Chapter 9 #2
She gasps a little at my question but says, “Yeah. Yes. God, yes, just fuck me, Savage.”
She’s barely through her first orgasm when I lower my sweats and line up the tip of my cock against her. I drag the head through her curls, making sure I’m good and wet.
“Oh my God,” she groans and then opens her legs even wider, holding her knees with her hands.
I hear nothing but the crash of blood in my ears at that point because my cock slides inside Claire like I was made to fit her.
I’m balls deep before I realize it, and her walls tighten down on me, clamping.
I have to hold her knees and go still, or I’m gonna blow before I even have the chance to fuck her.
I catch my breath and open my eyes, watching as I rock my hips, and my dick slides in and out of the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, the strongest, most intense, most amazing woman to ever come into my life. I go as slow as I can, trying to savor every single whimper, every single moan.
But then I lose myself.
Lose all thought.
I rock harder, thrust faster. Her tits bounce, she locks her fingers against her knees, and I fuck my way through the pain, through the pleasure, through every ounce of desire, fear, confusion, and protective feeling I’ve had since I laid eyes on Claire.
I fuck her so hard, we move the bed, we bang the headboard, and we’re both crying out to God above for more. When I feel her clamp down on me, I give in.
Give in to the fucking bliss, to the darkness behind my eyes and the light in my heart. I come hard, my knees trembling, sweat dripping down my forehead and splashing on Claire’s open thighs.
I come with a roar and a bliss so complete, it’s the first time, the only time, I can ever remember feeling anything like this.
She didn’t lie.
She’s mine.
Completely.
Not just for tonight.
I can never let her go.
She’s mine now and for fucking ever.
When I wake up, there is an empty space in the bed beside me and a hollow gnawing in my gut.
I spent the night—the entire night—tangled up beside Claire, her legs between mine, my hand cupping her breast, her hair splayed out around our pillows.
It was good. Too good.
Better than I’ve felt in weeks with these damn injuries, but better than I’ve felt in years with another human being beside me.
There is something about Claire that fits.
That just makes sense.
Being without her right now feels wrong, and I squint against the daylight and wonder where she went.
The white noise machine in my room, the one that soothes Aurora to sleep, has gone silent. I peek at the monitor, and I see Claire rocking Aurora in her arms.
“Good morning, baby,” she says. Claire has put back on her sleep tee and shorts, and just seeing her body in the full-color image on the monitor makes my cock wake up.
She sways as she holds her sleepy baby to her chest, humming a song I don’t recognize.
When she starts singing softly, I have to hold back a laugh.
She wasn’t wrong about her singing. She’s no Neon Dawn. But I could listen to her voice and watch her love on her baby for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.
I register the feeling as soon as I feel it, and something inside me tenses.
Last night unfolds in a series of images. Claire’s pussy open to me, wet, and wanting. The long lines of her thighs trembling as she comes.
Then I remember what I did, fucking her until I was senseless, boneless, my cock deep inside her with no fucking protection. We only fucked once, but I blew my load so deep inside that woman that she could probably see my come behind her eyes.
A sour taste fills my mouth. What the fuck is wrong with me? I never take risks like that. Never. But Claire has me out of my mind and not acting remotely close to my normal self.
Protecting them from Mad Dog was easy. I saw a problem, I had the power and the means to step in, and bam—I provided a solution.
But I’m a fucking mess of a man. I run guns, drugs, and collect gambling debts from scumbags. Right now, I’m nursing the bruising of the year, thanks to some assholes who thought they were just smart enough to outsmart the Heat.
I’m the fucked-up kid who took his daddy’s fists and cried into his pillow. I lost my military benefits, my career, my dignity. I’ve got no mother, no family, and I am sure as fuck not ready to be any kind of father. I can’t—no, worse, I don’t want to do this.
It’s not about Claire and what I feel for her. If it were just Claire, it would be hard enough to justify holding a beautiful, caring woman back from her potential by keeping her for myself.
I’m a criminal, a failure, a wreck.
And just about every day of the week, I put myself in harm’s way. Anything can go down at any time, and it often does.
It’s so much easier with no attachments.
No one to count on me for more than a night.
No one to need more than I have to give.
I jump out of her bed, my heart hammering in my chest, and my palms become clammy. What if I got her pregnant?
What if—
Fuck.
“Savage?” Claire’s soft voice breaks me from my spiraling thoughts. She’s cuddling Aurora to her chest, a soft smile on her face. Her eyes flick to my soft cock bobbing against my bare thighs. “Everything okay?” she asks.
But she can tell right away that everything isn’t okay.
She points to where my sweats are pooled on the floor. “Why don’t you put those on real quick, and I’ll change Aurora’s diaper. Okay?”
Her voice is soothing, but it’s as if I can’t move. I’m frozen, looking at her, the baby, and thinking thoughts that I never dreamed I’d think. What if I just made myself a daddy?
What if I—
“Savage.” Claire’s voice is firm now. “Sweetheart, would you mind just bending down and grabbing those sweatpants off the floor?”
I shake my head to clear the fog a bit and give myself over to her voice.
“There we go.” She’s talking to Aurora now, but for a second, I thought she was talking to me.
She’s calm and composed but authoritative. Like this is what I need to do, this is how it’s gonna be, and like the good soldier I once was, I know a commanding officer when I hear one.
I do as she says and step into my pants.
“All right now. Why don’t you sit down?”
I drop onto the bed.
She smiles and shakes her head. “Come to the couch, Savage. I’m gonna change Aurora and get her some breakfast.” Claire moves quickly and quietly, talking in a low voice to her baby.
I sit back against the couch cushions and let my head drop back. I close my eyes and let the memories take over.
I ain’t raising no savages!
You’re a fucking worthless shit, boy. You know that?
What the fuck’re ya crying for?
Little asshole.
Mama’s boy. Ain’t nothing ever gonna come of a shithead like you.
The voice crowds my ears, and I cover them with my hands.
Fuck him.
Fuck him.
Fuck my old man.
The adult in me, the mature man who’s beaten, shot, and stolen to survive, takes over.
I’m powerful.
I’m strong.
He can’t hurt me.
Not anymore.
I open my eyes at the feel of tiny fingers tugging on the ankle of my pant leg.
I go bug-eyed at little Aurora. She’s got the end of a baby bottle gripped between tiny budding teeth, and her hands are covered in drool and God only knows what.
She’s leaving wet marks on my sweats, and she’s babbling behind her bottle.
“Maamaa maaa maaa, maaa maaa.”
A fist closes around my heart, and I watch as she crawls around my feet, tugging at my pant leg.
I can’t look at her.
I can’t face this.
All I can picture is the kid I once was, vulnerable and soft and innocent like her.
And then I see the fucker who hated me so much, who had so much rage inside him that he looked at a vulnerable kid—maybe not a baby like Aurora, but a three-year-old, a five-year-old, a ten-year-old—and laid hands on him.
Fists.
Boots.
Whatever was within reach.
I swallow back the memories and the rage as I look into those crystal-blue baby eyes.
“How?” I whisper through the haze of my past. “How could he not fucking love me?”
Claire is dabbing at her eyes, watching her baby crawl around my bare toes.
“He did, baby,” she assures me, her eyes reddening with tears.
“He hated himself, that’s all. And he took that all out on you.
You’re not him. You’re not filled with hate.
You’re filled with so much more. Love and kindness.
I know what I’m talking about, Savage. He hated himself, but it was so much easier to act like he hated you. ”
I bend at the waist and stifle the curse of pain that reminds me my ribs are still fucked up.
I look into little Aurora’s eyes. I see Grandma Dawn, the woman I’ve spent the last week watching on YouTube with Claire, in her coloring.
I see Claire in her round cheeks and pointed chin.
I know Anthony is there too, but I refuse to see him.
Refuse to see anything but love, innocence, patience, and sweetness.
“Maa-maaa?” Aurora takes the bottle of formula out of her mouth and holds it up to me. She can’t walk yet, so I’m not sure what she wants me to do. I look to Claire for guidance.
“Do you want to hold her?” she asks. Her voice is a whisper, restrained emotion making the words come out slow and thin.
I shake my head. “No. No fucking way.”
But then Aurora blows a huge raspberry of formula, and a bubble pops, spraying spit and milk onto her face. She laughs, and her wet little face curves into such a picture of sweetness that I swear to fuck, my heart stops in my chest.
How can I say no to this?
To her?
To them?
The same universe that gave me an old man who hated me, who took out every anger and complaint on me and my mother, has delivered Claire and Aurora literally to my doorstep. Maybe they aren’t part of a fucked-up cycle that tumbles me back and forth, round and round.
Maybe they are something totally different and new.
A fresh start. A new beginning.
Aurora’s giggle subsides, and she drops the bottle on the floor. She goes to pick it up, but I scoop it up before she can put the nipple back in her mouth.
“You got a clean one?” I nod at Claire. “Just in case that touched the floor.”
“I’ve got a clean one,” she assures me.
I make my decision right there. It’s not rational.
It’s not sane. I don’t even think it’s intentional or conscious.
Her bottle in one hand, I lean down and scoop up Aurora with the other.
I pass the bottle to Claire, and she changes the dirty nipple out for a clean one.
She hands the bottle back to me and I hand it to Aurora, but she takes it from my hand and tosses it on the floor.
“Aw shit,” I say. “We’re gonna need another nipple.”
“I know the feeling,” Claire grumbles over a wry smile.
I’m looking at her when I feel a chubby and surprisingly strong little hand grab on to one of my fingers.
“Mama.” Aurora’s babbling. “Mamaaaa.” She’s got my finger in a death grip. Then, before I know what to think, Aurora’s resting her warm, soft head against my chest and pulling my finger to her mouth.
“She might be teething,” Claire warns, picking up the bottle from the floor. She rests a hand on my thigh and smiles into my face. “But she won’t break the skin if she bites you.”
The tears that burn aren’t from Aurora’s little teeth hurting my finger. They’re from Aurora’s little face, her crystal-blue eyes, her laughter, and her mother breaking down the walls around my heart. I hold on to the little kiddo like I’ll never let go.