A Little Too Late

by Staci Hart

  I nodded, hands in my lap, his eyes on mine, so deep and dark. “That was how I felt. Helpless. But there was no real danger. I shouldn’t be upset. I should be …” Braver, stronger, better, more.

  His hand shifted from my knee to clasp my fingers. “Hannah, you’re allowed to feel how you feel.”

  The meaning was double, I knew. I could feel it in the place where our hands touched, in the timbre of his voice, in the velvety depths of his eyes.

  My lungs sipped quick and shallow, but there wasn’t enough air. “Is it that simple?”

  “I want to believe it is.”

  Our faces were angled to each other—mine down, his up. He reached for my face, cupped my cheek, warming the cold tracks of my tears with his palm, giving me courage.

  I didn’t want him to disappear again. I didn’t want him to say no again.

  And I found my voice, the words summoned from the quiet of my heart, and I parted my lips to speak. “Say yes, Charlie. Tell me you want me.” I wasn’t sure I’d said it aloud; my thundering heart was all I could hear.

  “I’ve wanted you since you walked through the door,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve wanted you since I first saw you smile.”

  I leaned in, and so did he.

  “Say yes,” I whispered against his lips, the nerves in mine tingling.

  “Yes,” he begged the answer, begged my heart.

  I closed the inches with the slightest of movements and pressed my aching lips to his.

  A burst of awareness shot through me, a complete focus on the place where our lips touched, soft and relieved and fevered. I leaned into his palm as his hands held my face, as if I were precious, guiding me to the angle he desired. His tongue swept my lips for passage, and I granted it, opening to let him in. His shirt was crisp under my fingers as they roamed up to his neck, to his jaw, holding him close, begging him not to stop, not to think, not to disappear, not to do what was right.

  I leaned too far, tipping his balance, but the kiss didn’t stop — he stood, taking me with him by way of his hands on my face. No, the kiss didn’t stop at all; it deepened the moment the length of our bodies pressed against each other, the sound of our breath in my ears, the feel of his hot mouth on mine possessing every thought.

  When he broke away, it wasn’t with fear or regret; it was with tenderness. It was with his forehead pressed to mine and lips still close but not close enough.

  “I don’t want to stop,” he whispered.

  “Then don’t,” I whispered back and kissed away his doubt and my own.

  I lost myself in him for a long while, in the feeling of his lips and hands, in the sensation of his body against mine, my arms around his neck, squeezing to hold him close, closer still. The deeper the kiss went, the hotter it burned. The more I wanted him, the more urgent I felt.

  With everything I had, I stopped, breath ragged, heart hammering, needing air, needing him.

  “Charlie,” I breathed.

  He touched my face, trailing his fingers along the line of my jaw. “Hannah …”

  I closed my eyes at the fire on his fingertips. And when I opened them, there was only one thing to do.

  “Come with me,” I said, my voice quiet.

  I took Charlie’s hand in mine, and he followed me to the stairs that led down to my room. But when my hand touched the rail, he pulled me to a stop.

  I turned to him, a jolt of fear pulsing through me at the thought that it was over, that it would end now, that he’d say a word and I’d be banished again.

  I didn’t speak; I couldn’t.

  “Hannah,” he said, searching my face, “we don’t have to do this.”

  The fear surged, closing my throat and speeding my heart.

  He regrets me already. He only wants me for a moment, for tonight. He doesn’t want me at all.

  “You don’t want …” I tripped over my thoughts. “I thought you said …”

  He stepped into me, quieting my worry with his lips, strong and sure against mine. It was a kiss that told me how much he did want, a kiss that soothed and eased and relieved my fear, replacing it with certainty.

  He broke away and looked into my eyes. “I meant what I said. And all I want to do is follow you down those stairs. But I don’t want you to … I don’t want you to regret this, regret me. I want you to be sure.”

  And with my worries put away, I smiled and said, “Oh, I’m sure.”

  I held his hand and towed him down the stairs in a hurry, and he followed.

  When we reached my dark room, I let him go, moving to the lamp next to my bed. With a click, there was light, just a little, just enough to see the look on his face when I turned.

  Worry and want creased his brow, tightened the corners of his eyes, but he wasn’t second-guessing me or us—that I knew. He seemed unsure of himself, and I realized something I hadn’t considered before.

  Charlie had been married for years, alone for months, and though he could have been with another woman since he’d been alone, his face, his body, told me that he hadn’t.

  I stepped into him slowly, threading my fingers through his, my eyes on his and his on mine.

  “Are you afraid?” I asked softly.

  He touched my face again, gently brushing my hair back. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Hannah.”

  I moved his hand in mine to my waist and left it there, skating my hands up his chest, angling my lips to his. “Yes, you do,” I said simply.

  And I kissed him to prove it.

  He kissed me back, and his lips knew just what to do as they parted. His hands knew what to do as they roamed up the back of my sweater, hot against my bare skin. His body knew what to do, winding around mine as mine wound around his.

  But still he was hesitant, not pressing for more, not taking what I knew he wanted.

  So I took it instead.

  My hands found his shirt buttons—the kiss went on and on, blissfully unrelenting—and I unfastened them from top to bottom, tugging the tail of his shirt from his pants, sliding it over his shoulders, down his arms. My determined fingers reached for the hem of my sweater and broke that never-ending kiss for only long enough to pull it off and toss it away.

  It wasn’t until I unfastened his belt that he awoke, that his hands followed the lead of my own, moving from face to neck to breast. He cupped the swell, his kiss deeper for a moment, harder, searching my mouth, searching deeper when I reached into his pants, finding his long, hard length hot and pent.

  He moaned into my mouth at the touch. I freed him, stroked him, gripped him until his hips flexed and his arms wound around me, pulling me into him, telling me he wanted me. He wanted me soon, and he wanted me fast.

  We kissed as he stepped me backward to the bed, steadying me as he laid me down, pressing me into the bed with his body for a long moment before he broke away.

  Down my neck his lips moved, closing over my skin with a sweep of his tongue until they reached the valley between my breasts. My fingers wound through his golden hair, my heart thudding against his lips, as his fingers hooked in the edge of my bra to pull, baring me to him, to his warm, wet mouth, to his tongue that swept the peak of my nipple. His hand roamed while his mouth was busy, deftly unbuttoning my pants before slipping inside, into my panties, cupping the heat of me, his fingertips tracing the line of my core.

  His teeth grazed my nipple at the same moment he slipped a finger into me, gently curling it, squeezing his palm.

  I gasped his name, bucked my hips.

  I was helpless as his hand flexed and his lips moved and his breath puffed hot and loud against my breast. It wasn’t until he lost his patience with my clothes that he backed away, and I was able to think. His purpose was to rid me of my pants and panties, a hurried tugging that gave me time to reach behind me and unclasp my bra. And when I looked up at him, his eyes were dark, running up and down my body that lay stretched out on the bed.

  With elegant grace, he stood, pushing his pants down his legs, and once
he stepped out of them, he hooked the backs of my knees and pulled, dragging me to the end of the bed with enough force to surprise me. And then he knelt reverently at the foot of the bed and spread my thighs, his eyes locked where my legs met, his lips slightly open, his hands searching, fingers parting me, mouth descending.

  His heat met mine, a silky wet sweeping of his tongue against the aching center of me.

  Charlie knew what to do. He knew exactly what to do.

  My lungs filled with a gasp so deep, it burned, and I held the air there, held it because I couldn’t move. Only my heart took action, galloping in my ribs, faster and harder with every spurring of his tongue and slip of his fingers into me, out of me, into me again.

  His name passing my lips in a whispered moan sent a rumble from his throat and into my center. A hiss through my teeth followed when my core flexed, throbbing around his finger.

  His mouth moved over my thigh, across my stomach, his fingers still working me, still moving as he climbed up my body, not stopping until he was at my lips. I kissed him like I’d been starving for him, with desperation and desire, the tang of my body on his lips sending me over the edge, my mouth opening wider, tongue deeper, wanting more.

  The bare length of him pressed against me, and at the contact, he broke away, panting.

  “I don’t …” he breathed, seeming not to have the mind to finish the thought other than one word. “Condom.”

  “You’re safe?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “I’m safe—on birth control. Trust you,” I whispered the truth in truncated sentences, not wanting anything but him inside me.

  He kissed me deep but pulled back again to ask, “Sure?”

  I nodded and pulled him down onto me.

  Everything was heavy—my body, his body, our breath, our heartbeats and hands. He pushed my thighs open with his knees, settling between them, the tip of him at the edge of me. I angled for him, spreading my legs, begging with my body.

  He flexed his hips and gave me what I’d asked for with aching slowness.

  And we breathed. For a long moment, we breathed and felt and didn’t move other than a pulse of his cock that my core echoed around him.

  And then he kissed me.

  He kissed me with abandon, with worship and desire, and as his lips told me what words couldn’t, he moved, pumping his hips, rolling them when he hit the end, a wave that filled and pressed and gave my body what it wanted, what it needed. Awareness slipped away. There was only the point where our bodies joined, the nerves in my body firing. Harder he pushed—he was close; I could feel it in his body, I could hear it on his breath. And with a thrust, a low rumble in his throat, my name, a whisper, he came, pulsing inside me, the release of his body too much as he hit me fast and deep.

  And I lost control, my body squeezing once and letting go in succession, drawing him deeper into me, thighs holding him, my hips rocking, rocking, slower as it faded away, leaving my body sensitive and sated.

  He kissed me, kissed me with care and adoration and a sweet, lingering softness. When he backed away, he smoothed my hair, scanned my face, met my eyes. And I found I only wanted one thing in the world.

  “Stay,” I whispered.

  Charlie kissed me again and did just that.

  13

  Dreaming Is Free

  Charlie

  Awareness crept over me, a slow waking of my mind, marking the sensations that were so foreign to me—Hannah’s legs scissored with mine, her head tucked under my chin, the softness of her breath against my skin, her arms tucked between us. I held her tighter, drew her closer, eyes still closed.

  There were very few times in my life when I’d woken tangled up in someone else—mostly in college, before Mary. She and I always seemed to come together and part ways at the first opportunity, and we never touched when we slept. But Hannah and I’d found each other in the dark; even when we’d shifted or rolled over, the other would move to keep the connection.

  I found it incredible that so much had changed over the course of one night.

  The second I had knelt in front of her as she cried, I should have known there would be no going back. And I didn’t want to. I only wished I’d taken the leap long before.

  For a moment, everything had hung in the balance, all the balls in the air, the uncertainty between us almost oppressive. But then she’d asked me to say yes, and I’d given her what she wanted. I’d wanted the same thing all along.

  I’d wondered for a moment as I held her tear-stained cheek if she wanted me the way I wanted her. I’d wondered if it was real, if it was Hannah who made me feel this way or if we were a product of the situation, of the environment.

  But when we’d kissed, I’d had no doubt that it was her. It was Hannah. It was the sweetness of her, the kindness, the gentleness of her that called to me. It was her smile and her laugh and the joy she made me feel. It was the smell of her, like vanilla and cream. It was her eyes, the color of the blue dahlias she’d brought home and displayed in the kitchen.

  Hannah was everywhere. In my home. In my heart. In my arms.

  Contentment and peace settled over me. I pressed a thankful kiss into her hair.

  I’d been so nervous, nearly frozen in uncertainty of how to be with her, with what I was supposed to do. It was like it had been the first time all over again, like I was sixteen, nervous and fumbling. And she had known. She had known, and she’d reminded me that I knew what to do after all. I knew very well.

  Being with one person for so long had left my other experiences far behind me, and I’d found myself in absolute wonder of Hannah, of her long body, of the taste of her, of the sounds she made and the softness of her. She gave and gave, and I gave right back. There was no taking, no force, just an exchange of adoration that had filled me up, satisfying so much more than my body.

  She woke with a long, deep breath through her nose and the shifting of her body to somehow twine even more with mine.

  “Mmm,” she hummed and kissed me just under my collarbone.

  “Morning,” I said.

  She sighed.

  I sighed.

  And we lay there together for a few minutes, thinking, my hand skating up and down her bare back, Hannah nestled in my chest.

  I wanted to speak, but I wasn’t sure what to say. We needed to talk, and I didn’t want to. I wanted to stay there in that moment indefinitely, avoiding all responsibility and decision.

  “Do you have much work to do today?” she asked, the words puffing against my skin.

  “Probably, but I’m not going to do it.”

  She pulled back, and I looked over her face, younger and more innocent than the picture in my mind.

  “No? Even though you left early yesterday? I thought you might work all weekend.”

  I shrugged a shoulder and smoothed her golden hair. “No, not after yesterday. I shouldn’t have gone to work at all, and today I’ll make up for that. I want to be here with her. With you.”

  Her eyes smiled, sparkling and blue and crisp. “I didn’t realize it was so easy for you to get away,” she teased.

  “Well, my priorities have changed.” I held her body to mine, gazing upon her face.

  “Have they?”

  I nodded. “They have. I want to be here as much as I can, more than I’m able. I want more days like the zoo. I … I want to feel like that again, but I can’t if I’m always gone. So, yes. My priorities have changed, my heart has changed, and my life has changed, all thanks to you showing me the way.”

  When she smiled, it was shy and sweet and beautiful. I kissed her; it seemed the only thing to do.

  Her long fingers held my jaw, her body arching into mine for the duration.

  We watched each other across the pillow, her eyes slipping into uncertainty.

  “Charlie, what do we do now?” The question was gentle, and I knew she didn’t want to talk about it any more than I did.

  “Well,” I started, “I’d like to stay here in bed wit
h you until I have no choice but to leave. Then, I’d like to spend the day with you and the kids. And tonight, I’d like to be right here with you again. And tomorrow night. And the night after.”

  She laughed quietly, smiling like she thought I was patronizing her.

  But I didn’t laugh. I looked into her eyes so she knew how serious I was.

  “Hannah, I don’t know what I have to offer you when you’ve given me so much. And I don’t know what will happen from here. I … I haven’t done this in a very long time. My head has been telling me that I’m not ready, that I’ll hurt you, and I don’t want to hurt you.” I held her face, brushed her skin with my thumb, breathed through the ache in my chest.

  She covered my hand with hers. “Just be honest with me. I’m not fragile; I won’t break.”

  “I have baggage.”

  “So does everyone. I understand that you’ve been hurt and why you feel like you’re not ready. And with me living here, there’s no escape, no separation. I’m worried it will be too much, too fast. Because I can’t tell you no, Charlie. I can’t pretend I don’t want you here as much as I can have you. It’s dangerous … you must understand, don’t you?”

  “I do.”

  “And so the only way we can do this is if we trust each other. We have to understand that this could easily end whether we want it to or not. And if it does, when it does, we’ll have to deal with the consequences.”

  “The consequences weren’t enough to stop me last night, and they’re not enough to stop me now.”

  She smiled. “They’re not enough to stop me either, but that doesn’t mean they’re not still there.”

  I watched her for a breath. “It’s been a long time since I’ve trusted anyone. But I trust you.”

  “Then we’ll try,” she said. “And what about the children? I don’t think we should tell them.”

  “No, I don’t either. But Maven is too young to understand, and I think as long as we’re not overly affectionate, Sammy won’t think anything of it. I think it’s all right to just be what we are—you’re already a part of our lives, of their lives. I’m not worried.”