Chapter Nineteen
S erge's arm hung over Aubrey's waist. His hand cupped her breast. Occasionally, he rubbed his thumb across her nipple, and she smiled for no other reason than pure contentment.
"Thank you," she whispered.
He kissed the back of her head. "For?"
"Checking up on Sia and Evie yesterday. I'm so glad the women's shelter had room for them, and they can get out of the elements and get medical care, even if it's for a short term." She snuggled her back tighter against his naked warmth.
"You can't save them all," he said.
"No, but I can do a small part of helping them, even if it's temporary."
When Evie showed up with Sia at the shelter seeking help, it was the first time someone with a child had approached her. The rules were posted outside the door, but Evie had done what most mothers tried to do when their child was sick. She came inside and asked for help.
It wasn't her determination that captured Aubrey's attention. Evie's obvious love for Sia intrigued her. How a woman who had nothing, not even a place to call her own, could still find the empathy and compassion to nurture her daughter made Aubrey resent her own mother even more.
Reflecting on her memories, Aubrey couldn't recall a time when her mother hugged her. She wasn't physically abused, but her mom never laid a hand on her head to smooth her hair out of her eyes or rubbed her back when she struggled to sleep after a nightmare. No, her mom hurt her through emotional distance.
Everything Aubrey had done somehow shamed her mother in a way she could never figure out. She failed at the simplest things. Cleaning her room. Styling her hair. Even walking through the house brought insults and declarations of disappointment.
Serge rolled her over until they were face to face, their legs entwined. "You've told me it was just you and your mom growing up. How did she die?"
"Brain aneurysm. A few years ago. Right before my twenty-first birthday." She rubbed her fingers against the whiskers on his jaw. "The doctor at the hospital says it can happen like that. One minute she was standing at the table and within seconds, she died."
"That must've been hard for you," he whispered.
"It was harder to deal with the aftermath. I had no experience dealing with a death, of course, but others helped me find my way." She shrugged. "It probably makes me a bad person to admit that things were easier with her gone."
He pulled back and looked at her. "You weren't close?"
She laughed bitterly. "We coexisted. She hated me, and I tried to stay out of her way. Once I got into high school, everything I did embarrassed or angered her."
His mouth tightened. She dropped her gaze. Growing up, she'd never told anyone about her mom and the treatment she received.
"Give me a few examples of things that made you an embarrassment." His deep voice quieted, making her second-guess her decision to open up to him.
"I babysat and worked at Taco Bell because she refused to help. Of course, that meant I bought my clothes at second-hand consignment stores, which insulted her and supposedly reflected badly on her as a mother. But the last thing that pushed her over the edge was when I volunteered at Food Depot. She believed my time was worth more than helping collect food donations for those with low income without receiving any form of payment in return. What bothered me the most was the contempt she had for me. I could see it on her face and hear it in her voice that my mere presence upset her."
"Are you fucking kidding me?" he said.
She dared a glance at him. "I'm serious."
"She sounds like a fucking bitch." He rolled and came off the bed. "Seriously fucked up. If she were alive, I'd kill her for what she put you through."
She sat and pulled the sheet around her. "What about you? You said you grew up on the streets because of your mom, but what about your dad?"
He stopped pacing. "I don't know who my father is. I doubt if my mother did either. She was a prostitute and a drug addict. It could be anyone."
Her chest tightened. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. You haven't shared very much of your past with me. Most everything I know, I learned from the internet."
"There's nothing to share. Mom never wanted kids, so she dumped us. I got pretty good at stealing cars when I was a teenager. By eighteen, I had a thousand dollars and started investing. Illegal shit at first. Then real estate as my money grew." He ran his hand through his hair. "You know the rest."
He left out everything. She wanted to know what it was like to live on the streets as a child and whether he ever felt lonely. Knowing she could never survive that kind of lifestyle, she sought to understand how he had the strength to support not only himself but also his brother.
"But your brother chose to go back to the street after you became successful?" she asked.
"He's got a place I paid for but prefers being around the others. To him, they're family."
"I'm sorry." She pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around her legs. "Neither one of us had a normal upbringing."
"We have each other." He caressed her head. "Your mom never deserved you."
Her heart skipped a beat. No one had ever told her she was worth more than her mom. None of her teachers or friends ever had. She never allowed anyone to get close to her for fear they'd reject her. It still amazed her that from the moment she met Serge, he pushed his way into her life, knocking down all kinds of barriers—and she let him.
"Can I tell you something without you going all scary Serge on me?" she asked.
"Scary Serge?"
"You know what I mean."
"Won't promise you that. Talking about this shit has me wanting to punch something." He raised his brow when she stiffened. "I said something, not you."
She patted the bed. "Come here, so I can hold your hands then."
His weight created an indentation in the mattress. She scooted closer and dropped the sheet, not caring that she was naked underneath. She held her hands out, palms up, and clasped Serge's when he offered them.
"I know I've been in my head too much the last several days. I worry..." She exhaled harshly. "This is hard for me."
"Take your time," he mumbled.
She raised her shoulder to rub her cheek. "You're like no one I've ever met before. Even the way we go about creating this...this relationship is new to me."
"Is that a bad thing?"
She lifted her head. "No, I like it."
"Like the relationship or like me?" He tilted his head.
The beat of her heart echoed in her ears. She had held back her feelings, knowing that Serge placed such emphasis on sex. However, she was tired of keeping everything to herself. He needed to know. He deserved to know. She needed to tell him.
"I'm falling in love with you." Before he could stop her, she said, "I also like what you do to me. You make me feel special."
She could no longer take it back. It was out in the universe. He'd heard her.
Aware that what she confessed to him was a lot to hear, she retreated when he never responded. She turned away, finding her nightshirt she'd thrown off last night, and slipped it over her head, needing to cover her body and try to hide the vulnerable side of her.
She sensed Serge behind her just before he fisted her hair at the base of her neck and pulled her back to him. His reaction startled her, yet she wasn't surprised or fearful.
His emotions manifested in a different way than most people who expressed themselves with words. Instead of talking to her, he bulldozed through anyone in his path to find a place where he could come to terms with the situation. This time, she sensed that he wanted to communicate his feelings toward her.
He arched her spine and sucked on her neck. "You like this?"
The strong tug on her scalp snapped her to attention. "I do."
She winced. There was no way the mark he put on her neck with his mouth would be gone in a few hours. "Serge, please."
"Do you know what you do to me?" He whispered into her ear, but the tone wasn't gentle. "Do you know how I feel?"
Her legs folded, and he caught her under the arms. He eased her down until her knees hit the wooden floor, and she swallowed repeatedly as her throat thickened. "You want me."
"More than that," he muttered. "I want to fucking own you."
"Yes," she whispered on a hiss.
"I need." He undid the buttons on his jeans and fisted his cock. "You."
She pushed his hand away and took him in her mouth. The desperation etched in the way his hand shook as he caressed her cheek, and the unforgiving stance was a familiar one. His dick hardened in her mouth, filling the space, and the power of being the one who brought him to the state of arousal empowered her.
She could do that to him. He needed her. She felt he had no idea how much—behind his tight control, his temper, his dominance—she loved being able to give him comfort. She suspected not many people had ever seen him the way he was right now, holding himself back for her. The change in him excited her as much as when he held her captive.
"Suck me hard," he said.
She drew him farther into her mouth, until her cheeks hurt, and he filled her completely. Unable to move because Serge directed the movement of her head, she used her tongue, her lips, and her throat to bring him satisfaction. In a way her brain couldn't process, she wanted to open herself until nothing remained between them.
Every secret told.
Every desire freed from shame.
Every barrier tore down.
Serge went to the balls of his feet and arched his hips forward. His hold, painful and constant, pulled at her head, and she greedily accepted every bit of his attention as if she'd starved her whole life and he was finally feeding her. Saliva coated her lips, and she breathed through her nose, taking more of his hardness.
"That's it," he said, groaning his release.
Seated deep in her throat, his come filled her mouth, and she gulped to keep from spilling a drop. She panted, heightened to an intoxicating level.
Serge pulled out of her and tucked his cock into his jeans, then picked her up. He sat on the bed, and she wrapped herself around him. Face to face, entwined, she gazed into his eyes.
The tension around his brows and mouth was gone. He smoothed the hair away from her face and seemed lost in thought. She framed his face in her hands. Her whole life, she'd kept herself closed off from getting hurt, not trusting anyone with her heart.
And now her heart trusted Serge.
She leaned forward and put her lips to his ear. "No one has touched me for the simple reason of giving me pleasure. When you focus all your attention on me, it's the best feeling in the world. Every sore muscle, mark, kiss you put on my body reminds me long after we've had sex that you enjoy me. I'm no longer invisible. I belong to you. And, whether you feel that way toward me or not, it doesn't matter because for that minute, that hour, that day, you're the first and only person who has ever made me feel loved."
His throat spasmed against her hand. "How do you feel when you're not by my side?"
"I'm scared to death and want to run away because I know in the end, when you tire of me, when you realize I'm not good enough for you, I won't survive being without you."