Tru Blue

by Melissa Foster

  “That was the first night you tried,” she countered, arching up beneath him.

  He rained kisses over her shoulder, the curve of her neck, and the dip at the center of her collarbone. “Was it the first time I tried?”

  Her eyes narrowed, but she was breathing harder now. “No, but I had to play hard to get. You had all those other girls after you, and everyone knows guys want what they can’t have.”

  Her fingers traced a tattoo down his arm to the space between his finger and thumb, where she caressed little circles that sent pinpricks of heat straight to his core. “Do you remember that time I came to your house and found you sitting on the back porch with Quincy?”

  His stomach clenched at the mention of his brother, but this was part of the game, and he knew this was her way of showing him that she didn’t hold his past, or his family, against him.

  “Yes. You wore those sexy little shorts that made me crazy.” He pushed a hand beneath her skirt and she sucked in a breath.

  “On purpose.” She took his hand and moved it higher up her hip. His fingers grazed lace. A sinful smile spread her lips, her green eyes glimmering with seduction. “Remember what you said to me?”

  He moved his fingers along the edge of her panties. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her lips parted on a sigh. Leaning closer, he ran his tongue along the bow of her upper lip. “Tell me, sweet girl, what did I say to you?”

  Her eyes opened. “You said…” Her words came out breathy and low.

  She leaned up and he claimed her in a kiss so hot it could smolder metal, and then took it deeper, feeling her heart beat faster, her hands clutch him tighter, and her body—God, her glorious body—arch into him from knees to chest.

  When their lips parted, she panted out a few breaths and said, “You told me something bad was going to happen and to wait for you. And I promised I would.”

  “Gemma.” Her name came out like a plea.

  She placed her finger over his lips, silencing him. “Do you remember what else you said to me?”

  Biting back the emotions threatening to tear from his chest, he shook his head. She stroked his cheek, and he leaned into her palm, wanting to soak in every bit of her—from her sweet words to the adoring look in her eyes.

  “You said, ‘Don’t worry, sweet girl. It’s going to take a little time, but together we’ll do all the things we missed out on.’”

  He searched her serious expression, seeing vulnerability and longing looking back at him. “I wish we were together when we were younger. Having you in my life would have made every day infinitely better. I would have given you all the memories you wish you had. Meadows and fairy wings and strong arms around you when you were lonely or scared.”

  “I know,” she said. “And I would have been there for you, through all of it.”

  The pain of wishing for something they’d never have was staggering. “You’re really good at playing pretend.”

  “I wasn’t pretending just now.”

  “You’re killing me, sweetheart. Tearing me down one word at a time.”

  She touched his cheek again, and his insides melted. She had the power to wreck him and the power to make him feel so very loved. He was totally, utterly hers, and he couldn’t wait another second to make her his.

  He took her mouth with savage intensity, crushing her to him, and she was right there with him. They ate at each other’s mouths, grinding and groping through their clothing, pleading moans escaping their lips. Shoving her skirt up around her waist, he tore off her panties with one hard yank, shredding the lacy material. She grabbed his hair, tugging to the point of scintillating pain, sending electric shocks pulsing through him. Her hips rose off the floor and he thrust his fingers inside her, crooking them up, seeking the spot that would make her go wild. She moaned into his mouth, writhing as she rode his hand, guiding him until she cried out into their kiss. He tore his mouth away with the need to see her face in the throes of ecstasy. In the space of a breath he drank in her flushed skin, her swollen, pink lips, and the needy whispers escaping them. He had to have her, had to feel all that passion wrapped around him. His mouth came down over hers hard and insistent as he gathered her in his arms. Her arms circled his neck, never breaking the kiss while he carried her through the sheers and over to the bed, reaching behind him to pull the gold sheets across the opening. Kennedy hadn’t attempted to crawl out of bed yet, but just in case, he thought it best to have a barrier until he could build a proper wall.

  “We need to be quiet,” he said.

  “I know,” she whispered, and reached for him.

  He resisted with a slow shake of his head.

  “Nothing is going to come between us this time.” He stripped off his clothes, and her eyes locked on his eager cock.

  She licked her lips.

  “You have no idea what I have planned for that sinful mouth of yours.” He saw a shadow of worry wash over her, and his heart sank at what he knew she was worried about. “I’m clean. I’ve been tested. And I’m sure you’re wondering, so…There was no ass fucking in prison. Not for me anyway, and I have never had sex without a condom. Hell, sweetheart, I haven’t gone down on a girl since before prison. Not until you. I want all of you, Gemma, but you don’t have to do anything you aren’t comfortable with. Not now, not ever when you’re with me.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you for telling me,” she said shyly. “I was a little nervous about it.”

  “I know, and it’s okay. You have to be able to tell me what worries you.” He smiled. “Not that you hold back very often.”

  She returned his smile. “I am kinda pushy.”

  “Be pushy. Don’t hold back with me. Don’t hold back your worries, your desires, or anything.”

  Without a word, she lifted her hips off the bed, unzipped her skirt, then wiggled free, her way of showing him she was done holding back. When she went for the buttons on her vest, he took her hand and brought her up to her knees on the mattress. Her cheeks flushed, and she nibbled on the corner of her mouth. He sank to his knees, took her face in his hands, and kissed her like he never wanted to stop.

  And then he kissed her again.

  “I want to watch you.”

  With trembling hands, she began unbuttoning her vest, but he was too revved up to watch and not play. He gripped her hips, running his hands along her luscious curves as she unbuttoned one, two, and finally, the last button, parting the leather to reveal her beautiful breasts. The leather hitched on her nipples, keeping them hidden.

  “You’re so beautiful.” His hands moved to her ass, cupping her cheeks as he trailed kisses over her shoulder and up her neck. When she inhaled a long, shaky breath, he sealed his mouth over the curve of her neck and sucked. She arched into him, moaning eagerly and clutching his biceps.

  “More,” she begged.

  His hands moved down her ass and between her thighs, grazing over her wet heat. She rocked forward and back along the length of his fingers, coating them with her arousal as he took her in another fierce kiss. His tongue thrust to the far reaches of her mouth, claiming all of her as he teased her down below, and she continued rocking, panting, arching, and driving him out of his mind.

  He drew back, gazing into her sultry eyes. He wanted to give her everything, not just in bed, but also the safety and security she needed and deserved for the faith she gave him so readily.

  “Let me love you, sweetheart.”

  He shifted onto his back, guiding her until she was straddling his mouth. She pressed her palms to the wall with a low groan as he made love to her with his mouth, taking her deep with his tongue, until she rode it as if it were his cock. He gripped her hips and grazed his teeth over her most sensitive nerves. She whimpered and slapped her hand over her mouth seconds before her body bucked with the force of her climax. He rode the waves of her pleasure with her, loving her to the very end. Then he shifted her onto her back and reached for a condom, which he’d tucked beside the bed. His heart slammed
against his ribs as he tore it open with his teeth and sheathed his hard length. He’d waited so long for this moment, had built it up to epic proportions in his mind, but nothing compared to seeing Gemma lying beneath him, her eyes so full of desire it poured off of her.

  She leaned up and cupped his balls, teasing him with a wicked glint in her eyes.

  He grabbed her hands and pinned them beside her head, nudging her legs open wider with his knee. It was a reflex, how he’d always had sex. He gazed down at Gemma, so willing to be whatever he needed, so trusting. In her eyes he saw all those things. He felt his heart open even more, unlatching the last of the locks he’d lived behind for so long. She was looking at him like he was all she ever wanted, and when a smile lifted her lips, it was too much.

  She was too much. Too sweet, too sexy, too real.

  He released her hands and she reached for him. In that split second, the truth poured out.

  “I want to wrap you up in me until you can feel how much I want you. I want to make you feel as wanted as you make me feel, because I want you, Gemma—all of you. I’ve never felt like this before. I feel like this is my first time.”

  He kissed her, sinking into her slowly, wanting to remember every glorious second. The way her mouth tasted of want and need and something much deeper. The feel of her breasts crushed against his chest, her fingers pressing into his lower back. The smell of her arousal mixed with the sweet unique scent of Gemma. When he was buried so deep they felt like one being, he gazed into her eyes, struck mute by emotions.

  Their mouths came together and they found their rhythm. In seconds they were a wild tumble of whispers and kisses, and giggles, and Oh my God! Right theres. She wrapped her legs around his waist, allowing him to sink further into her. When they hit that phenomenal peak where stars collided and the earth spun around them, they swallowed each other’s explosive cries.

  Slick with sweat, Truman didn’t know where Gemma ended and he began. He was lost—in her, for her, with her. Passion brimmed in her eyes as she leaned up and he met her halfway in a warm and wonderful kiss, with all the depth and emotion of knowing that this was only the beginning.

  Chapter Sixteen

  GEMMA LEANED AGAINST the bedroom doorframe wearing one of Truman’s shirts, which fell nearly to her knees, listening to him hum as he gave Lincoln a bottle. It was four thirty in the morning, and he was wearing a pair of dark briefs and a T-shirt. She couldn’t wait to curl up in his arms again. They’d made love twice and had fallen asleep wrapped up in each other’s arms, waking when Lincoln began to cry. Truman hadn’t pushed from the bed with a begrudging groan or rued his missed sleep at all. He’d even told Gemma to get some sleep when she’d offered to feed Lincoln.

  He set the bottle on the dresser, and Gemma draped a burp rag over her shoulder, motioning for him to give her the baby. She loved these moments with the kids, and she loved the smile on Truman’s face as he settled Lincoln in her arms and rubbed his nose over hers in an Eskimo kiss.

  “When I was little,” she whispered, patting Lincoln gently on the back, “I came home from kindergarten and asked for Eskimo kisses. I had just learned what they were, and I felt like I’d missed out on something really fun. My parents could have given me one, right? Just rubbed their nose with mine for one second. Instead I got a lecture on how it’s rude to call them Eskimo kisses and that little girls shouldn’t ask for kisses.”

  Truman stepped closer and pressed a kiss to the back of Lincoln’s head. Then he leaned in and rubbed noses with Gemma again. “From now on, not a day will pass without Eskimo kisses. I promise.”

  How could something so little mean so much?

  She kissed him softly and Lincoln let out a burp. They both smiled. She placed the baby in his crib, stroked his little head, and then they returned to their makeshift bedroom.

  “You’re going to make an amazing mother someday,” he said as they climbed into bed. He tucked her beneath his arm, her face resting on his chest, and kissed the top of her head.

  “Maybe,” she said a little forlornly.

  He tightened his arm around her. “Definitely. Don’t you want your own children? I just assumed…”

  “My love for children is like God’s cruel joke.” She tried to play it off as such, but the familiar longing twisted inside her. In the past, she’d worried about telling men that she couldn’t bear children, but she didn’t have that fear with Truman. He’d been so open with her, she found herself wanting to share all of herself with him. Even the hardest parts.

  “Why?”

  She draped an arm over his middle, drawing strength from him like a leach drew blood. “To really understand the cruel joke part you kind of have to understand the rest of my life, and I don’t want to bore you.”

  He tipped her chin up and kissed her lips. “Please bore me. I want to know everything about you.”

  She swallowed hard, mustering the courage to start at the beginning. “I’ve told you about how all I ever wanted was time from my parents, not material things. But it wasn’t just their time and attention that I missed out on. I’m not sure they were capable of really loving anyone.”

  His fingers brushed soothingly through her hair and along her back. She closed her eyes, reveling in his ability to know exactly what she needed.

  “You know about my constant nannies and ridiculously strict schedule, but when you love someone, truly love them, the way you love Kennedy and Lincoln, and the way I can see you love Quincy, regardless of his current situation, you don’t turn your back on them.” Her throat clogged with the sadness and anger she’d thought she’d dealt with years ago.

  He lifted her higher, cradling her against him, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She focused on the ink on his chest, reminding herself that her loss was nothing compared to his.

  With a gentle finger beneath her chin, he brought her eyes up again. His thumb brushed over her cheek in silent support. It was that support that gave her the courage to continue speaking.

  “When I was eight, my father’s investment company went south. I was just a kid, so the things I noticed weren’t necessarily telling, but I knew something was wrong. He was angry all the time. Nervous. My father was never nervous. He didn’t do weakness. He used to tell me that weakness bred incompetence. It was such a big word, and I’m sure I didn’t understand what it really meant, but I intimated, you know, like kids do. Then things started happening. He had a fleet of cars, and it dwindled. My mother was always cold, but she became colder, angrier, until they barely spoke even to each other. And one day one of my nannies came to get me at school and I’ll never forget that day. I had so many nannies, and they changed from day to day sometimes, but that time they’d sent Ben. Ben was nicer than the others. Not warm, but if he saw I was sad, he’d sometimes touch my chin and say, ‘Chin up, little lady. The sun’s still shining.’”

  Truman listened intently; his blue eyes welled with empathy.

  “Ben was big, like you. He wore a black suit. They always wore black, the men and women who worked for my father, because of his crazy need for professionalism. ‘Look strong, be strong.’ I started to hate the word ‘strong,’ and I fought against wearing anything black, even shoes. I was a bit of a brat about it.” Old anger brewed in her belly. “My father cared about what his staff wore, but he couldn’t give me a fucking Eskimo kiss?”

  Tears slid down her cheeks. She couldn’t stop them if she wanted to. She was too deep in the memory, reliving it as if it were yesterday.

  “I’ll never forget Ben folding his big body down and kneeling beside me. He took both of my hands in his, and I knew something was wrong because none of the staff touched me like that.” She spread her hand over Truman’s ribs, remembering the feel of Ben’s hands around hers.

  “He held…” She sniffed back tears, forcing the words to come. “He held my hands and looked right into my eyes with this apologetic but also stern look, and he said, ‘Your father has died. It’s time to go home, little lad
y.’ Like I needed to suck it up. As if that was something any little girl should ever have to hear.”

  Truman crushed her to him. “Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

  Her chest constricted, and her fingers dug into his skin. “My father, the man who preached strength, was too weak to face bankruptcy. So he chose to leave us. He chose to ignore the fact that I didn’t care about his wealth or what we had. All I wanted was him. I wanted a father.” Her last words were swallowed in sobs. She cried like she never had in all the years since her father’s death, ridding her body of a river of anger, an ocean of pain and disappointment, until she had no more tears to cry. And Truman held her, safe and tight, murmuring support laced in love. He didn’t have to say he loved her. She knew it, could feel it in his every breath.

  Only then did she swallow her pain and tell him the rest of her truth.

  “At a time when my mother and I should have been pulling together to support each other and trying to figure out how to move forward together, she set out to find her next sugar daddy. Instead of helping her grieving daughter, my mother disappeared. I saw even less of her. My nannies had dwindled down to two, and I was under their care every minute of the day. I ate with one of them standing beside the table like I was a prisoner—no offense—and I woke up to my clothes laid out for me and my mother God only knew where. She married five months after my father died. My new stepfather traveled a lot—and she went with him.”

  She pushed up to a sitting position so she could see Truman’s face. She knew her eyes were probably red and puffy, and she was probably sporting a Rudolph nose, but he’d been brave enough to confess so much more. She owed him—and herself—the same honesty.

  “I grew up swearing I’d shower my children in love, not things. That I’d never ignore them, not when they were cranky or when they wanted to tell me a silly story. Not ever.”

  “You shower my children in love, and it’s like a gift to me and to them. Were you worried that you’d turn out like your mother?”