Unbreakable

by Harlow, Melanie

  “Like that?” I asked coyly, batting my lashes at him.

  “Fuck yes. Now open your mouth.”

  I did as he asked, and he pushed his cock between my lips, slowly, inch by inch, until he hit the back of my throat. For a second, I was scared I might choke, but then he pulled out. When he slid in the next time, it was only halfway, allowing me to play and tease and suck as he gently flexed his hips. His hands moved to my head, and he groaned as he adopted a quicker rhythm, a harder drive, a deeper thrust.

  “You make me so fucking hard,” he rasped. “Even when I have all the control, I don’t. Every fucking second is a struggle around you.”

  Without the use of my hands, I had no control whatsoever, and the fear of choking or suffocating was real in my mind. But I loved his guttural sounds of ecstasy, the way his fingers tightened in my hair, the salty-sweet taste of him on my tongue. The animal noises I made were instinctive, helpless, throaty, frantic. Part of me was embarrassed by them, but another part thrilled at letting go of caring what I looked like or sounded like—I didn’t have to conform to a manufactured version of myself anymore. I didn’t have to be perfect all the time. I could be dirty. I could be real. I could be me.

  “My God, your ass in that skirt,” Henry growled, and I realized he was watching this in the mirror. Somehow, that made it even hotter. “I have to fuck you while you’re wearing it.”

  Suddenly, he pulled his cock out of my mouth and yanked me to my feet. With my hands still tied, I felt myself being pushed toward the mirror, then spun around to face it. Henry dropped down and reached beneath my skirt to tug my barely-there red lace panties down my legs and help me step out with one foot. When he stood, he braced himself against the mirror with one arm, wrapped the other around my waist and slipped his hand under my skirt, between my thighs.

  I moaned, my legs nearly buckling as he played with my clit—stroking it softly while he whispered in my ear. “Did sucking my cock make you this wet? Did it?”

  “Yes,” I managed. I could feel his cock pushing against my bound hands and I tried to rub it. Catching my reflection in the mirror, I could scarcely believe the woman in the glass was me. My hair was a wild mess. My lipstick was smeared all over my chin. My skin was flushed. My eyes were hooded and my mouth hung open.

  “I love how greedy you are for me,” he said, his voice gravelly with lust as he moved his fingers faster. Christ, he knew exactly how to touch me. “I tell myself you’ve never been this way for anyone else.”

  “I haven’t. Oh God, Henry,” I panted, that familiar panic setting in, the one I always felt when an orgasm hovered and I worried it would shimmer in front of me and then disappear, a mirage. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

  Of course, he didn’t stop, because this was my new life, not my old, and I was with someone now who put value on my pleasure and not just his own. I nearly wept as the orgasm rocked my body above his hand, turning my legs to jelly.

  I was barely steady on my heels again before I felt my hands being freed, and I caught myself against the mirror with both palms just as his cock pushed inside me. My skirt rode up as he drove inside me again and again, his hands gripping my hips. I watched myself in the mirror, took in my hiked-up skirt and wide-spread heels, my red knees and wild hair. And I watched Henry fucking me savagely from behind, heard his ragged breathing and clenched-teeth cursing, felt his fingers digging mercilessly into my skin.

  When he looked over my shoulder, our eyes met in the mirror, and two seconds later, he exploded inside me, his body going still, an arm hooking around my waist, his chest heavy against my back as his cock throbbed inside me. When the spasms subsided, we were still for a moment. He laid his forehead on my shoulder.

  Chills broke out across my skin, and I shivered. But it was a good shiver—one of anticipation for the future, of the promise of being happy again, of all the possibilities that lay ahead.

  Henry picked up his head. “You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “You sure? Was I too rough on you?”

  “No. I might have some explaining to do about the rug burns on my knees, but I am more than okay.”

  “Good.” He planted a kiss on my shoulder. “Because there’s something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Sounds serious.” I was teasing him a little—my sweet, sexy, serious Henry—but he nodded.

  “It is, kind of.”

  “Oh, okay. Give me a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  * * *

  Henry waited in my bedroom while I went into the bathroom to clean up a little. When I came out, he was standing by my dresser, looking at a framed photo of my kids when they were little.

  “Did you take this one?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I pulled a new pair of underwear from a drawer and slipped them on beneath my skirt. My feet were bare—I’d kicked my heels off on the way to the bathroom.

  “Cute.”

  “They are. And hopefully I’m not messing them up too much.”

  He turned toward me, his hands in his pockets. His top shirt buttons were undone, and he hadn’t put his tie back on yet. His hair was adorably mussed. “Did you ever talk to Whitney last night?”

  “Yeah. I think we understand each other.” I hesitated before adding, “She asked if we were dating.”

  He was quiet a second. “What did you say?”

  “I said no.” I ran my thumb along a nick on the wooden dresser top. Probably I’d put it there with my hairbrush on a bad morning. “Isn’t . . . isn’t that the truth?”

  “Is that how you want it?”

  I looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I don’t want to rush you, and I know we’ve been saying we don’t really know what we’re doing, and we don’t want to make this public yet, but . . . I feel something for you, Sylvia. And I don’t want to hide it.”

  My heart swelled with hope, and I rose up on my bare toes as if buoyed by the feeling. “I feel something for you too.”

  His arms came around me. “I was up all last night thinking about you. I know this isn’t what you planned. I know people might say we’re moving on too fast. A fucking boyfriend is the last thing you need and the last thing I ever thought I’d want to be at this point. But I want more than sneaking around with you. I mean, I want the sex, don’t get me wrong, but I want to take you on real dates too. I want to be good to you.”

  I smiled. “You are good to me.”

  “I want to be good to you out loud. I want to help you settle into your new life here—I want to be part of it. I want to take you back to that party and kiss you at midnight.” He kissed my lips. “I want you to be mine for real.”

  I shook my head, feeling my throat get tight. “You’re crazy, you know that? You could have anybody you want.”

  “I just want you, Sylvia.” He brushed my hair back. “Tell me there’s a way.”

  I was overwhelmed by the way my heart was thumping. We could be so good together—I could feel it way down deep. But my fears wouldn’t dissipate just like that. “Henry . . . being with me won’t be easy.”

  “Nothing good comes easy.”

  “I have to make sure the kids are going to be okay with us. They’ve been through so much.”

  “Absolutely,” he said firmly. “I know they come first.”

  “And I’m still a little wary of . . . of letting myself fall. It’s not that I don’t trust you,” I went on quickly. “I know what kind of man you are. But it might take time for me to really feel safe turning over my heart. It’s just starting to feel whole again.”

  “It’s okay,” he said, pressing his lips to my forehead. “Your whole heart is worth the wait.”

  I moved in closer to him, pressing my cheek to his chest and closing my eyes, wishing I could silence those doubts inside me forever. “This feels too good to be true, Henry. Too much, too soon. Is it?”

  “You’re safe with me, Sylvia.” His voice was deep, calm, and reassuring. �
��I promise. Everything is going to be okay.”

  For the moment, I believed him.

  * * *

  We put ourselves back together, retrieved the bag of sparklers from the kitchen, and started down the path toward the barn, our breath visible in the icy dark. When we reached the door, through which the loud music blared, Henry turned to me. “Wait a second.”

  “What?”

  He put his hands on my shoulders. “It’s almost midnight, but I’m not going to be able to do this in there.”

  I smiled. “You mean kiss me?”

  “Yes.”

  “So do it now—I’ll have the memory at midnight.”

  He slanted his head over mine, and our lips met fully and openly. When he would have pulled away, I put a hand on the back of his neck and drew out the length of the kiss, my body warming as his arms moved from my shoulders to wrap around my back. We kissed deeply and intimately, but less impatiently than in my bedroom—this kiss was the beginning of something. A new year, a new life, a new hope. I felt the ropes of doubt and distrust that had been strapped so tight around my heart begin to loosen.

  Suddenly the music got louder, and a voice rang out. “Mom?”

  Henry and I jumped apart, and I opened my eyes to see Whitney standing in front of the open barn door, Keaton and Mack’s girls filing out behind her.

  “Whitney!” I exclaimed, exchanging a frantic glance with Henry. “What are you guys doing out here?”

  “We were coming to look for you. You said you’d be right back with the sparklers, and it’s been like an hour.” Her face registered shock and dismay as she looked back and forth from me to Henry to me again. “What’s going on?”

  “Oh, well, we went to get them, uh, Henry and I did, and—and I couldn’t remember where I put them. We had to find them.” I could hardly think. My heart was hammering in my chest. Had they seen us kissing?

  I had my answer a second later, when Whitney shook her head and said. “Just friends, huh?” Then she swept past me and took off running toward the house.

  I whirled around and watched her moving farther away. “Whitney, come back! It’s freezing and you don’t have a coat on!”

  “I don’t care!” I heard her yell.

  I faced the confused, shivering kids again and shoved the bag at Keaton. “Here are the sparklers. Take them inside and divide them up, okay? I need to go talk to your sister.”

  “Okay.” He took the bag from me and scratched his head. “Is she coming back?”

  “I hope so. Go on in now.” When they’d all gone back inside, I turned to Henry, who looked as shell-shocked as Keaton. “I have to go.”

  “Of course. I’m sorry, Sylvia,” he added resolutely. “It’s my fault.”

  “It’s not.” I shook my head, fighting tears. “It’s mine. I should have known this would happen.” For a moment, I rested my forehead on my fingertips. “God, what was I thinking?”

  “Sylvia—” Henry reached for me, but I pulled my arm away.

  “Let me go,” I said, starting toward the house. “I have to find her.”

  Eighteen

  Sylvia

  The garage door was open when I reached the house. As soon as I let myself in the back door, I could hear crying upstairs.

  I hurried up the steps, her sobs growing louder as I approached her door. If possible, my heart grew even sicker. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I knocked a few times.

  “Whit? Can I come in please?”

  “No!”

  “Honey, please. Let’s talk about this.”

  “No! You’ll just lie to me again!”

  I put both palms on the door. “I promise you, I will tell you the complete truth, Whitney. Just let me in.”

  “I don’t want to live here anymore!”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. Can we talk about it?”

  “I’m going to live with Grandma and Grandpa Baxter in Arizona!”

  If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I might have laughed. Brett’s mother and father were completely hands-off grandparents, other than sending a check on birthdays and Christmas. “Have you spoken to them?”

  “Not yet. But I’m packing right now!”

  I rested my forehead against the door and closed my eyes, reminding myself what it felt like to be thirteen on a good day—all the confusing emotions, the conflicting thoughts, the yearning to grow up paired with the strange ache to stay a child forever, the unwavering certainty that no one understood you. Whitney was dealing with all that plus the fear of abandonment the divorce had caused. I didn’t blame her for wanting to leave before she could be left. I wanted to reassure her she was never going to lose me. I wanted her to know I was on her side, and I understood her fears.

  But first, I needed her to let me in.

  “Maybe I could help you pack,” I called through the door.

  She didn’t say anything, and a moment later, the door opened. “Fine,” she said, swiping her nose on the back of her hand. Then she spun around and went back to throwing clothes in her suitcase.

  I sat on the bed and took her favorite stuffed animal onto my lap—a raggedy bear she’d slept with since she was a baby. I hadn’t seen it in a while. “You don’t like it here anymore?”

  “No.” She began shoving cosmetics into a makeup case on her dresser.

  I sighed. “Then I guess I’ll have to pack too.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Wherever you go. I can’t live without my Whitney. And we’ll have to bring Keaton too—I need both my babies.”

  “Why? You don’t love us.”

  Even though I knew it was her anger and fear talking, the words hurt. I forced myself to see beyond them. “Of course I do.”

  She whirled around, fresh tears running down her face. “Then why are you doing this to us?”

  “Doing what, honey?”

  “Just what Daddy did!”

  “Whitney, I’m not. I promise.”

  “Why should I believe a word you say?” she asked, wiping beneath her eyes, smearing the dark eye makeup so that it looked like tire tracks across her face. “I asked you if you were dating him and you said no.”

  “Because we aren’t dating, not exactly,” I said, heat rushing my face.

  “Please, Mom. I saw you dancing with him. I saw you kissing him. You’re not just friends.”

  “Well, sometimes friends—”

  She put her hands over her ears. “Stop lying to me! That’s just what Daddy did!”

  “Okay, okay.” I held up my hands. “I’ll be honest. Henry and I have feelings for each other. We’d . . . we’d like to be more than friends.”

  “I knew it!” she yelled, shaking her head. “You think I’m stupid, but I’m not. I know how this works. You fall in love with Henry, and then he’ll take you away from us. You’ll want to get married and have his baby, and then you’ll realize you don’t need us anymore.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s not true.” I stood up and moved toward her, but she ducked out of the way—to my recollection, the first time she’d ever rejected my attempt at affection. A lump of sadness and self-loathing lodged in my throat. “Please, sweetheart. Come here.”

  “No!” she cried. “You’ll just hug me and tell me you understand, but you don’t. Your parents are still together. Your house is still your house. You can come back here any time you want and everything is the same. You and Daddy took all that away from me. My entire life was just gone one day, and I can never get it back!”

  I began to cry too. “Oh, Whitney, I’m sorry. I know I can never understand exactly what you’re going through. You’re right. I grew up here in this wonderful, warm home with two adoring parents, and it’s a place I feel safe and loved. I guess I was hoping it could be that for you too, because honey, you are safe and loved. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you.”

  “You don’t mean that,” she bawled. “You say it and say it and say it, but if you meant it, you wouldn’t be with
anyone else. You’re no better than Daddy.”

  “Whitney, that’s not—” But I stopped. I’d been about the say fair, but I realized at that moment that fairness was beside the point. Reason played no role in the emotional storm raging inside her head. And when I looked at her, I knew in my heart and soul I would do anything to make her feel safe, no matter what it took. I was a mother first and foremost, and the needs of my children would always come before my own.

  That was the difference between me and their father.

  “Okay, Whitney. If you’re not ready for me to be more than Henry’s friend, I won’t.”

  “Just get out and leave me alone,” she whimpered, throwing herself face down on her bed and wailing into her pillow.

  Wiping my own tears, I sat beside her, relieved when she let me. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. You’re stuck with me, love.” I rubbed her back the way she’d always liked as a child. “That’s what being family means.”

  She cried hard for a few minutes—huge, racking sobs that made her shoulders shudder and soaked her pillow. Finally, they subsided, replaced with less violent weeping, but the sight and sound of it still broke what was left of my heart.

  “W-wasn’t D-Daddy family?” she sputtered. “He st-still left.”

  “That’s true,” I said. “But I was raised to believe that family sticks around. Family shows up. Family has your back. At least mine does.”

  She flipped around so that her head was in my lap, and I brushed the hair off her forehead. I was dying to mop up her face, but didn’t want to wreck whatever accord we might’ve arrived at. Her tears slowed, and her breathing returned to normal, except for the occasional hiccup. “I don’t really want to move to Arizona,” she confessed.

  “I don’t blame you.”

  Her arms circled my waist. “I want to stay here with you and Keaton and have our new house. I want it to be just us.”

  I swallowed hard. I knew what she meant. “Okay.”

  She closed her eyes, and eventually even her hiccups ceased. “Mommy?”