12. Chloe
12
CHLOE
I couldn’t resist kissing him. I didn’t want to hold myself back from sealing my lips to Franco’s.
He grunted at the force of my lunge at him. At the first touch of his soft, firm lips so warm against mine, he gripped my arms tighter. His fingers dug into my skin, and I reveled in the bite of pain.
I couldn’t bear his staying back. Even though I saw the hesitancy in his eyes, I hated the idea of us being parted when we were both right here. Together. Finally, after all those years I was only able to dream and fantasize about him, missing him from the bottom of my heart, we were together, in this room, and opening up.
While I had yet to share all of the truth with him, I felt better about telling him that Wes wouldn’t let himself be a person in my past. It was freeing to unshoulder the burden of my ex stalking me, and I relished the lightness of not being stuck under the pressure of that worry that Wes could’ve arranged for the shooting at the A&J. I’d mourn Manny and Suzie, but I was relieved that I’d opened up to tell Franco about my suspicions, that Wes might be the man they’re looking for.
He opened up, too, pleading with me for an explanation of why I ran. It had to take guts and a lot of submission to ask me for an answer I couldn’t give him.
But that give and take ended there.
I couldn’t tell him that truth—not yet. I couldn’t reveal the fact that I had a son, that he was involved in the creation of my family.
All I could do was show how badly he would always be the one for me. Taking the initiative to go for him, to lean into his body heat, I wanted to show him what I struggled to put into words.
I needed him. Despite all the years we weren’t together, I had to make him understand that I loved him and needed him with all my heart. Even though he stuck to his assumption that I hadn’t fought for us back then, my love was his and my soul would always be tied to his.
“Chloe,” he growled as he moved his hands. He didn’t hold me back. Now, as I dove back for another, deeper kiss, he hauled me closer.
I dreamed of his gritty voice full of desire. So many nights, I'd envisioned this very moment and this exact heated kiss.
“Fuck, Chloe. You—” His protest, if that was what he wanted to get out, was lost as he kissed me harder.
I fantasized about this heady sensation of being under the command of his mouth on mine, his lips parted, meshed so hot and wet against mine, and we both explored again. I tasted him and knew my soul was whole again. He sucked on my tongue, pulling me closer and drawing me deeper into this intoxicating spell of desire.
In my darkest moments, this fiery love was what kept me strong. And during my loneliest trials of missing what we had together, the hopes for his hands so strong and firm, keeping me close, were what pushed me to endure it all.
“You—”
“I need you,” I repeated, firm in wanting to reconnect with him.
I had to show him how much I meant it, and I started that by crawling all the way onto his lap. I pushed his head back, slamming my lips to his, but he didn’t fall. He didn’t rock backward on the bed. Scooting his butt back, he made room for both of us, him seated and me straddling his lap. All the while, he framed my face and kissed me back.
As soon as my knees landed on the mattress, I sank into the plush bounce and found my balance—as one. We were flush together. His hard chest was a wall of power to brace my softer curves against.
I wasn’t as lean and thin as he might remember, but when he lowered his hands to grip at my sides, I got the impression that he enjoyed this too. He curled his fingers, clutching me as though he’d never want to let go again.
Kissing him as though air could no longer matter, I ground against him. From the rub of my aching breasts, feeling so heavy with my arousal, and the downward grind of my pussy over his erection trapped under his pants, I covered him with all of my body.
Blood rushed through me, pulsing faster as I fell into this heady thrill of desire. My heart hammered, and as I kissed lower down his jaw, angling for his neck, I felt the rapid beat of his, racing just as fast as mine.
His hands roved everywhere. Every way he moved, it was another effort to keep me close. He pulled on the small of my back to ensure I rubbed down over him, slowly humping him despite the clothes between us. He grabbed my ass, forcing me to spread my legs wider over him. And he gripped my head, cupping the back of it to plaster his mouth to mine in a harder, hungry kiss.
“I need you,” I repeated as I tugged his shirt up.
He lifted his arms, and the only break we gave ourselves in kissing each other was to let that layer come off.
His chest heaved with hard breaths, and I took a moment to run my hands over the dips and valleys of all the muscles. He’d always been so strong and obsessed with fitness. Over the years, he’d earned a chiseled body decorated with scars and tattoos.
“I need all of you,” I begged as I grabbed the hem of my shirt and tugged up.
“Fuck, Chloe.” He moaned into my mouth, making out with me as I reached back to free my breasts from the confines of my bra.
“So gorgeous,” he praised as he stroked his hands over my sides. Once he took my breasts in his hands, I raised up on my knees higher. Offering myself to him, I wordlessly prayed that he’d taste me there. I arched my back, thrusting my nipples toward his wet lips, and he didn’t disappoint. He braced his big, callused hands on my back, keeping me right where he could reach me and torture me some more. With hot kisses, long licks, and hard sucks, he tormented my nipples. He was ravenous to sample every inch of me, and as he held me up, I tried to undulate against him and seek friction for the aching neediness I felt for him. Only him.
Back then and now, Franco drove me wild.
“I…”
God, I couldn’t speak, breathless and weak to this desire lancing through me. I wanted him so damn bad. I wanted his dick deep inside me and reminding me how we belonged together. I had no right to him. I had zero right to ask him to give himself to me.
He was already hurt that I’d left him the way I had—without a goodbye and no chance of a reason.
If I were to tell him that I had his son, that I gave birth to Caleb without giving him a hint that he would be a father, he’d be hurt even more. I’d wound him. I’d break his heart all over again. The fury I’d instigate would never fade, and for that reason, to spare him more pain, heartache, and anger, I had to swallow down the words. It was on the tip of my tongue. I was bursting to tell him that I needed him to listen to me, that I needed him to know that he was the father of my son.
But right now, I needed to feel him, to reconnect and build on the love that I was so brave to give up so long before.
It never died. The love between us would always burn so stubbornly bright, but I had no power to change the fact that obstacles would always remain between us.
Tell him. You have to tell him. The urgency to come completely clean raged within me, but I feared that he could find out too soon and be mad. I worried that he’d never forgive me, and in that manner, I decided to be selfish, to be greedy for once, to put myself first and go for what I wanted, what I needed.
I had the chance to be with him now, right here, and I wasn’t strong enough to pass up on it.
I eased back, crawling away from him but still leaning forward to kiss him. Aiming for the edge of the bed so I could stand, I ended up on all fours, crawling away. My breasts swayed with the motion as I retreated. When he leaned in, chasing after me and kissing me, he lifted his hands to cup my breasts and rub his thumbs over my nipples. I moaned, feeling every touch shooting straight to my pussy. A live wire of tingling desire threaded through me, but I resisted the urge to fall onto him. Not yet.
Standing shakily, I hurried to remove my pants and panties. He wasn’t far behind me, pushing his hips up to take off the rest of his clothes too.
I took a moment to look him over, admiring the stiff hardness that jutted up from his lap. He was so thick and long, and I knew exactly what kind of pleasure and pain stretching myself on him would give me.
I set one hand on his shoulder as I crawled back onto the bed, but with my free hand, I wrapped my fingers around his dick and stroked the length of his erection.
“Chloe.” He gritted his teeth as he urged me back to him. “I won’t last.”
“Me neither,” I whispered before straddling him again. Kissing him hard and slow, I angled his cock to my soaking wet pussy. The first push of his wide head on my entrance filled me with so much pleasure that I wanted to be greedy. I wanted to take all that I wanted from him. The only thing I could count on in this moment was an orgasm, a heady, all-consuming release. His love would become conditional the moment he learned about our son and how I’d lied to him.
At this moment, though, I wanted what he could give me.
I sank down his rigid dick, treasuring the wide, stretching fullness. He speared up into me at my pace, and I did my best not to hold my breath or tense up. It burned as he entered me fully, but it was such an exquisite sense of being pushed to my limits that I knew the reward of taking all of him would be bliss.
“Chloe,” he growled again, his voice so thick with need and longing. I heard the agony of all the heartache, and I vowed to try to erase as much as I could. It would always linger. Our past would be etched into the fabric of our lives, but right now, I had the power to show him that I still cared, that I still needed and wanted him.
“I missed you,” I breathed against his parted lips. Up and down, I rode him. Starting slow guaranteed us a lead in to the friction we both chased. Once I sped up, making sure to drop down to the point where I rubbed my clit over him too, we were on a race to come.
“I missed you every fucking moment you were gone,” he said, his ravenous stare locked on my tits as I bounced on his dick.
I leaned back, giving him the show he wanted. If he wanted to watch my breasts jiggle and bounce, I would arch my back and let him look his fill. If he wanted to thrust up into my pussy, I’d widen my legs that much more to welcome him in as I sank down.
The angle left me unbalanced, but he didn’t let me suffer. Holding my back, he gave me support, and with this leverage, I used all my strength to slide up and down his cock until he came.
I beat him to it by seconds. As my pussy clenched and waves of pleasure soared through me, he roared a guttural sound of relief. I moved, rocking on him until I wrung out every last bit of ecstasy between us. I came with the intensity of floating, of drifting, of coming apart into so many pieces that I wasn’t sure how I’d feel whole again.
He flooded me with his hot cum, jerking deep inside me—where he belonged.
Shaking and breathing hard from the rush of reaching my orgasm like that with him, I nearly slumped onto the floor. But, of course, he didn’t let me.
“Come here,” he urged gently. His voice was gruff from coming, but he was tender as he wrapped his arms around me and hugged me close.
I'd wanted to come to him so many times over the years, but until I could tell him what held me back, I felt like a fraud, a selfish, horrible person to want what I could never have.
His love, forever and unconditionally.