“I can’t begin to explain how much I missed that scent,” he says, unbuckling his belt.
He’s too slow. I’m too needy. I reach for his zipper, quickly tugging it down to pull his cock out. He’s silky smooth and rock hard in my hand. I stroke him, my fingers remembering exactly the way he likes it.
He finally gets his belt open and pops the button on his pants. They slide down low on his hips. If anybody came out here now, there would be no mistaking what we’re doing, but I can’t muster an ounce of concern.
Warm fingers slide around my thigh, lifting my leg. I hook it around his hip as he pushes inside of me. The sigh that erupts from my throat is harsh and long. I’ve been so empty without him and now that he’s filling me, I feel like I’m home.
His lips are wet, sliding up my neck. “I love you so much,” he murmurs against my skin.
I grasp him tighter to me, clinging to him as he pounds me into the wall. The brick is scraping my bare ass, but I will gladly wear those marks. My throat feels clogged, my eyes brimming with unshed tears.
I didn’t know. I didn’t know I could feel this way again. I didn’t know I was capable of it. I clutch him hard as my orgasm shudders through me. A second later I feel his release rip through him, but I keep my arms locked around him, not willing to let him go.
“I love you too,” I utter as the tears stream down my heated cheeks in cool streaks. “I love you too.”
41
Jensen
There is no greater high than being loved by the woman you’re in love with.
After our…reunion, Holland sent me home with the promise she’d meet me here as soon as her shift ended. The very first thing I did was clean the studio, worried two full walls covered in nothing but her photos would freak her out.
She has her own drawer in my filing cabinet now, housing all of her prints. I’ve also given her several drawers in my dresser—I’d like to slowly start easing her out of that shoebox she calls her apartment.
I try to work, opening some photos on my laptop to edit, but I’m humming with an overabundance of energy. I snap the lid closed and set my computer on the table, instead thinking about all the ways I can use this energy when she gets here.
As if my thoughts summoned her, the bell chimes. Thank fuck.
I’m ready to pounce on her as soon as I open the door, but the expression on her face kills that idea instantly. A knife twists in my gut, panic brewing in my chest.
She slips past me, a brown box clutched in her arms.
Something’s wrong. I don’t know what changed between the time I saw her at The Pub and now, but she looks wrecked.
I watch her set the box on the couch and take a seat beside it. She peers up at me, teardrops wet on her lashes.
“I need to tell you something,” she whispers, the sound jagged, like broken glass.
I swallow down the lump of anxiety caught in my throat and sit on the opposite side of the box. I almost make a joke, asking her if there’s a dead body inside, but instinct tells me to keep my fucking mouth shut and my ears open.
“Darren—my husband—came to see me a few days ago.”
That one sentence has my hackles rising. I’m not beyond causing bodily harm. If he hurt her in any way, I’ll fucking kill him.
She must read my alarm because she shakes her head, giving me the smallest of smiles. “Nothing happened. He just wanted to make sure I was okay. We’re going forward with the dissolution.”
Her eyes flit down to the box again. Her next breath is shaky and shallow. I place my hand on her knee and give it a squeeze, encouraging her to say what she needs to tell me. I don’t know if I want to hear it, but I know she needs to get it off her chest.
“He brought me this box, but I haven’t been able to make myself open it yet.” She bats a tear off her cheek. “You know I was a wife, but what I haven’t told you is that I was, for six amazing months… I was a mother.” Her jaw tightens and the tears fall with fury, but she ignores them.
“My son, Caleb,” she says hoarsely, a sad smile lifting her lips. “He was everything I never knew I wanted. He was beautiful and perfect.” She lifts her shoulders, shaking violently. “And he died.”
I have a hundred different questions, but I don’t voice a single one. I slip my hand under her legs, scooping her up. I set her on my lap and enclose her in my arms, just holding her. She sobs into my chest, her pain soaking through my shirt and absorbing into my skin. Guilt consumes me like a thick blanket. Her sadness was the first thing that attracted me to her, and now, to know what had broken her—I’m ashamed of myself.
It kills me to see her in so much agony. I don’t know how to take it away, and I understand what true helplessness is.
We stay like this, her shedding her pain into me.
When her tears run dry, she sits up, her face blotched red, eyes pink and puffy. She tells me about her child. What he looked like. How he smelled. She tells me about his favorite toys and least favorite baby foods. Trips they took and how she liked to watch him sleep at night. And then she tells me about the day he died.
Her body quakes as she weeps. I hold her tighter, whispering how much I love her. I know it doesn’t take her pain away and nothing ever really will, but I tell her anyway, hoping it helps just a little.
“Darren didn’t say what was in the box, but I think it’s some of Caleb’s things,” she murmurs. “I want to open it, but I’m afraid.”
“I’ll be here with you,” I assure her.
She sniffles, wiping her nose on the back of her sleeve before she slides off my lap. Her hands are trembling when she reaches forward, pulling the lid open. Her hand cups her mouth, a brand new wave of tears sliding over her fingers, landing on the box in fat drops.
She pulls out a framed photo of a smiling baby boy with blonde hair and big blue eyes. She stares at it for a long moment before hugging it to her chest. Next, she pulls out a soft brown teddy bear, her fingers stroking the fur lovingly. The last item inside is a neatly folded baby-blue blanket with puppies printed on it. She brings it to her nose, inhaling deeply.
I can’t imagine my child reduced to a small box of things. I can’t fathom what she’s been through—what she’s going through right now.
I realize what a selfish bastard I’ve been. Afraid to have a child because I might not get to see him grow up, graduate, get married—but none of that compares to never being given the opportunity. I understand now what she meant when she told me there were worst things than losing my sight.
I stand up and wrap my arms around her, hugging her from behind. I’m going to make it my mission to make this woman happy if it’s the last thing I do.
“What you said earlier tonight,” she says softly. “About getting married and having kids—”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
“I know you didn’t.” She leans forward, placing everything gingerly back into the box, then turns in my arms to face me. “I don’t know if I can do that. Have another child, I mean.”
I open my mouth to tell her we don’t have to do that—that I understand, but she covers my lips with her fingers, silencing me.
“I don’t know if I can do that, but I’m willing to try. For you. For us. I made an appointment with a grief counselor the day after I saw Darren, and if you’re patient with me, who knows? Maybe someday I might get there.”
It’s a damn good thing she isn’t letting me speak because I don’t have any fucking words at the moment.
She lowers her hand and covers my mouth with hers. Her lips are salty and so damn sweet.
“It’s going to take me a while,” she says between kisses. “And it’s going to be hard.”
“Everything worthwhile usually is,” I whisper, and then I kiss her again.
Epilogue
Holland
Four years later
“I’m not going to fuck you, Holland,” Jensen says, his tone low, rough, and commanding. “You are going to fuck yourself and I??
?m going to watch.”
I try really hard not to smile as I obediently strip myself bare for him in record speed. He takes a seat in the chair at the end of our bed, the morning sun streaming in to bathe his skin in a honey glow as he leans back casually. He looks perfectly at ease, but I notice the way his fingers curl into the arms of the chair. He’s already hard, his plaid pajama pants tented.
If I play my cards right, he won’t stay in that seat for long.
Once my pajamas are lying on the floor at my feet, I shimmy out of my panties, and turn around, crawling slowly up onto the bed.
He cocks a brow as I peer over my shoulder at him. “Lay down and spread your legs,” he instructs. “Hurry, I don’t know how much time we have and I want to see you.”
I do as he says, lying back and letting my legs fall open. I hold perfectly still, letting him have his fill. When I hear the quickened pace of his breaths, I slip my hand onto my stomach and start inching my way down between my thighs.
He leans forward, his palms flat against one another under his chin, elbows resting on his knees. “Tell me how wet you are for me.”
I caress myself, just once, my eyes focused on his face. “I’m soaking wet,” I utter. “Tell me how hard you are for me.”
His gaze flicks up to mine, appreciation and adoration clear in his stare. “Rock hard, baby.” He stands, coming to sit beside where I lay on the bed. “Touch yourself for me. Pretend it’s my hand.”
With him this close, I can feel the heat coming off of his body, smell the crisp scent of his skin. I slide my fingers over my breast, working my way back down. I part myself, letting one finger stroke against my clit, just the way he does it. A moan sounds in my throat as a growl reverberates in his.
“Please, Jensen,” I sigh, glancing at the digital clock on the stand.
“Not yet,” he says soothingly. “Just a little bit longer.” He lifts his camera, snapping several photos.
I keep going, rubbing my clit in small, fast circles. I’m close. So close.
“You’re so damn beautiful,” he husks.
My legs stiffen and twitch as I come. He sets his camera down and lifts my hand, bringing my fingers to his mouth. He sucks on each one individually, his tongue massaging and savoring.
“I want to bind you, baby,” he says, his voice thick with need. He opens the nightstand drawer and slips a case out—his drawer of toys reduced to one small box these days.
“Hurry,” I plead. I need this. I need him.
He chooses a pair of soft leather cuffs, positioning my arms, one behind the post on the headboard, and one in front. He locks the cuffs around my wrists and leans back, admiring his work.
“Perfect.”
His bare chest presses into mine as he leans in, kissing me languidly. He grinds against me, the thin material of his pants not masking the strength of his erection.
I twist in my binds, wishing I could rip his clothes off and guide him inside me. I fold my legs, placing my feet flat against his hips and shove his pants downward. I don’t get them far, but Jensen chuckles, getting the point.
“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers, his lips raking along my skin, capturing one nipple. He tugs on it with his teeth as he pulls his thick, hard length out. He teases my entrance with the head of his cock, making me squirm and pant.
Finally, he plunges inside, filling me in one hard thrust. I cry out quietly, wrapping my legs around his waist. I rise up, pressing into his hips. He hisses through his teeth, his head falling to my shoulder where he nips gently.
“You feel so good,” he groans. We move in unison, matching each other’s pace as we gradually move faster, working toward a common goal.
He slips his hand between our bodies, thumb and index finger clamping around my clit. He pinches hard, then caresses tenderly, back and forth until I’m biting down on my lip, stifling my cries as my orgasm shudders through me. He follows right behind, releasing into me.
I kiss his forehead and into his hair. He’s sweaty and heavy against me. I love it. I love him. All of it.
He reaches up, freeing my wrists, and places a delicate kiss on my lips. His mouth opens to say something and the monitor on the dresser cuts him off.
I burst out laughing as the sound of our two-year-old son playing in his room fills my ears.
“We made it just in time,” I say.
Jensen grins, kissing the tip of my nose. “I was just about to say I can’t believe we pulled that off.” He pushes himself up, quickly dressing. “I’ll get him and go start breakfast.”
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I say, stretching my arms above my head and flexing my toes. I bask in this feeling. This easy comfort. It hasn’t always been like this for us. I don’t think I slept for the first whole year of our son’s life. Constantly on edge, afraid of what might happen if I took my eyes off of him for even a moment. I still wake through the night, panicky, sneaking into his room to watch him sleep. Watching his chest, counting his breaths. Sometimes Jensen watches with me, but instead of counting breaths, I think he counts days—how many he’s been able to enjoy looking at the life we created.
As soon as I’m showered and dressed, I join my boys in the kitchen. Sebastian is sitting in his booster seat, placing scrambled eggs onto his fork, and then into his mouth.
“There’s Mommy,” Jensen calls, handing me a cup of coffee. God, I love this man.
“Thanks,” I say taking a large sip. I sit down next to my little guy, brushing his dark hair out of his eyes—his father’s beautiful eyes. “Morning Mister.”
“Morning Mommy.” He offers me a bite of his eggs and I pretend to gobble his hand, making him squeal with laughter.
“What’s on the agenda today?” I ask Jensen. My eyes follow his movements as he prepares his morning smoothie. He started taking Vitamin A after Sebastian was born, hoping to slow the progression of his RP. I understand why he takes it—wanting to prolong the amount of time he can watch his son grow, but it makes me nervous, knowing the risks to his liver. Every day is a constant struggle for his dad as he waits for a donor. I don’t want Jensen to ever go through that.
“I have a shoot at the park,” he says. “I thought you and Bastian could tag along.”
I smile, amused my husband, who once made his living selling erotic art, now photographs families in the park with his toddler.
“Sounds perfect,” I reply honestly. “I’ll call Summer and see if she can bring Nelly to play with her cousin.”
It’s difficult to believe there was a point in time, not so long ago, when I couldn’t see past my own grief. When I was certain I would never be whole again. But every bit of heartache made me who I am and brought me to this place. As hard as it was at times, I wouldn’t trade any of it.
From pain, came happiness. I have the name to always remind me now. And I love being Mrs. Jensen Payne.
Nothing will ever make me forget Caleb. I miss him every single day and I know I always will, but Jensen’s unconventional love has been its own form of therapy. He’s helped my healing process in ways I didn’t even realize at the time. It’s been a long, hard road, but my beautiful family is the reason I was finally able to reach my end goal.
Acceptance.
I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Thank you so much for reading! Reviews are so important in not only selling books, but also in helping me improve as an author. Please consider leaving an honest review on Amazon and Goodreads.
Other books by Cheryl
New Adult Romance:
Sometimes Never
Blackbird ( A Sometimes Never Novella)
Before Now
Long After
Always Forever
Sometimes Never: The Series Box Set
New Adult Crime Romance:
Infinitely
Eternally (Infinitely 2) Coming Soon
Adult Suspense:
Getting Dirty (Dirty 1)
Playing Dirty (Dirty 2)
&nbs
p; Talking Dirty (Dirty 3)
Fighting Dirty (Dirty 4)
Staying Dirty (Dirty 5)
Dirty (The Five-Part Serial Bundle)
YA Paranormal Romance:
Dark Calling
Dark Craving (Dark Calling 2) Coming Soon
M/M New Adult Gay Romance:
Let It Be (A Sometimes Never Novella)
Acknowledgements
Time for the hardest part of writing a book (at least for me), the acknowledgements. So many hands are involved in every book and this is no exception.
Thank you first and foremost to my sister, Dawn, for…so many damn things. Being my biggest fan and strongest encourager, super-duper editor, and now blog tour host. You go above and beyond for me over and over again, and I can never express how much it means to me. I know, without a doubt, I couldn’t do this any of this without you. Okay, maybe—and that’s a BIG maybe—I could, but I wouldn’t want to.
Mom, thanks for encouraging me to write smut even though I’m totally embarrassed for you to read it. I had fun. Now lets never speak of this again.
To my other half, Sean, thank you for letting me pick your man brain and for keeping the kids busy so I could write. That’s like, the hottest thing you could ever do for me. Seriously.
Sunniva Dee, my author bestie, you truly are an amazing friend. Thank you for all your insight for my first adventure into the world of erotic romance, and also for demanding I drop every other book I was working on to focus on this one first. I’m not sure Jensen would have ever gotten the chance to tell his story if you weren’t so pushy! And I love you for it!
Danielle at Short and Sassy Book Blurbs… Holy crap. If everyone in the world were made like you, the planet would be a truly awesome place. I will never be able to thank you enough for all you’ve done for me. You rock so hard!
Beth Michele, my other author bestie. The fact that you had my book finished in a day, with your busy schedule, is just amazing. You’re always there when I need you and that means so much to me. More than I can ever put into words. I love you to pieces!