a foot apart.
The way he looked tortured as he kept his hands off me, I felt the struggle inside of him; it was transparent.
And how he described it …
He would die, wishing he could claim me as his.
My pussy clenches when I recall it.
He was so … direct. Just like the night I’d tasted him. The words he spoke were so dirty, so honest. It’d made my insides melt from the scorching inferno it generated.
To this day, no man has ever spoken to me like that during sex. Walker is not only brave enough to match my fire but daring enough to burn even hotter.
But why can’t he have me? What is holding him back? What can’t he tell me?
Back then, I had just turned eighteen. I could possibly see why he would hesitate, though he didn’t have to be such a dick about it. I was young and sensitive.
It can’t be my age.
Ugh, I’m so frustrated. I’ve spent so many years hating him, thinking he was the spawn of Satan, for treating me so poorly.
For pretending like I never existed after that night.
I told myself time and time again that he just wasn’t attracted to me, no matter how much that hurt.
No matter how many times I swore I caught his eyes drinking me in with appreciation.
It’s what drove my hatred all these years, fueling it for the next time I saw him—the anger from knowing that my body reacted to him so viscerally while he was indifferent to me.
But that’s all gone, taken away from me in an instant. Vanished in a painstakingly sexy moment, where he had me pinned up against the window like he was seconds away from throwing caution to the wind and owning my body.
Somewhere in the middle of the night, I’m startled awake by Eli’s wailing. I look over at Walker, who shed his clothes sometime in the night, all the way down to his black boxer briefs. His beauty fuels my anger.
I reach over and punch him in the stomach.
“Ughhhhh,” he grunts in agony.
Honestly, I didn’t punch him that hard. It’s an overreaction. He looks around like he doesn’t know where he is. Once it dawns on him what’s going on, he sits up.
“You could have just nudged me awake,” he bites out as he stomps away in a daze.
I nod off back to sleep until Walker’s presence wakes me again. He is pacing around the room, right in front of the coffee table, with Eli over his shoulder as he pats her back.
I take this time to watch him in the soft city glow coming from the window, casting him and Eli in a blanket of light.
The way he sways back and forth with her chubby little fist caught under her chin.
My heart cracks open even more, leaving crevices for him to sneak back in.
I know this isn’t good. I just need to get through a couple more nights.
I’m sure by then he will tell Eva, and everything will be okay.
I’ll be back at home and far away from him. I’m sure everything will go back to normal.
The glow of the laptop at night is starting to strain my eyes. I reach into my bag and grab my blue light glasses.
Today was crazy. I spent the morning with Eli while Walker went to work, and then we switched.
We are now sitting on his couch, working, while Eli sleeps in the other room. The monitor is sitting between us, the white noise machine sounding through the device.
I reach for the glass of wine and take a sip as I look up at the episode of The Office playing in the background.
Walker has on his glasses and is scowling down at his laptop like it just insulted his mother. I find it amusing to watch. He begins typing aggressively, each finger pushing harder than the last, until I’m afraid the keys are about to start flying across the room.
“Is everything all right over there, buddy?” I ask curiously, my smirk hiding behind my glass of wine.
“Everything’s fine,” he bites out as he continues to abuse his keyboard.
“Doesn’t seem like it,” I press, wondering what the hell has him so worked up.
He stops typing and looks over at me. “What makes you say that?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the fact that if your keyboard could speak, it would be begging for mercy.”
His jaw moves from one side to the other as he seems to work out what he wants to say, and then he takes a long, defeated breath.
“It’s this damn case that our firm just landed. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of case, one that could make me the most-sought-after attorney in the city if I won.”
“And you want it assigned to you?” I assume, realizing where this is going.
“I’m the best one for the job. I can do this. I can win this case. I just don’t know if my hours this week are going to cost me the opportunity.”
This week? If this case is as big as he is claiming it is, he would be working hours not suitable for a single father. Eli needs him. She can’t have a mother who abandoned her and a father who is gone most of the time.
“If you did get awarded the case, you wouldn’t be able to work your usual late hours. Not with Eli.”
He runs his hand through his hair, then bangs it down on the couch, startling me. “Fuck. I can’t let this opportunity go by.”
I study the hard lines on his forehead as his anger emanates throughout the room. “Once upon a time, it was your dream to be a lawyer who helped the underdog. Not for the money. Not for the fame. But to help those that couldn’t help themselves.”
He slams his laptop shut and tosses it to the side. “Yeah, well, dreams are not always meant to come true.”
His eyes look up and down my body in a way that makes me think he might be talking about more than just his work. It sends shivers up my spine.
Then his eyes dart down to the baby monitor. He picks it up and holds it to his ear, like he might have missed a noise. He’s done that about thirty times since we sat down. It makes me smile.
“What are you smiling about?” he asks.
I shrug. “I’m silently judging your paranoia. Don’t mind me.”
He crosses his arms across his chest in defense. A giggle bubbles up before I can stop it. His forehead creases as his eyebrows rise.
“I’m not being paranoid.”
I lean back into the couch, watching him sneak yet another glance at the baby monitor glowing on the couch between us. He wasn’t even subtle about it—like if he stared hard enough, he could will the little green bars to stay steady forever.
A smile tugs at my mouth. “Yes, you are. If you’re going to stare at that thing like it’s a bomb about to go off, I should just confiscate it.”
Before he can react, I snatch the monitor and lean away, holding it out of his reach.
He lunges forward instantly. “Hey, give it back.”
I shake my head, laughing, leaning away from him as he reaches for it. “Nope. Consider this an intervention.”
The couch cushion dips as he lunges, and I let out a squeal, twisting out of reach. He grabs for it, but I extend my arm farther behind me, arching out of his way. His hand closes around my wrist instead, warm and unyielding.
The laughter catches in my throat. Suddenly, he is braced over me, his weight close enough to press me into the cushions. My chest rises and falls against his, the monitor forgotten between us, my pulse loud in my ears.
His gaze meets mine, and for a second, it isn’t teasing; it’s dark, steady, too intense.
“You think this is funny?” he asks, voice rougher than it should be.
My mouth goes dry. My free hand flattens against his chest. Heat bleeds through his shirt, through my palm.
I swallow. “Maybe,” I say, trying to sound breezy, even though my pulse is racing.
His grip loosens, but doesn’t release. His thumb brushes lightly over my wrist. The shift in his touch sends a shiver down my spine. He is so close that I can see the faint stubble along his jaw, can feel the heat of his breath against my cheek.
It isn’t about the monitor anymore. It’s about this—him over me, the way the air appears to thicken, the awareness crackling like static between us.
The baby sighs faintly through the monitor speaker, and the soft sound startles me back into reality. My head snaps toward the device still clutched in my hand, and his gaze follows.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. Then he eases back just enough to give me space, though his eyes stay on me, like he hasn’t quite decided to let go.
And, God help me, I’m not sure I want him to.