“You’re not going to do this—fuck away the pain. If you want me inside you, Blue Belle, I’ll be there, but it’ll be my way.”
He spreads my legs, and I’m too busy panting to be able to fight him. My mind is spinning and I honestly don’t know where the hell I’m at.
Max reaches down and swipes his fingers between my folds, as if checking if I’m wet. When he’s satisfied, he slowly slides his cock back in, this time gentle and careful. It feels amazing, and I close my eyes, swimming in the pleasure.
“Slowly,” he grinds out. “Feel every part of me.”
“Please,” I beg, clutching his arms. “Max, please.”
“Fucking you slow, baby. Accept it.”
“I just,” I sob brokenly. “I want it to stop.”
He cups my face in his hands, pressing his forehead to mine. That act alone brings a flood of warmth into my soul. It’s what I’ve needed. “It’ll stop. I promise you it’ll stop.”
“Without you, nothing will stop, Max.”
“Hush.”
He kisses my lips and I cling to him, wrapping my legs around him, pulling him close, wanting every part of my body against his. He kisses me so deep as he starts moving, sliding his length in and out. I relish in the thickness, in the swelling it causes between my thighs. I want all of him, and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to get enough.
Feeling Max inside me isn’t bringing me the comfort I’m so desperately seeking, but it is bringing me incredible pleasure. The more he moves, rocking his hips, the closer I come to an explosive release. I let my hands roam his body, I let my lips devour his mouth, and I let my husband give me something I have no doubt we’ve both thought about for years.
“Max,” I whisper against his neck. “I’m going to come.”
“Don’t hold back on me, Blue Belle. I need you to give it to me.”
I arch up, pressing my hardened nipples into his chest. He makes a throaty, pleasured sound and thrusts harder and deeper, until I’m climaxing around him, clutching his arms, whimpering his name and tightening my legs until he’s as close as I can possibly get him. He grunts and a moment later, his body jerks and then goes still. He drops his forehead against mine, and I just want to stay like this for as long as I can.
Gently, he rolls off and reaches over, flicking on the lamp. I squint my eyes and sit up, trying to control my emotions. Max reaches over to the chair beside the bed and pulls off a towel, cleaning himself before handing it to me. I take it and clean up as best I can, then I look over at him, sitting on the edge of the bed, his big body bare. God, he’s beautiful. I forgot how much so.
“Imogen is beautiful, Blue Belle,” he says, staring straight ahead. “She made me laugh so many times my face hurt.”
I smile, but it wobbles. “She’s got that thing about her,” I croak.
He looks over at me, his eyes scanning my face. “I don’t want to lose her again.”
He doesn’t want to lose her. That makes my heart ache with happiness. But he didn’t say me. That makes my heart burn. I stare down at my hands, because I honestly don’t know how to answer that. I don’t want to come off as needy, or desperate, but I want him to know I love him, that I don’t want to lose him again, that I understand.
But I hurt him, and he hurt me, and I’m not sure either of us knows where to go from here.
“I won’t take her from you,” I finally say. “I promise you that. I like it here. I’ll stay and get her life set up.”
He turns and stares into my eyes. “You’re goin’ to stay in town?”
“You’re her dad, Max. I’m not that horrible.”
His eyes flash with pain, and he turns back to staring at the wall.
“Did you mean it?”
I narrow my eyes. “Mean what?”
“Before—you said you still love me. Did you mean it?”
My heart pounds. “Of course I meant it,” I say in a small, pained voice. “How could you ever think that I stopped loving you, Max?”
He flinches. “You left me for five years.”
“I left because I was hurt, and pregnant. I didn’t leave because I fell out of love with you.”
He says nothing. He just looks forward, almost as if I didn’t speak.
“And you?” I say, chest clenching.
“I’ll never love anyone else, Blue Belle, but . . . we’re different people now.”
Oh God.
He doesn’t want this.
“I understand,” I say, shuffling off the bed. “I do.”
“I didn’t say it couldn’t happen,” he says, turning to stare at me. “But it’s not going to be as easy as just jumping back in. We have a child, and things are different, like I said. There’s a solid chance you won’t know the man I am now.”
“You’re right about that,” I admit. “There’s times I’ve looked at you since I’ve been back and wondered if I even know you anymore, but Max . . .” I look down at my hands. “I let you down, and I’m willing to take the chance and see if what was broken can be fixed.”
“I gotta do this slowly, kid,” he says, his voice thick. “I can’t promise you anything, and I can’t assure you this will work. I just . . . I gotta do this slow.”
“I get that, too.”
“Which means . . .” He looks at my lips, “we gotta stop fucking.”
My chest burns, but I nod. “Are you . . . Will you . . . Is there any other . . .”
He stands, walking over and gripping my chin in one of his big hands. “I’m not going to give this a second chance, and be fucking other women.”
Jealousy burns in my stomach at the thought that there have been others, and I can’t stop the question that blurts from my mouth. “How many?”
He drops my chin. “Why are you askin’ questions that will only hurt you?”
“Please, Max.”
He grunts and runs his hand over his head. “I didn’t fucking count. Maybe twenty.”
Twenty.
Twenty women have had my husband in their beds.
That hurts more than I could have imagined. I look away because I can’t bear to look at him right now. It’s not because I’m angry—I’m not—but because it hurts so damned much, and I don’t want him to see the pain.
“Hey.”
He steps up close, curling his fingers around the back of my neck and gently squeezing until I look up. I meet his now black eyes.
“They meant nothin’. I know that doesn’t make it better, but I’ve only ever had one woman in my bed that I loved, Blue Belle.”
I nod. It’s the best I can do.
“Mommy?”
I hear Immy’s little cry, and quickly step back from Max. I pull on my clothes and then rush out of the room. Immy is sitting up in her bed, looking disorientated. I rush in, sitting on the side and pulling her into my arms. “I’m here, baby. I’m home.”
“I didn’t know where you were,” she cries.
“I was with Nanna, remember? I’m here now, though.”
“Are you sleeping over, too?”
“I am, baby.”
“Max said we can have pancakes in the morning.”
I smile, pressing my face into her hair and breathing her in. I lift my eyes and see Max standing in the doorway, pants sitting low on his hips. His eyes are on both of us, and his face is soft.
“I’m sure if Max said that, then that’s what you get.”
“Momma?”
I pull back and look down at her. “Yes, baby?”
“Is Max going to be my new daddy?”
I flinch and look over to Max to see his jaw is tight. She deserves to know and he deserves her to know, so I answer truthfully.
“Max is your daddy, honey.”
She blinks and then her little eyes widen. “He’s my daddy like the kids at school have a daddy?”
I smile and fight back my tears. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Will I get to live with him and you, if he’s my daddy?”
r /> “We’ll see honey, okay?”
She looks over to Max. “Do I get to call you daddy?”
His face—God, his face. He nods, because it appears it’s all he can do.
“Yippee!” she cries.
Kids. Everything is so simple in their world.
“Okay, well, you need to go back to sleep because it’s still very late. Tomorrow we’ll make pancakes.”
She yawns and I tuck her back in. “I love you, Mommy.”
“Love you too, princess.”
“And Daddy, I love Daddy too.”
I look over to Max and he looks as if he’s about to lose his shit. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again. He’s speechless.
“Daddy loves you right back. Now off to bed,” I say, kissing her again.
She snuggles in and I step out, closing the door. Max is standing in the hallway now, staring at his clenched fists.
“How am I supposed to do it?” he rasps.
“Do what?”
“Be her dad. Be a good dad. I couldn’t even save a life, Blue Belle. What if it was her . . .”
“Hey,” I say, stepping over to him. “I can’t even begin to imagine how it must have felt seeing that little girl die, but it wasn’t your fault, Max. You know whose fault it was? Her parents, because they didn’t protect her the way they should have. Do you truly think you’d ever put that little girl in there in that same kind of danger?”
“Never.”
“Then don’t let fear rule you. She needs you. You know that.”
“I think I might need her, and that fuckin’ scares me.”
“It scared me, too, but it turns out it was the best damned thing I ever did.”
He looks up at me. “You scare me.”
His voice is thick. I swallow. “Yeah. I think I feel the same.”
He studies my face. “You should get some rest. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay,” I say, turning my body towards the living area.
“No, in the bed. You take it.”
“It’s okay. I can crawl in with Immy or take the couch.”
“Blue Belle,” he warns. “Take the damned bed.”
I smile and look into his eyes. “Okay, handsome. I won’t argue, but I do want you to come with me.”
He narrows his eyes. “I thought . . .”
“I’m not asking you to fuck me, Max. I’m just asking for you to be beside me, just for tonight.”
He nods. “I think I can give you that.”
I beam.
This might have a chance at working. Just maybe.
~*~*~*~
The next day starts off well enough, with me waking pressed against Max’s hard, hot body. I get up before him, shower, and then start on the pancakes. Being back in the house is strange, and I find myself feeling as though I never left. I miss it. I loved it so much, with its wooden floors, timber walls and open-plan living. It was my dream home. It’s where I thought I’d raise my kids.
Immy woke half an hour ago, and I distracted her by giving her a pancake with strawberries and cream. Tina texted me an hour ago and told me she’s going to be over in the next half an hour, so we can work out what’s going to happen with Mom. Remembering that I lost my last living parent yesterday has my heart clenching. I want her back; I want to tell her I love her, and remind her that she’ll be so incredibly missed, but I can’t do any of that. Instead I just have to accept the emptiness in my chest.
“Mornin’.”
I spin around, spatula in the air, batter dripping onto the floor, and see Max standing in the doorway, shirtless, his hair messed from sleep, his eyes heavy and sexy. Holy shit. My heart starts pounding as he walks closer towards me, and I can do nothing but stand there, staring at him with a gaping mouth and dripping pancake batter.
He reaches over and I brace myself, my breathing coming in short bursts, but he simply takes my wrist and re-directs my hand back over the hotplate. Oops. “Ah,” I stammer. “Sorry—I didn’t, ah, mean to.”
He grins, and leans forward, pressing his lips to my head. His mouth is warm and I shiver at the contact. “Morning, Blue Belle.”
“Morning, Max,” I whisper as he pulls back.
“Where’s Immy?”
“Eating pancakes and watching television.”
“Goin’ to see her. I’ll be back.”
“I’ll make coffee,” I mumble, turning back towards the counter.
Max is gone a few minutes, and in that time I serve up his pancakes and make a coffee. He returns without Immy, but he’s got a massive grin on his face. That warms my heart. I slide the pancakes over to him, followed by the coffee. “Breakfast is served.”
He looks at the plate then his eyes move around the kitchen. “Where’s yours?”
“I can’t eat,” I say softly.
His eyes narrow and fix on me. “That’s not goin’ to do you any good. You know that, don’t you?”
“My mom died last night. I can’t even think about food right now.”
His eyes get soft and he steps around the counter, backing my body into the corner of the kitchen. “How you feelin’ this morning?”
“Like someone has hit me in the chest with a rocket launcher.”
He studies my face. “It’s goin’ to feel like that for a while, but you’ve got so many people who will help you.”
“Yeah,” I say, looking down.
He takes my chin in his hand and tilts my head back. “I’m one of them.”
A throat clears and both our heads swing around to see Tina and her husband, Chase, standing in the doorway. Tina doesn’t look impressed that I have a half-naked Max pressed against me, but he moves back quickly enough and I rush out, throwing my arms around her. She starts to cry and my tears come forth again, even though I shed so many last night.
The guys say nothing.
There’s really nothing anyone can say.
Only time can heal this wound.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THEN – ANABELLE
Max is sitting at the dining table, bottle of beer in his hand, glaring at me. He knows I hate it that he’s drinking, but it would seem he no longer cares. He’s just sitting there watching me, almost daring me to argue with him. I won’t do it. I just get on with making lunch, refusing to give in to him, refusing to let him know that he’s hurting me. That’s what he wants, and he won’t get it from me.
“Are you going to eat?” I mumble to my plate.
“No.”
“Fine, Max.”
I flip open the bin and tip his food into it, ignoring the way he flinches when I do. I throw my sandwich in after it, not hungry. I’ve lost a few solid pounds in the last month, and it’s all from stress. Max has good and bad days, but lately it’s more bad than good. Today he’s home, for what reason I do not know, but it probably has to do with the black eye he’s sporting.
“What happened to your face?” I ask, nodding at it.
“I fought.”
“With who?”
“With an opponent.”
“I didn’t think you did it with your best friend,” I spit.
He crosses his arms. “I have a fighting ring at the club, remember?”
“And you’re fighting now?” I gasp, horrified.
I know Max started some ‘fun fights’ at the club on weekends to raise more money, but it seems lately that’s getting out of the fun and more into the fight. What I didn’t know is that he was putting himself in harm’s way by joining in.
“What’s the big deal?” he grunts, standing. “It relieves stress.”
“Are you listening to yourself?” I cry out, throwing my hands up. “Honestly, Max, what the hell is wrong with you?”
“Not this shit again,” he grunts, turning and walking towards the front door.
“Where are you going?”
“Fucking out.”
With that he steps out and slams the door.
My heart falls to pieces.
&nbs
p; ~*~*~*~
THEN – ANABELLE
“I’m sorry, miss, it’s been declined.”
Tears burn under my eyelids as I stare at the machine, flashing with the horror of my situation. I’m at the doctors, seeing them about an illness I’ve had for a few weeks, and now I can’t pay. I don’t understand. I’ve been so careful with money. Maybe the monthly transfers didn’t go through.
“Are you sure?” I whisper.
“I’m sure. Do you have another card we can try?”
I hand him all of them, but none work.
“Is there anyone you can call?”
Shame rises in my throat and I nod, pulling out my cell and calling my sister, Tina.
“Hey sweetheart, what’s happening?” she asks, answering.
“Ah . . . I . . . I was wondering if I could borrow some money, just until I get home. I’m at the doctor, and my cards are declining. I must have forgot to transfer money.”
“Of course, is everything okay?”
“Just a virus.”
“Okay, well put me onto whoever is taking payment.”
I pass the phone over and Tina gives out her details. I take the receipt, thanking them and leaving before shame gets the better of me. I rush to my car and slide in, fingers trembling. I text Tina with a thank you, and promise to return the money, then I head home, wondering where the hell my money has gone.
When I get in, no one is there, so I go to the laptop and check our bank accounts. All of them are empty. Empty. Today, they have been emptied. Frantic, I start ringing the banks, and find out that Max took the money out this morning. My heart pounds as I try to ring him with no answer.
I’ve had enough of this.
For nearly two months my husband has shut me out, and now I’m going to find out why. I run upstairs and into the room he’s decided to sleep in for the last fortnight, claiming he was restless and needed space. I dig through the drawers and the cupboards, but find nothing. I slide under the bed, pulling out anything I can, until I find an old backpack.
I crawl out from underneath the bed and sit, back against the double mattress. I open the pack and find some boxing gloves, as well as some random cash notes. I did further, unzipping pockets, until I find a bag of . . . oh my God . . . is that marijuana? My heart skips a beat and tears form in my eyes, as I open it and take a smell. It is. Max is smoking pot. He hates drugs. I don’t understand.