Whispered Prayers of a Girl

by Alex Grayson

  I run a finger down her face, starting at her temple and ending at the underside of her chin. This woman really is incredible. How she could feel anything for me after I exposed my deepest regrets is beyond me. She’s never looked at my scars and thought them hideous. She’s always looked beneath them.

  “I don’t deserve for you to be here with me.” She opens her mouth to refute me, but I talk over her. “But I’m not strong enough to let you go either.” I dip my head and place a single kiss against her lips before pulling back an inch. “There’s so much I want from you, Gwen. So damn much, and it scares the shit out of me because I know this feeling isn’t fleeting. It’s real and so damn strong. I don’t know why you came into my life, but now that you’re here, I’m not sure I can ever willingly let you go.”

  Her eyes are wide and her breath fans across my lips as her breathing becomes labored. I’m not sure if it’s due to me practically baring my soul or if it’s something more carnal. It feels so fucking wrong to even slightly desire this woman in light of what yesterday was. It was a day of remembered loss and was emotionally draining. Today’s a new day, but it’s still the day after the anniversary of losing my wife and baby, and while that pain is still very much alive, desire and lust fight their way to the forefront of my mind. That puts another mound of guilt on my shoulders, but I shove it away for the moment.

  I lower my head until my lips rest against hers. Her breath hitches when I sweep my tongue gently across her lips until she opens up to me. I meet my tongue with hers, and even though neither of us has brushed our teeth, she tastes so good. Too fucking good.

  A soft moan leaves her lips and the sound heightens my desire for her. One of her hands laces through my hair and digs into my scalp, pulling me closer to her. I’m only too willing to oblige.

  I trace my hand down her neck, her arm, until I reach the back of her thigh. I lift her leg and hook it over my hip. It leaves her wide open for me to settle between her legs. Through our kiss, I keep my eyes open to make sure she’s okay with what’s going on. Her eyes are closed, but there’s no mistaking the intense pleasure on her face. It amps up my own need.

  She lifts her other leg and wraps it around my waist. Both of her legs hold me in place. A deep groan leaves my throat when my hardness meets her soft center. The need to grind myself against her is too strong to resist.

  Ending the kiss, I rest my forehead against hers and push my hips forward. Even through our jeans, I feel the warmth of her. Her eyes blaze hot as I start a slow grinding rhythm.

  “Alexander,” she moans, and digs her fingers into my shoulders.

  I have no plans to let this go all the way, but the sound of her pleading voice saying my name is nearly my undoing.

  “You’re driving me crazy, Gwen,” I growl softly. “I don’t know what to do with you.”

  I put one hand down by her head and use the other to lift her leg higher. I’m desperate to feel her skin against mine, but I know if I shed our clothes, there’s no way I would be able to stop from taking her. I have no idea what the future holds for us, but one thing I know for sure is that I want her more than my next breath.

  This… thing building between us only gets stronger the more I’m around her. My mind wages a war with itself. Part of me demands I let go and allow myself the freedom to pursue a relationship with her, but another part says I’m not good enough for her and her kids. I don’t know which is more dominant, but I do know which I want to win the battle. I’ve been alone for so long, and I don’t want to be anymore. I haven’t felt the softness of a woman in over four years, and I miss it. I don’t want Gwen because she’s the first woman I’ve wanted since Clara died, but because she’s the first woman I’ve actually enjoyed being around since then. It’s not just her body I desire, but her mind and soul as well.

  Her nails rake down my back gently, sending goose bumps over my flesh. It spikes my need for her, and I trail my fingers up her side and under her shirt. Her hiss of pleasure shoots straight to my already rock-hard cock, causing it to pulse in my jeans. I press myself against her harder, earning myself another breathless moan.

  My hand slips up higher until I reach the underside of her breasts. The soft material touches the tips of my fingers, and they itch to travel higher. I look into Gwen’s eyes, silently asking for permission.

  “Please,” she whimpers, and I almost lose it.

  Her hips shift restlessly below me, causing her pussy to rub against my aching erection.

  “You gotta stop moving, Gwen,” I groan against her neck, then take little nibble along the flesh.

  “I need….” She trails off, but there’s no need to finish her sentence. I know exactly what she needs, because it matches my own.

  “I know, baby. I’ll take care of you,” I tell her hoarsely.

  I lift the bottom of her bra and tug it upward until her breast falls free. I cup the plump softness with gentle hands and give it a squeeze. She feels so fucking perfect in my palm. She must feel the same because she releases a small cry of pleasure the second I touch her. I pinch her nipple and roll it between my fingers, keeping my eyes on her face as I do so. Her bottom lip is between her teeth and her brows are slashed downward as she drowns in sexual bliss.

  My eyes drop to her breast, and the sight of her creamy flesh and rose-colored nipple makes my mouth water. Unable to deny the need to taste her, I take the tip in my mouth. Her eyes were closed, but as soon as she feels my warm tongue, they pop open and stare down at me. I hold her gaze as I suck on her and flick my tongue back and forth across the tip. Her hand goes back to my hair and gives it a tug. Not to push me away, but to pull me closer.

  I drop my other arm to an elbow, laying more of my bottom half against her. I release her nipple and push up her top and bra on the other side, exposing her other breast. I give it the same treatment, the delicious taste of her making my cock even more impossibly hard.

  I groan against her breast, knowing it’s sending vibrations through her. Her head tips back and she releases a husky moan.

  I drop her nipple from my mouth, then take her lips again. My hips start to grind harder against her. I feel like I’m going to explode at any minute, but I refuse to let myself find relief. I need to know she’s found hers before I can let go.

  Ending the kiss, I bury my face in the crook of her neck and rain soft kisses there, never letting up on the steady rhythm of my strokes against her pussy. Her moans become cries and her teeth sink into the flesh on my shoulder. The bite stings, but spurs me on more. I wrap my arm under her ass and lift her hips up higher.

  All of a sudden, she throws her head back and releases a throaty cry. I grunt when her nails dig into my lower back as her release completely consumes her. Her body tenses below me, locking her legs even tighter around me. I feel my own release start at the base of my cock, the pleasure so intense that it leaves me dizzy.

  I push my hips further into her, wishing our clothes were gone and I could feel her pussy clamping down around me.

  Sparks run down my shaft and the tip of my cock tingles as the first jets of cum shoot from me, coating the insides of my jeans.

  I drop my chest down to Gwen’s and shove my face back into her neck. Her shirt and bra are still pulled up, so her naked breasts rub against my chest. My spent cock twitches, but I force the renewed need away.

  I breathe in her delicious vanilla scent as I try to catch my breath. Her heated breath on my cheek says she’s doing the same.

  Now that the moment is over, reality settles back in. Shame for how I just rutted against her and guilt for the disregard of what yesterday was has my stomach sinking to my toes. Gwen deserves so much more than a dirty orgasm inside our clothes. She should be worshiped and cherished and loved properly. And Clara and Rayne’s memory deserves more respect than a passing thought.

  I pull back and stare down at her. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on her forehead and her cheeks are flushed. She looks incredibly sexy, but still manages to appear innoce
nt.

  “Fuck,” I muttered. “I’m sorry. We shouldn’t have done that.”

  She frowns and drops her chin to her chest, effectively disconnecting us. I feel like an ass because I immediately know where her thoughts go, and it’s the furthest from the truth.

  I grab her chin and make her look at me again.

  “I know what you’re thinking. Don’t,” I demand. “It felt good, incredibly good, you just deserve better.”

  Her hands, which were clutching my back, now come to rest on my sides. I feel tingles where my nerve endings are supposed to be damaged.

  “You deserve more too,” she says quietly.

  I give her a half smile and lean down and peck her lips before pulling back. “Thank you.”

  Her smile lights up her face and it makes my chest tighten. I push up from her chest and roll to the side, my feelings for her getting to be too much. I need to back away before it swallows me whole.

  I catch the hurt look on her face as I sit up in bed and swing my legs to the floor, but I don’t stop. I sit on the side and hunch my shoulders. My eyes land on the scars on my arm and hand. I flex the hand, watching as the skin tightens and turns white. Gwen has never paid attention to my scars, and I’ve never really cared what others have felt about them, but they still make me feel inadequate when it comes to her. I’m not only fucked-up on the inside, but the outside as well. It’s a constant reminder of how I failed in my duty as protector. It’s not fair of me to expect or even want her to settle for someone like me, even though I know she would.

  I feel her hands rest on my back, and I grimace, glad she can’t see my face. Her lips touch the back of my neck, and my fucking body responds. I silently curse my inability to tamp down the need coursing through my body.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, rubbing her hands up and down my back, unknowingly tormenting me further.

  I nod, unable to speak at the moment. My eyes slide to the partially open drawer. I just barely make out the images that are inside. The picture I had with me under the bridge feels heavy in my pocket now that reality has made its way back home. I’m a bastard for letting things go as far as they did. I should have never touched Gwen, knowing that I can’t give her what she rightly needs.

  I get up from the bed, and without looking back at her, mutter, “Shower.”

  I know I’m being an asshole, and I’ve probably hurt her, but I can’t turn back. She needs to know that I’m not the man for her.

  I force my legs forward. I don’t dare to look back because I’m scared of the look I’ll see on her face. Once the door is securely closed behind me, I hunch my body against the sink and pull in a deep breath. This whole thing was a huge fucking mistake. I can’t regret having them in my house during the snowstorm because they would have frozen if they’d stayed out there, but I should have worked harder at keeping them at a distance. I should have put up more shields at the first sign of affection I felt toward them. My only excuse is they bombarded me without me even knowing it. It’s too late now to push those feelings away, but I can work at ensuring they don’t become stronger.

  I slip out of my clothes, then turn and face the mirror, needing a reminder of why it can’t work between Gwen and me. My jaw hardens as I stare at my fucked-up face and body. The skin puckers and looks warped in some spots. Where my beard should cover the bottom half of my face, the scars prevent it. The doctors say I was lucky because the burns on my face weren’t near as bad as the other areas of my body. They’re still bad enough. When the door to the car was ripped open, the fire had just reached my face and the rain helped keep it from spreading too fast, and gave the guy enough time to pour more water on the fire and douse the flames. Had I been in the car for a couple more minutes, the flames would have completely engulfed me. There are still times I wish it had.

  I close my eyes, remembering the pain and smell of my flesh burning. I remember hearing the crunch of metal as the door was yanked open. My body screamed in pain but my eyes stayed pinned on Clara. Even in the dark interior of the car, I could still see her lifeless eyes open, as if they were glowing, accusing me. Judging me for not saving Rayne. My eyes stayed connected with her dead ones every second I was in that car.

  It wasn’t until they started pulling me out that I searched the back seat where my little girl was. It was too dark, and I couldn’t fucking find her. It was just an empty black abyss. I was weak from the pain but I still fought to get free. I needed to get to Rayne. After only seconds, my strength gave out and the fiery pain took over.

  Days later, I overheard the doctors tell my parents that they were amazed the pain from the burns didn’t leave me incoherent, that I shouldn’t have been able to focus on searching for Rayne when I was being pulled out. What they don’t understand is that the pain of losing them, of being right fucking there and being unable to do a damn thing was more painful than anything else I could imagine. I’d take being burned a thousand times over going through that pain again.

  Remembering that day usually makes me feel one of two things, immense pain or unrestricted anger. My expression turns into a twisted scowl, indicating the anger has won out. All at once, my hand balls into a fist, and before I know it, I swing out and punch the mirror. Shards of glass rain down on the sink and floor. I bring my hand to my face and watch as blood drips from the knuckles. Lifting my eyes back to the ruined mirror, I’m satisfied when most of the glass is gone, only leaving a few pieces behind and obscuring my reflection.

  “Alexander!” Gwen calls through the door, sounding frantic.

  “I’m fine,” I call gruffly.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I feel bad for the scared tone in her voice, but it’s better for her to know now that I’m not completely levelheaded.

  “Yes. I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

  It wouldn’t surprise me if she were gone when I’m done. It would serve me right and be better for her. But a small part of me wishes she wouldn’t be. I need to push her away, but I selfishly don’t want to let her go.

  I turn from the shattered mirror and turn the shower on. Not waiting for it to warm up, I walk underneath the cold spray. The freezing blast of water steals my breath, but I force my body to remain still. I prop my hands on the shower wall and hang my head, letting the cold water cool off my hot temper. I may feel safe to lose it behind closed doors, but I never want Gwen to witness it.

  I stay under the water for several minutes, breathing through my nose and out through my mouth before I roughly wash my body. I pick the few splinters of glass out of my hand and set them on the shelf in the shower, then scrub the cuts with soap.

  Avoiding the glass on the floor, I step out of the shower and grab a towel. By the time I’m done drying myself, blood is dripping down my hand and onto the floor. I rinse the cuts again, smother them with ointment, then wrap a piece of gauze around my hand. Wrapping the towel around my waist, I pull open the door, unsure of what I’ll find or what I want to find.

  My heart drops when I find the room silent and empty.

  What did you expect, Alexander? my subconscious asks. For her to stick around and get rejected by you again?

  I shake my head, willing the thought away, and grab some jeans from the closet. I pull on a shirt and socks and go out to the living room, preparing to walk to the bridge for my truck. The thought of going back there so soon has my fists clenching at my sides. My reluctance to be around people isn’t the only reason I don’t like going to town. That bridge is a part of it too. If I could, I’d avoid the damn thing. Unfortunately, the only way around it to town tacks on three hours.

  I come to a stop, surprised, when I find Gwen in my kitchen, her back to me as she stands in front of the stove cooking something. When she hears my approach, she turns. The wary look she gives me makes me want to hit something. Myself mainly, because I’m the source of the look.

  “Hey,” she says softly, her eyes guarded.

  I clear my throat and walk the rest of the wa
y into the kitchen.

  “Hey.”

  She twists her hands in front of her nervously, and I want to take her in my arms.

  “I’m making eggs and bacon.” She jerks her thumb over her shoulder, indicating the stove. “I figured you might be hungry.”

  I frown, wondering why she could still be concerned about me after I left her the way I did in the bedroom, but then I remember, this is Gwen. She’s kind and giving and would push past the hurt if it meant it would somehow help others. I may not know her that well, but I know her enough to sense she’s that type of person.

  I shift from one foot to the other, suddenly feeling awkward. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  She frowns and looks down, and I feel like an even bigger ass. I walk over and lift her chin. I need to fix this. She didn’t ask for me to climb on top of her and rut away, although she didn’t ask me to stop either and from the way she reacted, she wanted it, too. The least I can do after dry humping her is to not be a jerk.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her, hoping she sees the sincerity in my eyes. “I’d love some breakfast.”

  Some of the hurt leaves her face and she gives me a small smile. One corner of my mouth tips up, and the act seems to satisfy her even more as her smile grows.

  “Good.” She runs her hands down the front of her jeans and takes a step back. I want to yank her forward again until her soft body meets my hard one, but I drop my hand and let her go. “You go have a seat. It’s almost done.”

  Instead of doing what she says, I stand where I am and watch as she turns back to the stove and picks up a spatula. Her tight jeans mold perfectly against her ass, and I jerk my eyes away before my body can appreciate the view. Her hair is tossed up into a messy ponytail, with a few strands falling down the back. Her graceful neck is on display, and I’d love nothing more than to run my lips up the slender column.

  I frown, wondering why it’s so hard to keep my thoughts pure when it comes to her. I turn and take a seat at the bar, putting my balled fists on the wood surface. I try not to watch her move around the kitchen, but it’s a feat I don’t manage. She looks way too good and natural as she cooks. Yes, she was here for four days and cooked each day, but she looks as if she’s been doing it here in my kitchen for years. Like this is where she belongs.