Bombshell, page 5
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, I want you.”
“How much?” he demands. “Are you mine?”
“Please, Jack. Please,” I whine and grind against him.
He ignores my pleading and continues his cock tease, pressing me hard into the mattress. “Are you mine, Kate?”
“God, yes. I’ve never been anyone but yours.”
It’s all he needs to hear. He drives into me with one powerful thrust. I scream when his broad head breaches my opening. He’s so big.
“Shh, it’ll be fine, baby. You’re tight is all. Your body will get used to me. Remember?”
I don’t, but my body does. It adjusts to his girth. He takes it slow at first, dragging the head of his cock against what seems like every single nerve ending inside of my sex.
“We’re not fucking,” he says. “Fucking is what you do when you don’t mean it. This is lovemaking, baby. Because you love me and I love you. Don’t deny it. No matter what happened, I found my way to you because I belong to you. There will never be anything”—he thrusts, his cock going deeper than I thought possible—“anything that keeps us apart. Not people”—he withdraws and drives in again until he’s fully seated—“not illnesses. Nothing.” He reaches around to circle my clit, pinching it until I cry out in drunk pleasure. “You got that?”
I don’t answer because I can’t. I’m too caught up in the second orgasm that is barreling its way down my spine. This time he doesn’t need an answer. He understands because we’re connected somehow. In some deep, beautiful way, we’re one. I come with a shout, crying out my own love for this man.
He pistons into me, his hips working hard as he chases his own climax. His movements get rougher and less rhythmic when the orgasm overtakes him. His hot seed jets inside until he fills me up. Shaken, he falls to the mattress, throwing himself to the side at the last minute to avoid crushing my body with his.
“Fuck. No condom,” he groans. “I’m sorry.”
“Good thing I’m on the pill. I started it last month. It helps me stay regular,” I inform him. “Besides, I should’ve told you to use a condom.”
“But you didn’t,” he notes. He sounds pleased.
“Nope.” I was too caught up in the moment.
He pulls me close and flips a blanket over us.
“I’m sorry for something else,” he says. His words send small puffs of air across the top of my head.
“For what?” I swirl my finger in a loop around his right nipple. His heart beats erratically under my ear.
“For not remembering.”
“But you did remember. You said that you felt empty and that your heart hurt so bad that you wondered if you might die.”
“Yes. Because I missed you. No, missing is a weak word. Longed?” He tests out the word. “Yeah, I longed for you. I love you, Kate Chandler,” he whispers into the side of my head. “My world was empty for the last ten months. Thank you for saving me.”
I bury my face into his throat. Some of the moisture on my face isn’t from sweat. “I love you, too, Jack. I never stopped.”
“Thank God.”
Chapter Six
One day becomes five. Five days become two weeks. An entire month later and I’m still waking up in the morning to Jack puttering around the kitchen with Anna plastered to his side. After only a couple of days, he mastered executing his tasks one-handed, which is both impressive and necessary. Anna hasn’t been able to separate herself from her new friend. Jack carries her over to me with a plate full of freshly made waffles.
“Do you have a lot of work to do this morning?” he asks, setting a plate of the golden-brown squares in front of me.
“Not that much,” I admit.
The reluctance in my voice must be obvious, because Jack shoots me a smirk. “Disappointed, are you?”
“Only because I like money,” I protest, but we both know that the real reason is that if I was busier, I’d have an excuse to avoid the impending trip to his family’s lake house for Christmas. I tried to protest, but he’d said that it would be a good time to get to know all his relatives. His mom was growing anxious and he had to promise her a firm date to meet Anna or she would storm my metaphorical gates.
He bought me a month, and I needed it—not just to adjust to having him around, but to sort out my feelings. I never stopped loving Jack, but that doesn’t mean that my feelings aren’t bruised. This month by ourselves has been important in rebuilding a base for our little family. Still, something feels off. Like my puzzle is missing one tiny piece. I don’t know what that piece is—only that I’m not completely whole, yet.
Jack can sense this, too. He knows I’m holding back, but he doesn’t push me at all. I’m grateful for that and so I agreed to the family Christmas in return. Being together with Anna requires a lot more give and take than when Jack and I first lived together. I suppose cohabitation for two months doesn’t readily prepare you for “ever after.”
“Good thing that we’re a two-income household now,” he says cheerfully as he cuts up the waffle into bite-sized pieces since I’m feeding Anna. Without asking, he slathers the butter across the ridges and I watch as it melts into the crispy crust. He didn’t cook at all before. When I asked him about it, he said that he took up a number of hobbies to try to alleviate his stress, which the doctors had assumed was the cause of his heart problems. He hadn’t kept up with any of them, but the cooking lessons stuck.
I’m not sad about that. I fork the breakfast into my mouth while Jack washes the dishes. Since his back is turned, I allow myself to ogle him. He has such a good ass. Some men have zero butts and their jeans hang around their bums like a saggy diaper, but Jack fills his out nicely. Plus, he has those long legs and good, thick thighs. All the better to ride.
“I can feel you undressing me,” he tosses with amusement over his shoulder.
I stick out my tongue.
He shuts off the water and begins to wipe his fingers. “Don’t start something you aren’t prepared to finish,” he warns.
Since we’ve had sex every night since the water baby class, this isn’t much of a threat. But I do have some work to finish, so I tell him, “You’ll have to keep that thought until after lunch. If I don’t get this batch of pages done, I might not have any work in the new year.”
The doorbell interrupts any further response. His eyebrows shoot up and he casts a questioning gaze in my direction.
“It could be Mae,” I say.
“Or my mother,” he says grimly. “She’s been texting me daily asking about gifts and shit. Let me get it. I’ll get rid of her.”
“You don’t have to.” There’s no reason not to meet Jack’s mom today. Even though he’s been keeping her away so we can reconnect in peace, I’m not a complete coward.
“Alright.”
He sounds so pleased. With a full heart, I cuddle Anna to my chest and dig into my waffles while Jack goes to answer the door.
“Moore?” Jack asks in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
I shift in my chair so I can see the doorway. Leka Moore’s big, scary frame fills the empty space. His arm is stretched out as if he’s holding something.
“I’ve someone you’ve been looking for,” he says without even a hello. One jerk and a man who appears vaguely familiar appears in front of us. At first, I don’t make the connection because this guy is disheveled instead of perfectly coiffed, and instead of a suit, he’s wearing jeans and a baggy hoodie. His gaze skates over Jack’s shoulder and connects with mine.
Both of our eyes widen. He tries to jerk out of Leka’s grip, but there’s no escape. Jack grabs Clayton and drags him across the threshold.
“Take Anna into the bedroom,” Jack orders. The look in his eyes has my insides shriveling up and I’m not even the target.
“Wait!” Clayton Davis shouts. “This is all a misunderstanding!” He claws at Jack’s fist. “Let me explain. Your mom—”
It was the wrong thing to say.
Jack explodes. “Don’t you fucking dare bring my mom into this. She would spit on you for keeping her from a grandchild.”
If the other man could sink into the dirt, he would. It’s obvious in the sweat that’s broken out across his forehead and the trembling of his hands as he waves them in the air. "N-no, that’s not what I meant.”
“Jack, let him talk.”
Jack’s head whips around. “Why?”
“What does it hurt? I mean, whatever you want to do to him—short of actually killing him, because you promised never to leave me again—you can do after he talks. Besides, Mr. Moore is watching.”
Leka smirks. “I’m done here.” He nods at Jack and then disappears down the porch steps.
Jack kicks the door in and drags Clayton over to a chair in the living room.
“You have five minutes to talk. Go.” Jack looks at his watch as if he’s really timing the guy.
I get up from my chair, still carrying Anna, and join Jack, who is looming over Clayton. The smaller man shrinks in his chair, shaking like a leaf in a bad storm. I hated this man for ten months. I felt he was responsible for my misery, for keeping me from Jack, but as I stand next to my love with my daughter in my arms, I can only feel sorry for him. What story can he give that would explain his actions? What excuse would we accept? Nothing. Nothing can take the lost time and return it.
I transfer Anna to my shoulder and grab Jack’s elbow. “It’s not important.”
“What?” He swings a confused look in my direction.
“He’s not important. His reasoning isn’t important. What matters is that we’re together. Right?”
Jack’s expression grows fractionally less angry. “Right. That doesn’t mean I don’t need to kick the shit out of this bastard. He stole ten months of my life. He kept me from you. He made me hurt you.”
The last part comes out so anguished and so personal that it is wrong for Clayton Davis to be witnessing it.
I walk over to the door and throw it open. “Get out. Get out and don’t ever show your face around the Harris family again.”
The small man doesn’t need to be told twice. He scrambles to his feet and races out into the cold.
Jack runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Why? Don’t you want to know?”
“No. We know why he did it.” I close the door. “He thought he’d win favor with your mom or brother or whoever by making sure you stayed at the company. Hearing him explain it wouldn’t change anything.”
Jack isn’t happy about this. All day he broods. Over dinner, he barely says two words. He helps me wash Anna, but while I give her the last feeding of the night, he disappears. I finish feeding our baby, burp her and lay her on the changing table.
“He’s trying to avoid diaper duty, isn’t he?” I joke.
She gurgles in agreement. I stick a new diaper on her and tug a nightshirt over her head. Her little arms wave happily in the air. She’s been washed and fed and is happy as a new puppy. She isn’t aware that her daddy is mentally castigating himself.
I grab her mint-green blanket with the pink frogs and bundle her inside. “He’s upset with himself and his lack of memory, I think. Mommy will go and kiss his owie and make it better.”
Anna coos sweetly in agreement. “Time for bed, my sweet.” I lay the sleepy girl in her crib and go find my man.
The hallway is quiet. As I walk toward the living room, a cold draft of air hits me. The slider to the patio door is slightly ajar.
“I’m here,” calls a low voice.
I turn to see a large figure clad in a simple sweater and pair of snug jeans standing beyond the door. The porch light is off, but there’s enough moonlight that I can see the set of his jaw and the firm line of his plush lips. It’s not a welcoming look. I wrap my arms around my waist to ward off the cold and pull the door open wider.
“You do know that it’s December, right? The month of snow and ice and wind,” I joke.
He swings around, almost in slow motion, and then advances. I back up, feeling like I’m prey for some reason. Inside the house, he slides the door shut and sets a glass of whiskey he’d been drinking on the kitchen table.
“I should fund your bank account with enough zeros so that you never have to worry about another bill your entire life,” he says quietly as he closes the distance between us. “I should buy you a big house, a fancy car, a chest full of jewels. I should introduce you to every decent, eligible man in this state and maybe three others.” He stops inches from me. “I should step aside as you fall in love with that man and make a new family with him.”
I rub my dry lips together. “But…”
“But I won’t.” He grabs my shoulders. “Because I’m a damn selfish bastard. I wanted to be a good man for you, for Anna. A good man would let you go, but I’m not good or kind or decent. I want to lock you up in this house and hide you away from the rest of the world. I don’t want another man to even breathe on you. I know this is wrong. I know that you deserve someone better than me—someone who hasn’t abandoned you for these past ten months, someone who would have held you while you birthed our child. I’m not that person, but I can’t let you go.”
His voice breaks on that last word. I cup his dear face and say the words I didn’t realize he needed. “I forgive you.”
The last word isn’t even fully uttered before he’s crushing his lips to mine. I kiss him back with equal fervor to let him know that I don’t want to be let go. That his arms are the only place for me.
Those arms sweep me up against him. He urges me to straddle his waist and carries me effortlessly into the living room, laying me against the cushions. His hard body presses me into the soft down. The steel shaft rubs against my sensitive clit and a moan escapes me. His fingers slide down between us, underneath the elastic band of my yoga pants until he finds my wet, ready heat.
I rip at his sweater and then his jeans. He claws at my shirt and breaks the strap on my bra in his haste to get my clothes off.
“Sorry,” he says, completely unrepentant, and then he’s quiet as his mouth licks a heated path from my collarbone down to my left breast. He runs his tongue around one already erect nipple before engulfing the pert nub with his mouth.
I arch up against his cock, rubbing myself against him like a shameless cat. His free hand slips between my legs to hold me open. I brace myself for his intrusion. Even after a month of making love, my body is always surprised at how large he is.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs against my skin. “You know I’m not going to hurt you ever again.”
“I know.” I take a deep breath and relax. He slides in slow until my entire passage is filled with his cock.
“I love you,” he breathes as he starts to stroke me.
I clutch him to my chest. “I love you, too.”
His eyes glow with excitement. “What happened to us sucked, Kate. We could have been kept apart forever, but, instead, I found my way back to you. That’s all that matters. We’ve been given a second chance. Let’s not waste more time. Marry me and let’s make another baby.”
My heart fills with joy at his statement. “Yes. Yes. Yes to all of it.”
He throws back his head and whoops loudly.
I slap a hand over his mouth. “Anna!” I remind him.
He grins adorably, the dimples appearing. “I couldn’t help it.” He swoops down and kisses me with fierce tenderness and joyous love.
He was right. The amnesia, his missing Anna’s birth, our separation—it was all terrible, but, somehow, we won. No matter what curveballs life may throw us, no matter what bombshells may drop, we are together. As the Christmas music plays and the snow falls and the lights twinkle, we bind our promises with cords of passion, devotion, and unending love.
Need more from Jen Frederick? Swipe next to read the first chapter from WANT YOU!
Seven
Chapter 1 * WANT YOU*
Leka
Scritch.
Scratch.
A rat, I think. I glance to my left to make sure. My job depends on silence and swiftness.
Instead of a small animal, I see a small human crouched in the corner, just beyond the doorway of a crumbling brick apartment building I’m using as cover. Behind her, a big wooden fence blocking off the end of the alley looms upward. Her big eyes glisten with fear.
She draws her feet closer to her, making that scratching noise. Her dirty, threadbare tennis shoes are rubbing gravel against pavement.
We both hold our breath and stare at each for a long moment. I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I finger the blade in my sock. Could I? I run my thumb around the hilt, imagine lifting it to the girl’s chest. My hand falls away.
No.
I don’t have the balls to do it.
Instead, I press a finger to my mouth. Shhhh, I warn silently.
I need her to be quiet. She covers her mouth with a grimy hand and nods. It’s risky to trust her. She could ruin this for me unintentionally. Or she could scream and out me on purpose. I give her one last hard look before peering around the corner again.
Officer Dumbfuck has his back to me. He’s feeling up a prostie. From my position, I can’t tell if she’s willing or just suffering through it. Most of the beat cops that work this section of the city dip their dicks in the community wells without paying. They tell the girls that payment is not getting dragged down to booking.
I feel sorry for the working girls. They get it from both ends—the pimps and the cops. And if the pimps find out that their stable is giving it away for free to the boys in blue, there’s hell to pay. For those on the street, the whores have it the worst.
Nah. Strike that. Rent boys are somewhere below the girls. It’s the worst sort of contest. With Stinky Steve’s gang, you either serve a purpose on your feet or on your back and the only way out is a bullet in the head. I flip the silver disc between my fingers. Good thing I’ve got some skills, or my callouses would be on my knees, not my hands.
