I stare after her, my mouth wide open as my eyes burn with angry tears.
She was supposed to understand.
Thirty-Two
Brad
I’m a man of my word. So when I said to Dakota that I’d talk to the chef at the club about his menu, that’s what I do. It also doesn’t hurt that I have an ulterior motive for being here.
“Can I have a word?”
“Of course,” Mary, Dakota’s mother, says as she stands aside and holds her hand out to invite me into the office. She closes the door behind me and offers me a seat. “What can I do for you, Brad?” she asks with a smile, as she takes the seat opposite me.
I clasp my hands in front of me and take a deep breath before speaking. “As you probably know, I’m in love with your daughter,” I state.
She smiles as she leans her elbows on the old desk. “I think I knew that before you did, Bradley. You’ve had eyes for Dakota from the very beginning.”
“Yes. But, I assure you, I never tried anything with her when we were young. I waited until she was ready.”
“I know that. She was my only child. I knew everything there was about her. I also know that she went to your house the afternoon before her attack.”
I clear my throat. “I see,” I say quietly, feeling the wind knocked out of my sails a bit. I’d hoped to enlist Mary’s help in getting Dakota to talk to me, but if she blames me for what happened then I don’t know how we’re going to get past this.
“You know, she used to call out your name in her sleep. She would call for you to come back because she loved you.” She looks into my eyes and gives me a sad smile. “And here you are, all these years later. When she started seeing you, I’ll admit I was scared at what it would do to her. I didn’t think a man could come into a relationship that was ruined by such atrocities and still hold that same love for the woman, as well as find a way to love the boy who was born from it. I thought she would end up hurt and tortured because you wouldn’t be able to understand. But then I saw how happy she’s been with you. You know, I followed you to the park one Sunday. I wanted to see how you were with Riley. I watched you together for hours, and that’s when I knew. I knew that you were everything she needed–you are her heart. Now, I don’t know what’s going on with you two at the moment, Brad, and I’ve had Stacey assuring me that my daughter is being stubborn and self-sabotaging.” She stops and chuckles before she continues. “She’s a character that one. But she calls it like it is, so I’m inclined to believe that it’s true. So whatever it is, you need to work it out. I’d hate to see you both old and filled with regrets because you let something a pack of masked cowards did years ago get in the way of what’s real in your hearts.”
“I don’t want that either, Mary. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I love Riley – I want him in my life too. And I want to work things out with her, but she’s not taking my calls, and I need to see her. I need your help, Mary.”
She nods. “It may take some convincing where her father is concerned. He’s fiercely protective of her. But I’ll do my best. What do you need me to do?”
* * *
Dakota
“And then, my friend, Paul, kicked the ball so high it went over the fence and onto the road–it’s not even a kicking ball! And you’ll never believe what happened next–you have to guess,” Riley says from the kitchen as I walk in the door after work.
I’m about to announce that I’m home, but I hear a male voice speaking to him softly. I freeze, my hand still wrapped around the handle of my handbag as I listen.
“It rolled all the way down the street and into the drain. It’s probably in the middle of the ocean by now–in a whale’s stomach! I’ll never get that ball back.”
“Maybe Paul can bring a ball to play with next time,” Brad suggests, and the sound of his voice makes my heart stop.
What is he doing here?
I close my eyes, lowering my bag and releasing it so it lands on the couch. Then I slowly walk toward the sound of their talking. I find them in the kitchen. Brad is chopping up carrots and adding them to a pot as Riley sits on a chair that’s pulled up to the bench on the other side, regaling him with tales of his school day.
“He doesn’t even have a high bounce ball. He lost them all, so his mum won’t buy him any more.”
“How did he lose them?”
“Kicking them, throwing them. I don’t think he’s very clever because he doesn’t learn his lesson.”
Brad chuckles and hands him a piece of cubed carrot. Riley takes it and puts it in his mouth without a fuss.
He never eats carrot.
I watch them from the archway that leads from the lounge room to the kitchen and dining room. I watch how easily they chat, and how much Riley loves having Brad to talk to. I watch how Brad takes care of my son, and he’s not doing it for show. He hasn’t even realised that I’m here yet. He’s giving him his full attention, and not because he has to. He’s doing it because he wants to.
I think about everything that’s happened between us. I think about Stacey’s hard truths. And I realise she was right. I’m a hypocrite. I’ve been angry with him for talking to a close friend, when I’ve been doing the exact same thing. He loves Riley. I can see that plain as day right in front of me. And he loves me. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t.
Pressing my lips together, I take a deep breath, and I walk across the room, kissing Riley on the top of his head before I ruffle his blond hair and he says hi.
“Brad’s cooking spaghetti for us,” he says with a smile.
“I hope that’s OK,” Brad says quietly from the other side of the bench. “I thought we could eat and maybe later we could talk.”
His eyes meet mine, and they seem to be filled with all the sorrow, and the longing that I’m feeling. I walk around the bench and stand in front of him for a moment, feeling my emotions swirling around in my stomach, and my chest, as I look up at him. He looks at me curiously. Then I wrap my arms around his middle and hug him tight. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, breathing in deep, filling my lungs with his familiar scent.
“So am I,” he whispers, wrapping his arms around me too as he kisses me on top of my head.
This is when Riley decides to pipe up. “Do you two love each other?” he asks.
Brad answers. “Yes we do, very much.”
Thirty-Three
Brad
“You know, I should have twigged when my parents both decided to take the night off without putting me on shift,” Dakota says, as she sits with me on the couch after Riley has been put to bed. The TV is on but it’s muted, and she’s sitting sideways with her legs across my lap.
I’m massaging her feet, and her calves because she’s been at work all day, and she’s playing with my hair, running her fingers over my scalp as we talk.
“I got them a table at Quay, and it’s possible your mum sold it to your dad as a prize they won. From what I hear, he wasn’t too keen on leaving someone else in charge. But your mum booked a hotel room and gave him a bit of a hard time about spending time with her.”
“Wow, they’re eating at Quay–that’s very fancy I hear,” she teases.
“I can take you there whenever you like. You’d enjoy it.”
“I know. I just feel weird about going with you to work on your day off. You work such long hours as it is. Don’t you get sick of the place?”
I shake my head. “See, that’s what you’re not understanding. I love my job. I love cooking. And Quay is like a part of my family. I’d love to show you around and show you off.”
She presses her lips together and nods. “I haven’t really been listening to you, have I?” she says, after a moment’s thought.
Letting out a sigh, I reach out and take one of her hands, bringing it to my lips before pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I think we’ve both been lacking in the listening department.”
“I don’t know. I think you’ve been pretty amazing all round, actually. Yo
u kept thinking about me, and what I wanted, even if it wasn’t in line with what you wanted. I’m the one who’s been pushing you in the opposite direction.”
“Are we still talking about me cooking on my nights off?”
She smiles. “A little. But mostly, I’m talking about the way I’ve been pushing you to have sex with me, and the way I reacted when I overheard you talking to Ruby about Riley and our relationship. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, you had every right. It was wrong of me to tell her. It was all about circumstance that I told her anyway. But, if I could, I’d take it back. And I’m sorry I upset you.”
Shaking her head, she moves her fingers with mine, looping them back and forth. “You don’t need to be sorry. Stacey made a very valid point the other day. She reminded me that I’ve been talking to her all along, and it’s only fair that you get to talk to someone you trust and value the opinion of as well.”
I groan inwardly. “You told Stacey what’s going on with us?” I ask, experiencing what Dakota felt when she overheard Ruby and me. There’s a deep pit of embarrassment forming in my gut.
“Not every detail, just the basic issue. And she raised some really good points.”
“She did?”
“Yeah, she said that I needed to understand where you’re coming from. For years, you just thought I left you, so the attack is new for you. For me, it happened seven years ago. So as much as it’s still a part of my psyche, I’ve had counselling, and the support of my family and friends to help me through the last seven years. Because of that, I feel like I’m ready to have something with you. But for you, you’ve only had a couple of months to come to terms with it. I have to understand that you’re still getting over the shock. And I need you to know that’s OK. If you want to talk to me about how you feel, or if it needs to be someone else–a friend or a professional–it’s OK. I understand now that you need that. Those men took from you as well when they hurt me.”
I let my breath out slowly, feeling as though she’s the most beautiful person in the world, both inside and out. “That’s what I hate about this. I feel robbed, and I hate that I feel that way because you’re the one they hurt. And every time I think about being with you–every time you pull me on top of you and ask me for more, I get this image in my head, and I feel like I’m just going to remind you of what happened. I don’t want that in my head. I mean, I want you. I want you so much. But I’m fucking scared, and I feel like a total arsehole because you–the one they hurt–you’re ready, and it’s me that’s not. What kind of a man am I that I can’t give the woman I love what she wants?”
* * *
Dakota
Listening to the way Brad talks about how learning of my attack has affected him, I find myself understanding how he’s feeling. Stacey was right. He blames himself for not protecting me, and he feels as though he’s failed me. On top of that, he’s hurt that I cut him out of my life, because he would have been there for me–we could have gone through it together. We spend a long time talking, and at times, crying, about this topic we’ve been avoiding since I first told him–a topic that has caused our relationship an enormous amount of pain. It was something that never should have happened. But it did, and I can never regret the child who was born as a result of it. So I’ve had to accept it in my mind to move forward. It’s the only way I could survive. The whole thing is fucked up, and the only way to get past it is to accept that it happened and talk about it, just like my therapist had told me to do. I need to let Brad talk about it as well.
I tell him, in more detail, the state of my mind after the attack, and in the months that followed. I apologise for shutting him out, and he says he understands as he listens to me talk and talk and talk. And I do the same, listening to him, crying with him, until our tears have dried up, and our voices are hoarse, and we’re both exhausted.
He picks me up, and carries me into my bedroom like I’m a child, and I let him because he makes me feel safe, and loved, and complete. He has my trust. He has my heart. And everything else will come in time when we’re both ready, whether it’s soon or if it’s later. We have our life together to experience it all.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” I ask, as he sets me on the edge of the bed. “Just sleeping. I want to wake up in your arms.”
“I’d like that,” he murmurs, lowering to his knees in front of me and giving me a soft kiss. “Where you do you keep your pyjamas?” he whispers.
I point to the top drawer in my set of rustic pine tallboy, and he rises from the floor then moves to open the drawer, selecting a pale blue singlet and pink and white striped shorts for me to sleep in.
Closing the drawer, he turns to stand in front of me, looking at the cotton clothing in his hands, before he looks up to meet my eyes. “I want to be the one to take care of you, Cody. I want to be by your side, and have you by mine. I know we have a long way to go, but that’s what I want.”
“I’d like that too,” I say, understanding by the look in his eye what he wants in this moment, as he keeps a hold of my nightwear and kneels before me again.
His breathing increases slightly as his fingers move up to the top button of my work shirt, working his way down until it falls open around me. Gently, he reaches up and pushes the fabric off my shoulders, his fingers brushing lightly over my skin as he slides it down my arms.
Placing the shirt on the bed beside me, he reaches around and unclasps my bra, once again, gently skimming his fingers over my skin as he slides it down my arms, his eyes on mine. “Arms up,” he whispers, picking up my singlet and rising so he can slide it over my arms and head then down my torso. He doesn’t once try to touch my breasts, yet it’s sensual, it’s loving.
“Stand up for me,” he instructs, reaching behind me to undo the zip of my skirt, as I do as he asks. Then he presses a light kiss to my lips before hooking his fingers into the waist of my skirt and my panties, pushing them down to the floor. He keeps one hand on my hip to steady me, as he crouches before me, and I step out of the crumpled fabric. I stay standing as he reaches for my pyjama shorts and holds them out for me to step into. Then he stands as he slowly lifts them up my legs and over my buttocks to my waist, where he slides his arms around me and takes a moment to kiss me slowly, softly, and intensely.
I place my hands on his chest, sliding them over his firm pecs and up to the button closest to his neck. “And I want to look after you,” I whisper, undoing that button and the next. “I want to be the one to take care of you.” I continue to work my way down his shirt. “I want to be your family, I want to be your friend. I want us to be everything to each other.” With my hands sliding over his broad shoulders, I push his shirt down the length of his arms, until it falls to the floor in a pillow of white material. I take a moment to admire the shape of his torso, the definition of his muscles, and the contour of his tattooed arms. One sleeve is a colourful Day of the Dead design, and the other has a scene prominently featuring an angel at his shoulder, and an aging man standing over an old style timepiece as the main viewing points. They’re so beautiful, and I run my fingers lightly over the intricate design, looking at every image around the main focal points. It reminds me of a black and white renaissance painting.
He remains still and quiet as I study the artwork on his body, and when I finish, I lift his hand and gently press a kiss to his palm. “I want to love you always,” I whisper. Then I reach down to his pants and pull open his belt buckle, button, and the zip. The weight of the belt causes his pants to drop to the floor with a thud, causing us both to laugh a little before I look back up at him. “We can take care of each other.”
Nodding, he moves to pull down the blankets of my bed, waiting until I’ve climbed in before he gets in beside me and wraps me in his arms before pressing his lips to mine. “I love you, Cody,” he whispers.
“I love you too,” I whisper back, before closing my eyes and falling fast into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Thirty-Four
&nbs
p; Brad
I wake around 4am, to the sound of the first bird singing and release a contented sigh as Dakota wriggles in her sleep and snuggles up against me. Her face is pressed into my chest, and her legs entwined in mine.
As she moves, her thigh brushes between my legs, causing my morning erection to jump and nudge against her leg. I close my eyes and grit my teeth, willing my hard-on to go down, and when I open my eyes, she’s looking up at me with an amused smile on her face.
“I didn’t do that on purpose,” I assure her, as she moves a little and it jumps again. She giggles a little, and I chuckle. “You need to stay still.” She moves a little again, and suddenly our laughter ceases when she brushes her lips against mine.
All it takes is a moment for the mood to change as the brush of our lips becomes an intense kiss that has my hand sliding down to her arse, as I pull her firmly against me. Her fingers drag down my back and instead of rolling so I’m on top like she normally would, Dakota moves in a way that urges me to roll so she’s on top of me, her legs still entwined with mine as her pelvis presses against my cock.
“I want to be the one to give you pleasure,” she whispers. “Just like you’ve done for me. And I want the same rules to apply–if you say stop, we stop.”
I let out my breath and nod, trying to relax as she takes control and slowly slides her way down my body. I tense up slightly when she kisses just above my boxers then tucks her fingers in the elastic waistband and pulls them downward.
Taste: Beautiful Series, Book 6 Page 14