Chapter 3 – Mack
My erection is currently trying to bust a hole through the front of my jeans, but I don’t take sex, or Erin, for granted. I don’t want to assume she wants anything more at the moment. I need her to give me a green light before anything happens.
She’s still easily triggered. A strange man coming too close to her in public can set her off.
Someone coming up behind her and touching or grabbing her without warning—even in a playful way—can send her into an absolute panic.
The employees at the bookstore know not to touch her without permission.
I make sure that’s drilled into their heads from the day they’re hired.
Right now she’s on our bed gazing up at me, totally relaxed, with a smile on her face that makes me weak in the knees.
She doesn’t blame me for what happened.
Even though it was my fault for not going with her to that damn New Year’s Eve party—for not keeping her safe—she doesn’t blame me.
I would give anything to go back in time and make a different choice that night. If I could do it all over again, I would be there with her, never once leaving her side, safeguarding her, protecting her. No one would ever lay his hands on her.
But I wasn’t there.
My chest tightens and my pulse picks up as I feel a familiar sense of dread and guilt.
“Mack?” Her voice is quiet, and she looks worried.
I’m showing too much of what I’m feeling. I make a concerted effort to wipe the self-recrimination from my face and smile at her. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Her frown morphs into a smile, and she lifts her arms in invitation. “You’re too far away.”
“Are you sure?” I always need to be sure it’s what she wants.
Erin nods. “And you’re overdressed.”
That’s all the confirmation I need. I pull off my shirt and toss it onto a chair. Then I kick off my shoes. My socks, jeans, and underwear follow quickly.
Naked, I crawl toward her on all fours. “Now, who’s overdressed?”
She grins as she tugs on the hem of her nightshirt. “What are you going to do about it?”
Before I have a chance to demonstrate exactly what I’m going to do about it, the cat leaps onto our bed and starts purring loudly as she rubs against my arm.
“Crap. I forgot. Not right now, Miss Lizzie,” I say as I pick up the cat.
I set her down on the floor outside our room and close the door. “You can come back in later.”
Erin’s still chuckling as I return to bed.
Without another word, I grasp the hem of her nightshirt—it’s actually one of my T-shirts—and pull it carefully up and over her head, leaving her practically naked.
“I’m cold,” she says.
“I’ll keep you warm.” I start working my way down her body, nuzzling each breast, drawing her nipples into my mouth to suckle gently.
She squirms beneath me as I lick and kiss my way lower, stopping to tease her belly button. Eventually, I encounter the waistband of her underwear. Pressing my nose against her, I breathe in deeply, scenting her delicious, heated arousal.
I slide her panties off and toss them aside. Her legs automatically open for me. For a moment, I just stare, taking in the sight of her gorgeous body, warm and soft and aroused.
“Mack,” she moans plaintively.
“What, honey?” I grin. I enjoy drawing this out. I know what she wants, but I want to hear her say it.
“Touch me,” she says breathlessly.
“Where?”
She gives an exasperated huff. “You know where!”
“Touch you how? With my fingers? My tongue?”
She laughs shakily. “Stop tormenting me. You know what I want.”
“But I want to hear you say the words.”
“With both! Your fingers and your tongue.”
Chuckling, I slip a finger into her opening. She’s so wet, clearly ready for me. Clearly on board. I find her sweet spot and start rubbing. I flick her clitoris with the tip of my tongue, teasing it, stroking it, making her moan.
Eventually, her body tenses and she groans more loudly. “Mack!” she gasps.
“You’re going to come for me, sweetheart, aren’t you?”
Her muscles tighten and her back arches off the bed. With a high-pitched cry, she comes, shivering as she falls apart in my hands. Her chest heaves as she tries to catch her breath. I lick and stroke her slick wetness, trying to draw out her pleasure.
When she finally settles, a bit breathless, I rise up over her and nestle my hips between her soft thighs.
I touch her gently, not surprised to find her soft and slick after her orgasm.
She shivers as she tightens her arms around my neck.
When I press the head of my erection into her, she gasps as she clutches my shoulders.
I pause a moment, giving her time to catch up.
When she’s relaxed again, I sink into her, slowly and carefully, just an inch at a time, until I’m fully seated.
I give her a couple of moments to adjust.
With a sigh, she wraps her legs around my waist, and that’s my signal to start moving.
I thrust gently, listening to her sighs turning into soft moans.
She peppers my face with kisses. I quickly take over the kiss, covering her mouth with mine, sealing our lips and drinking in her pleasured cries.
Moans, whimpers, keening sounds. I love them all.
I love knowing I can give her pleasurable new experiences—memories to replace the bad ones.
The way we come together is perfect. Her hands are on me, splayed across my chest one minute and stroking my arms the next.
When her short pink nails dig into my back, I groan, loving every minute of it.
She holds me tightly, and I make sure she feels as much pleasure as I can possibly give her.
My thrusts are slow and gentle, deep and gliding, until her thighs are quivering.
I reach down between us and tease her sensitive clit until she’s whimpering again.
When I finally allow myself to come, she holds me close, her arms tight around me. My body shakes and shudders as my erection bucks and throbs deep inside her. In that moment, she’s my anchor.
We lie joined together for a long while, simply holding each other. Sharing soft kisses and pleasured sighs. When my softened erection slips out, I lie next to her until we’ve both caught our breath.
After a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up, we return to bed, ready for sleep. She turns onto her side, and I spoon her from behind. She sleeps best this way, her back tucked close to my chest and my arm secured around her waist.
She still has nightmares, although they are less and less frequent. When she has them, she cries out in her sleep, stiffens, and struggles against me until I whisper in her ear, over and over, reassuring her that she’s safe.
And then, with a heavy sigh, she’ll relax into me once more and drift back to sleep.
* * *
We wake late the next morning. It’s Saturday, and we don’t work on the weekends.
This is our time to sleep in and relax. We rise when we want, feed the cat, then take a recreational shower together.
Afterwards, we walk to Wildberry Pancakes & Café for breakfast. My girl loves her big, fluffy blueberry pancakes with whipped cream and warm maple syrup.
After stuffing our faces, we go for another long walk downtown, following N. Michigan Avenue past Lake Shore Drive, all the way out to Lake Michigan. Then we stroll along the paved walking path that borders the public beach.
It’s a beautiful early summer day. Erin’s wearing a pale blue dress with a white sweater and sandals. Her dark hair is pinned back with gold barrettes, and her soft cheeks are flushed pink with exertion from our walk.
We walk north for a bit, away from the crowd at Oak Beach. Her hand is tucked in mine, and I’m careful to shorten my steps so I don’t outpace her.
There’s a navy-blue velvet box in my jacket pocket that’s itching to come out. But I want the perfect setting.
Everything has to be perfect.
Eventually, I guide her to a park bench situated beneath the shade of a cluster of mature trees, where I coax her to sit down.
Her gaze is automatically drawn toward the lake, where the sailboats and yachts tour up and down the shoreline.
Off in the distance are the larger ships, ferries and tourist ships cruising the lake.
My heart pounds as I reach into my jacket and pull out the velvet box. This is a moment I will remember for the rest of my life. I swear my hands are shaking as I drop down onto the grass, on one knee, facing her, and open the box to show her what’s inside.
Erin’s blue eyes widen as she stares at the diamond engagement ring tucked inside. “Mack!” She covers the lower half of her face with her hands.
“Erin O’Connor.” I have to pause a moment to clear my voice. Part of me notes the curious civilians walking past us, all staring raptly. Erin notices them, too. But they’re irrelevant.
“Erin, I love you.” I pause for a moment, giving those three words the weight they deserve. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, doing my best to make you happy. Will you please do me the incredible honor—”
“Yes!” She launches herself off the bench and into my arms. She wraps her arms around my neck. “I love you, Mack.”
And then she kisses me in spite of the small crowd that has gathered on the walking path to share in our moment. A few folks have their phones out, trying to be subtle as they point them at us.
I just hope we don’t end up on the Internet.