16. Invincible Goddess
16
Invincible Goddess
Trevor
Chelsea lets out a long groan and buries her face in my shoulder.
Unfortunately, it’s not in a sexy way.
I rub my hand over her back in soft circles.
“I’m sorry,” she groans again. “I wanted this weekend to be fun. To show you around Birch Lake. Not for me to be in the fetal position in bed with evil cramps and my worst period in months.”
I press a kiss to her forehead. “Don’t apologize. I’m happy to be with you, no matter the circumstances. Of course, I wish you felt better because I hate seeing you in pain, but you don’t have to be any certain way for me.” Sweeping some hair off her face, I look into those two-tone eyes. “I wish I could help you feel better.”
“You being here helps. Other than my family, I’ve never had someone who would just lie here with me.”
“Whenever you need me, I’ll be there. I’d wade through the darkness to find you.”
Her glassy eyes meet mine. “I wish I would’ve had you in my life in my most broken moments. Instead, I had friends supporting me by saying ‘bitch, stop moping and have fun.’ I would’ve shown up for them whenever they needed me, but they never took care of me. I’m not sure if they didn’t know how or they didn’t want to. Or our ideas of friendship are just totally different. Probably that one. They’re face-value friends. That’s not who I am or who I ever want to be.”
It blows my mind how they’ve treated her in the past. It also makes me realize I’ve consistently had examples of strong female bonds in my life. My mom with Hyla, the girls with their friends. Sarah and Rae are fiercely protective of each other, but also the first to jump in and take care of each other. When Sarah was having a rough day, I usually found her snuggled up in Rae’s bed. When Rae was really sick and needed surgery, Sarah was the first to realize something was wrong. That extended to their entire friend group. They never trash talk each other. They only support each other. I wish Chelsea could’ve had that.
“Just know that even if for some reason I couldn’t be here, all you’d have to do is mention to the girls how you were feeling, and they’d storm the place. Rae would bring brownies—her grandmother’s recipe. Amanda would for sure bring wine. There’d probably also be coffee, sushi, and the best comfort movies around. Honestly, you’re kind of settling picking me over them.”
That gets a laugh out of her. But then she strokes her hand over my cheek.
“There’s nothing settling about this.”
“I love you.”
“Love you too,” she says weakly.
I run my hand over her stomach, then notice the heat wrap is barely lukewarm now.
Grabbing it, I lean down and press a kiss to her head. “I’m going to warm this up. Want anything to eat?”
She grunts like it’s too much effort to think about that, but then says, “Mashed potatoes.”
“On it.” I set the remote next to her. “Find something to watch.”
Her eyes flick toward the TV on her dresser. “Cheesy Christmas movie?”
“I’m in. Be back soon.”
I head down the stairs of Chelsea’s childhood home. It’s large, with a small house out back. Apparently Chelsea’s grandparents lived in this house and Chelsea and her dad lived in the small one until Chelsea was seven or eight, then they moved into this house with her grandparents while Robbie took the small house out back. Now her dad and stepmom live here, and her grandmother lives in the small house.
When I get down to the kitchen, I’m surprised to find no one is around. Chelsea spent the first couple of days of Thanksgiving break at my house, then we spent Thanksgiving apart—until late last night when I decided I didn’t want to wait until today to see her and drove over. It’s only a forty-five-minute drive, so we could’ve stayed at our own places and still seen each other every day, but I wanted to really experience her world.
And boy, has it been an experience.
Within a half hour of walking through the door last night, Chelsea’s grandmother had already asked for my stance on abortion and my thoughts on whether men should have vasectomies as a form of birth control, then have them reversed when ready. My answer to the first was that every woman deserves the freedom to make choices about her body, and men need to fuck off about trying to control those decisions. My answer to the second was mostly sputtering while Chelsea and everyone else laughed. Except her grandmother. Eventually I got out my response—I think it’s an option for anyone who is looking at not having kids for a while or who knows for sure they don’t want kids. I personally wouldn’t want to do it until I was done having kids because I know I’d like to have kids young. Her grandmother only nodded in some kind of approval. Then the topic of conversation turned, and Robbie started poking fun at Chelsea getting me to read books with her favorite bat boys and shadow daddies. I then informed him my mom and sister had already corrupted me on that front.
Overall, they seem like a fairly relaxed group, even if they’re passionate about certain topics ranging from politics to whether Josh Allen or Patrick Mahomes was a better QB. I wisely kept my mouth shut. Baseball is my sport.
I stick the heat wrap in the microwave, then pull the refrigerator open. There are plenty of Thanksgiving leftovers, so I pull out the mashed potatoes and gravy and dish up a big bowl for Chels, since she’s barely eaten today.
The back door opens and shuts, then Chelsea’s grandmother appears.
“Finding everything okay?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“How’s my girl?”
“In pain.”
She nods. Then slides something wrapped in tin foil over to me. “This is for her too.”
I open it and find… garlic bread. Chelsea’s favorite.
“Thank you. Maybe that’ll lift her spirits a bit. Oh, do you have any tea? I remember there was this tea my mom used to drink…” I trail off. It’s been close to five years since she started going through menopause, so I don’t remember what the hell it was called.
But Chelsea’s grandmother—Matilda, but goes by Mattie—walks across the kitchen and pulls open the cupboard.
“I know what you’re talking about. She hates the taste of that one, but this…” She holds one out to me. “Is milder and should still help. Brew it lightly and add some honey.”
“Thanks.”
Before I find a mug, I grab my phone and snap a picture of the box so I can grab some for her when we get back to Old Lake Town.
“I like how you take care of her,” Mattie says.
My eyes lift to hers. “I’m happy to do it. Anything to help her feel better. I’d take on all that pain if I could.”
She looks at me, assessing. “Good. I’m sorry if we came on strong when you got here last night.”
I laugh as I move to the sink to fill the kettle with water. “No, you’re not. I know why you do it. Put it all out there. Be a little over the top. Scare off the wrong ones right away before anyone gets too attached. I’d do the same. If they can’t handle it, it means they’re not the right fit.” I flick the burner on, then turn back to her. “Not much scares me. The only thing that drives me away is people treating someone I love poorly—or being assholes in general. That’s far from the case here. I can take a little family wildness.”
“I had a good feeling about you. Glad to know I was right. Keep taking care of my girl. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, and there are trays under the island to help you carry all that upstairs.”
“Thanks.”
She smiles, then walks out the back door.
When I get back to Chelsea’s room, she’s propped up on some pillows, watching some Netflix Christmas movie.
She perks up at the sight of the tray. “What’s all that?”
I set the tea on her bedside table and hand her the heat wrap before putting the tray on her lap.
“Tea and sustenance. Your gran made garlic bread.”
“Mm. Yes. I’m starving.”
I sit down next to her, and she leans over to kiss me, her hand skating up my arm as she does. Then she pinches me.
“The fantasy book boyfriend thing again?” I sigh.
She bites her lip and smiles. “Nope. My real-life book boyfriend.”
“I’m moving up in the world.”
“I’m finally starting to believe you’re real.”
I wrap my arm around her back, then press a kiss to her head. “Believe it, babe. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“No way. The Metros are the best baseball team in New York,” I say adamantly.
“You’re just saying that because you got to play against them, and have friends who work and play for them,” Robbie says.
“Technically, my friends work for their affiliate team, the Binghamton Knights.” I stare at them for a beat. “Because they’re the best team in New York… if not the whole East Coast,” I add, making Chelsea’s dad—Gene—and Robbie yell.
“Better than the Boston Revs?” Gene demands.
I shrug, then look at Chelsea. “You didn’t tell me your family are baseball people.”
“They’re sports people.” Chelsea waves a hand. “I only paid attention to the ones I was interested in.” I gape at her and she pats my cheek. “Sorry, babe. I promise, I’m interested in baseball now .”
Which I’m grateful for. With her past, I could understand why she wouldn’t be. I love that she enjoys it because she sees how happy it makes me.
“All right, if we’re going to get into a serious debate, let’s head to the living room. It’s more comfortable and there’s more room for pacing,” Mattie says.
“Agreed,” Hilary, Chelsea’s stepmom, says.
“Actually, Trevor, could I borrow you for a few minutes?” Gene asks.
I glance at Chelsea, but she gives me an encouraging smile.
“Sure.”
He leads me down the hall to an office, then sits down at the desk. I take one of the comfortable armchairs in front of it.
“You’re not going to give me a what are your intentions speech, are you?”
He laughs. “No. Robbie did his part when you first met Chelsea, and with how you treat my daughter, your intentions are obvious. No, actually, I have something for you.”
He pulls an envelope from a drawer and hands it to me.
I take it, still confused, and pull it open to find a picture of my family staring back at me. We’re in front of a canoe, my dad holding the paddle. I pull the small pile of pictures out, emotion gripping my chest.
“This is…”
“Chelsea texted me a few weeks back, asking me to look for any pictures of your family we might have. We regularly took pictures for marketing, but also to remember returning guests. She mentioned your father passed away and thought you’d like to see these.”
Oh, fuck.
I’m not against crying, but I usually don’t do it with someone I don’t know well.
I bite my cheek and look through the pictures, barely keeping my emotions in check. When I get to the last one, I’m shocked at what I see. It’s my dad, holding a wiffle bat, with his arm around Chelsea’s dad.
My gaze snaps to his. “You knew my dad?”
“Got to know him a bit. We always had silly competitions and events. The second year you stayed with us, he overheard me talking with one of my cousins about ideas for a competition, and he suggested wiffle ball. When we decided to do it, I emailed him and let him know. He conveniently booked your summer trip for when the competition was taking place and told me he’d better be on my team. We kept in touch here and there. I don’t know if I’d call us true friends, but he was a good man. Kind. But then we lost contact. Now I know why. When Chelsea said your last name, I thought it sounded familiar, but it wasn’t until she asked me to look for the pictures that I figured it out.”
I press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. “You don’t know what this means to me.”
He reaches across the desk and squeezes my arm. “From one man who has lost his father to another, I do.”
Tears blur my vision as I look at him. “Thank you.”
To my surprise, he gets up and comes around the desk, then pulls me into a hug. “No problem. If you ever need someone to give you a bit of that dad energy, I’m here.”
Fuck.
I sniff back my tears. “Thank you.”
He pats my back and steps away. “If I know my daughter, she’s making some hot cocoa right now. Go find her, maybe enjoy the hot cocoa on the back porch.”
I nod, at a loss for words, and follow him out to the kitchen.
As Gene predicted, Chelsea is standing by the counter where two mugs of hot cocoa sit. I toss the pictures on the counter and wrap Chelsea in the tightest hug I can.
“I take it you liked the pictures?”
“I loved them. But I love you more. Thank you.”
I let her go, and she looks up at me, vibrant eyes filled with warmth. “Anything to see that smile. Come on.”
She nods to the mugs, then grabs one. I grab the other and the pictures and follow her toward the back door. She stops and gets two blankets from a basket near the door, then leads me onto the screened-in back porch.
Once we’re comfortable on the outdoor loveseat, I show her the pictures, saving the one of our dads for last.
Her mouth drops when she sees it.
“They—they—”
“Were friends. Or friendly.”
She brushes her thumb over the photo. “Another tether between us.”
I put the photo back in the envelope and pull her close. “Further proof that we were always supposed to find each other. End up here.”
She leans against me, resting her head on my chest.
“Here is pretty great.”
And as I hold my girl, nestled under blankets on this beautiful night, feeling more in love with her than ever, all I can do is agree.
Chelsea
I feel fantastic.
It’s a marked change from a week ago when I was lying in bed and wanted to roll into an early grave. I haven’t had a period like that in a while, and it almost makes me want to try birth control again, but somehow every birth control I tried made things worse for me. They either made me sick or gave me migraines or made my periods worse somehow. Apparently, my body doesn’t like additional hormones added to the mix.
Speaking of hormones, mine are on fire.
My period finally fucked off two days ago, and now I’m frisky and want nothing more than to turn that wild hormonal energy on Trevor. Not that I think he’ll mind. I’ve been amping up my flirty texts all day, but I didn’t want to tease him too much before I see him.
I just finished up a meeting with the planning committee for the women’s festival. It’s so much fun. A little more hippie than I’m used to, but the powerful female energy is strong. While drum circles aren’t my thing, learning more about women’s health and wellness and channeling my inner power—yes, that’s one of the festival events—is one hundred percent my thing. And I can’t wait. It’s not until May, but there’s already been some ticket sales, and I’m hopeful it’ll be a great event.
I wave to one of the other women on the committee as I open my car door. Trevor should be waiting for me at my apartment, reading the fantasy series that I’ve already halfway binged. Thankfully, Trevor doesn’t complain about me being ahead, he just tries to get me to give him spoilers, which I don’t do because sacrilege!
I lock my car, then turn it on before pulling my phone out to text Trevor one more deliciously dirty thing—and let him know I’m ready to kick things up a notch. I’ve had my mouth on him—more than once since that first time. Now I’m ready for him to have his mouth on me. Below my chest. A shiver of anticipation rolls through me when I think about it. But it dies almost immediately when I see new texts in my group chat with Bridget and Lex.
Preparing for my blood pressure to rise, I open the conversation.
Bridget: So, I’m bummed we didn’t get to see you over Thanksgiving break. Any chance we can plan something for winter break?
Lex: Yeah, we miss you! And we want to meet the boyfriend.
I blink in surprise. Not the typical passive aggression I’m used to. It still has the feel of them ganging up on me, which it hurts to admit they’ve always done, but I’m used to that. I go to type out a response, but stop myself. Because I was going to apologize that I wasn’t feeling well, but what Trevor said last week has stuck with me. That if the girls had known I didn’t feel well, they’d all have shown up for me. I don’t need to apologize to Bridget and Lex. If they’d wanted to see me, they would’ve made the effort.
Instead, I take a deep breath and respond in a way that doesn’t give them room to blame me.
Me: It would be nice to see you. Trevor will be there with me before Christmas, so maybe sometime in there?
Bridget: Yes! Finally.
Lex: We’ll make it happen.
Me: Throw some dates at me and we’ll figure something out.
Bridget: Hooray!
With a sigh, I close my texts and toss my phone onto my seat. It’s not that I don’t want to see them, but it makes me sad it doesn’t excite me like it once did. Then again, there’s a reason for that. People talk about moving on from a relationship after a breakup, but no one talks about how hard it is to let go of a friendship, even when it’s hurting you.
Whatever.
I tuck those feelings into a box for another day and take the short drive back to my apartment. My mood is still a little funky when I get home, but then I walk into my bedroom and find Trevor splayed out on my bed, reading a book.
I stop just inside the doorway and enjoy the view.
“I could get used to coming home to this.”
He pulls the book down enough so he can see me.
“Should I flex a little?”
“No. You’re perfect.”
So perfect. Perfectly delicious. Which must be why I’m licking my lips.
I drop all my shit on the floor and cross the room to him. Tossing his book to the side, I climb on top of him and kiss him like a wild woman.
“Someone’s feeling frisky,” Trevor murmurs against my lips.
I pull back slightly and meet his eyes as I roll my hips. “I told you I have a high sex drive. Are you ready to keep up?”
He wraps his arms around me and does some crazy spin move that leads to me lying on the bed. He stretches out beside me and kisses my neck, running his fingers along the edge of my waistband.
“What do you want today? A toy or my fingers?”
I swallow down the nerves that are always there when we try something new and say, “Your mouth.”
When it occurred to me the other day, I was surprised by how right it felt. But thinking about it, I guess it makes sense that oral sex might be easier. That wasn’t a part of my assault. He only used one part of his body. That’s why I’m still not ready for sex. I want Trevor every way I can get him, but there’s no rush for me to be ready for that step, so I’m taking my time.
But this feels right.
He sits up. “Chels…”
“Trevor,” I whine, knowing where this is going.
“I thought we agreed you’d make decisions like this outside of the moment.”
“I was going to text you with the gist of that, but then I saw a text from Bridget and Lex, and it left my brain.”
“Time out. What was their text about? Did they say something else shitty?”
“No. They asked if we could get together with them over winter break.”
“We?”
“They want to meet you.”
He lets out a little laugh. “They might regret that.”
“Trevor! Stop changing the subject.”
“Fine.” He strips his shirt off, then undoes the button of his jeans. “But I still want to be sure you’re ready for this. That you won’t regret it later.”
I stand up and meet his gaze, staring him down as I pull my shirt off, then shove down my pants. “I thought we agreed you’d trust that I know what I’m ready for and can tell you if something doesn’t feel right.” I raise my eyebrows, but he doesn’t say anything. Just smiles, all charming and sincere. Irritating as fuck. So I pull off my bra, then glide my underwear down my legs until I’m standing in front of him, stark naked. “I don’t need protection from myself. Now eat my pussy.”
He sucks in a sharp breath, eyes gleaming with trouble.
“Only if you ride my face.”
Um, what?
Did that just happen?
I think my brain broke. I heard a definite pop. Or sizzle.
“Chels…” His voice is pure sex.
All I get out is a ridiculous squeak.
Come on, get it together.
This is book boyfriend shit.
“Come here.”
He grabs me and pulls me onto the bed with him, so I’m sitting on top of him again.
I look down at the position, and… there’s no way this is going to work.
He palms my ass and looks up at me. “This way, baby.”
“Are—are you sure? My thighs… might smother you.”
He smirks like the devil. “Sounds like a good way to go.”
I smack him hard on the chest.
“Ow. Why are you always trying to hurt me?”
“I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the whole point.”
“If you say some ridiculous shit about being too big for this, I’ll have to spank your perfect ass.”
I’m not self-conscious about my size. I love my body. But I’m also aware that I’m not tiny like all the heroines in my books, and I’m suddenly wondering if this whole idea is an act of fiction.
“We’re practicing trust. I’m trusting that you’ll tell me or stop if anything feels uncomfortable for you. You’re trusting me to tell you if I can’t breathe, but I don’t see that being a problem when all I want to breathe is you.”
He inches me forward again, and this time I go willingly, hovering over him until I’m angled over his stupidly gorgeous face. His dark eyes are wild with excitement as he takes me in.
“Now what should I do?” I ask.
“Grab the headboard.”
I almost whimper at the words, but I do it.
“Good girl. Now drop your hips. My hands are on your thighs, so I’ll keep you from going too far. You set the angle and the pace, just make sure it’s comfortable for you.”
I close my eyes and breathe in, slowly lowering my hips, until… he groans.
I snap my eyes open and look down at him, but before I can take in what’s happening, his tongue brushes my clit.
Oh .
Well, okay. I’m sold on it now.
He flicks his tongue around, then holds it steady. Gripping the headboard, I slowly roll my hips.
“Oh, fuck.”
I settle into a rhythm, lost in pure bliss. The little flicks of his tongue are sinful and the way he occasionally brings his lips together to suck on my clit… oh my god.
My body is chanting, yes, more .
My brain has mostly melted at this point, but the awareness of crossing this line is there. Every time I take a step forward, I’m worried it’ll trigger me and I’ll freak out, but there’s nothing about this that’s triggering. I’m in control. I’m riding his face. I’m taking what I want. It makes me feel powerful. Like a goddess stealing the life of mere mortal men.
Not that Trevor is a mere mortal. He’s a god among men.
The god of pussy eating, possibly.
Yeah, my brain has definitely melted, but I don’t care.
It feels too good.
My body is awash with pleasure. Goosebumps prickle on my skin. My arm muscles burn from holding onto the headboard, but I don’t care.
I’m a screaming, whining mess, barreling toward the edge, chasing the high I know is only a few strokes of his tongue away.
Fire blooms inside me, and all at once, explodes out of me.
“Yes,” I cry as my body goes taut.
My sweaty hands slide on the headboard as my body convulses and I struggle to stay upright.
Trevor’s arm snakes up around my waist, holding me steady as my legs tremble around his head.
Holy shit.
I’m not sure if I think the words or say them.
My eyes slip closed as I come back down, a shaking, panting mess. Then I hear Trevor groaning.
“Fuck, fuck…”
I open my eyes halfway, trying to figure out what happened. It takes me a second, but then I see his pants shoved down and his hand around his now softening cock. Apparently, that was hot as fuck for him too.
I don’t know how Trevor does it, but we end up side by side on my bed as I melt into a pile of pillows.
For a few moments, the only sound is the blood rushing through my ears, but then Trevor’s fingers graze my navel.
“God, you’re beautiful.” His words are a reverent sigh that force my heavy eyelids open.
He’s staring at my naked, flushed, wrung-out body in awe.
“So beautiful. I can’t believe you’re mine.”
“I know. I’m pretty amazing.”
He laughs and kisses my neck. “And so humble.”
“It’s hard to be humble when you worship my body like I’m a goddess.”
“You are. My strong, invincible goddess.”
I snort at that. “Invincible?”
“You’ve survived everything that’s tried to break you. I’d call that invincible.”
“Well then, I guess you are too.”
“Perfectly matched.”
His lips find mine again, and even though I’m starving and need to pee, I barely notice. Nothing has ever felt this right. No one has ever made me feel so desired… so cherished before. And I get the feeling no one else ever will. Maybe it’s too soon to know for sure, but I already know he’s my person. I already know I’m in love with him. Now, blooming deep in my gut, is the piercing certainty that he’s more than that. He’s it for me. He’s everything.