by Naima Simone
She inhales, her grip on me tightening, drawing me closer, although I don’t think she’s aware of it. But conscious or not, I surrender to her need of me, pressing closer until only negligible inches of air separates our bodies.
“When she was born, and I saw her face, I almost changed my mind. For a moment, I couldn’t do it. I loved her so much, the thought of turning her over…” A whimper breaks free of her throat, but she quickly corals it. “But that same love made me go through with it. I wanted the world for her, and I knew Gregory and Danielle Mavis could give it to her. With the help of my adoption counselor, I’d handpicked them, and I was gifting my daughter with adoring parents who would provide not just a loving home, but she’d never have to worry about where her next meal was coming from. Or if the power bill would be paid. Or if she could join a ballet class. She’d have not just her necessities met but her wants too. I needed her to have that life. It’s the only way I was able to give her away in that hospital room.”
“You did good, Zenobia,” I tell her, and for once, the words come easy. “It would’ve been easier to keep her, maybe even more selfish to keep her. But you put your daughter first.”
Dropping my hand to her chin, I tilt her head up so she has no choice but to keep her eyes on me. To see the truth in me.
“There’s no guilt in that. No shame.”
For a second, her face crumbles, but only for a second. She draws in a breath and closes her eyes. But then, as if remembering my demand, her lashes lift.
“I shouldn’t have approached her when she came in yesterday,” she confesses hoarsely. “I should’ve left her alone. Her parents haven’t allowed me to contact her. But I couldn’t not talk to her. See for myself that she was okay. Just see her. She’s so beautiful, Axel.”
She breaks off, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. Before today, I wouldn’t have touched that soft flesh, but here, now, in this room, I grant myself permission. Pressing my thumb against the tender curve, I gently pull it away and smooth my pad across the lightly dented, damp skin. My dick throbs, and I’d be the worst liar if I claimed I wasn’t imagining how good it would feel to tap my swollen cockhead against this lush mouth before slowly, so fucking slowly, plunging into it. But I have a tighter rein on the beast, and picturing that is as far as I will allow myself.
Zenobia Hester isn’t for me.
I’ll have to settle for the gift of this small touch.
“Yeah, she is. She looks like you,” I mutter.
Joy brightens her eyes, the gold glistening like freshly minted coins. “Thank you,” she murmurs. “Thank you for coming today. And I’m sorry for lying to you about her identity. But thank you for not holding it against me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Her hands slide up my back, and in the next moment, her arms are wrapped around me in a tight embrace that I should resist. If I had any integrity, I would pat her on the shoulder and then extricate myself. But I’ve crossed that boundary long ago. Fuck crossed it. I’ve torched it, then blew it up for good measure. So, the only thing left to do is fold myself around her and bend my head over hers, burying my face in her hair. Inhaling that cider and dew scent so deep in my lungs, it’ll take a surgical procedure to remove it.
I’ll allow this.
This is it, though.
But even as I think it, I don’t believe it.
Chapter Ten
Zenobia
I watch the elevator doors close behind Axel, and even after he disappears from sight, I still stand there in the middle of the pediatric floor, stunned by the events that just happened in the on-call room.
I just confessed my deepest secret to someone I’ve known for days. Days. I was with James for years, and he never earned that trust. Part of me is still reeling, because, again, what the hell just happened? I have the rest of my shift to get through, but I’m exhausted from the emotional purging. Yet, I’m also… exhilarated, like a weight has been hauled off my chest. There’d been no judgement in Axel’s eyes. No condemnation. Not even shock. And the man who can do an impressive mime routine like nobody’s business uttered the perfect words to take away my guilt. Not completely. That task truly belongs to only me. But his calm, gruff, and no bullshit manner helped. God, it helped. He’d offered me comfort when anyone else could’ve handed me censure.
So, what kind of person did it make me that while he’d hugged me I’d just wanted to climb him like a jungle gym and grind against that hard, big dick I’d ogled last night until I came so hard, exploding stars would have nothing on me?
I sigh.
It makes me an ungrateful, horny hot mess, that’s what.
I can’t remember the last time I’d felt so cared for, so protected, so safe… and so fucking turned on at the same time. Like, the whole hospital could be crumbling down around us and he would protect me with those wide shoulders and broad back, even while he fucked me into blessed oblivion.
Somehow, Axel Wright has transformed from the growly ogre under the bridge to the off-limits friend I’d love to fuck. Because there is no mistaking this—he is a friend. And I do want to fuck him.
But I can’t.
Not only is he leaving the damn country in months, but I’m not even emotionally close to being involved with a man. James did one helluva job on my ability to trust, and if I’m brutally honest, my self-esteem. If I allowed it, Axel would just complete the wrecking that James started.
And I’m so fucking tired of being broken.
Of allowing myself to be a man’s rest stop before he moves on to his final destination.
“Excuse me. Can I speak with you for a moment?”
I turn around, a smile automatically curving my lips, but it freezes as I meet the furious gaze of Danielle Mavis. It’s been over twelve years since I last saw her, but I immediately recognize her. How could I forget the face of the woman who I gave to raise my daughter as her own?
“Hello, Mrs. Mavis.” I nod. “Of course.”
Not wanting to have an audience of the whole floor for this conversation, I lead her toward the hall outside Bethany’s room that’s thankfully—miraculously—empty.
“You have some nerve,” she hisses, her pretty face suffused with anger. “I told Sabrina Lorenzo that we weren’t ready for Bethany to meet you yet. And then you pull this—” she waves a hand toward Bethany’s hospital room door “—without our permission? I can have you fired, and I’m not completely certain I won’t.”
“You would be well within your right to do that,” I say softly. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Mavis. I don’t have any excuse, and all I can say is I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I know it’s doesn’t excuse my actions, but I didn’t tell Bethany who I am. She just thinks I’m her nurse.”
“Oh, I know,” Danielle sneers, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s the only reason I’m not in your supervisor’s office right now. She didn’t recognize your name, but I did. Bethany just thinks you’re the nice nurse who brought her favorite artist by. Again, without her parents’ permission. Who do you think you are?” she demands.
It’s not just the fury that has me flinching; it’s the hurt that thrums beneath it. And I understand. I violated boundaries. Yes, I birthed Bethany, but Danielle is her mother.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.” It’s so inadequate, but it’s all I have to offer her.
“It’s not enough,” she snaps. “Stay away from my daughter. I’m calling Sabrina and telling her the same thing. And if you don’t respect that, you’ll not only be without a job but slapped with a restraining order. Leave her and us alone.”
Danielle whips away, pushing open Bethany’s door and disappearing inside the room. Leaving me shaking on the other side.
I fucked up.
And now I lost my only chance to be in my daughter’s life.
Lost her before I truly even had her.
Hours later, Danielle Mavis’s enraged words no longer ring in my head. That’s mainly due to the bottle of M
oscato I emptied by myself. Pleasantly buzzed, I lie back against the pillows in Bridget and Simon’s guest room. Not my room. Not my home. My head rolls as I survey the pretty room, scrutinizing the elegant dresser and vanity, the gleaming hardwood floors, dark green area rug, small but lovely desk, and antique chair through bleary eyes. Nothing in here belongs to me except for the suitcases in the closet. I didn’t even bother placing any of my things in the dresser drawers, not wanting to get too comfortable.
A Bachelor of Science in nursing, passing the licensed exam and thousands of hours in the emergency room in a challenging career I love, and what do I have to show for it?
I’m temporarily homeless.
I’m fiancé-less.
Any chance of connecting with my biological daughter is gone.
I’m alone. So fucking alone.
From the time I was sixteen, I’ve sacrificed for others. For my mother and grandparents. For my child. For James. Seldom have I been selfish. Never taking for myself. I’ve given my baby, my heart, even my independence for people I love, and have never asked for anything in return. And that’s my fault. My problem.
Maybe I need to do the asking.
Maybe it’s time I need to do the taking.
Just one thing for myself. I deserve it, dammit.
As soon as the thought stumbles through my mind, Axel flickers then solidifies in my head like an HD movie screen. Just earlier today I told myself he was off-limits, and I couldn’t have him. But why not? It’s not like I want to propose to him or even ask him to go steady. I just want to fuck. To scratch this relentless itch that he stirred when he showed up shirtless, tatted, golden, and gorgeous in Bridget’s kitchen. Really, that makes it his responsibility to satisfy it.
If I go into this recognizing it for what it is—a no-strings-attached, dirty one-night stand—then what’s the harm? We both get off, and I stop thinking. I stop feeling. I stop being anything but mindless with the pleasure my body has instinctively known his is capable of giving me from the moment I whipped around with a pot of grits in my hand.
That’s it.
Carefully balancing my half-filled glass of wine in one hand, I scoot on my ass across the bed and shuffle across the room to the dresser where I dropped my phone before getting down to the serious business of getting wasted. I pick up the cell and glance behind me. Suddenly, the bed looms a little too far to travel, so holding my glass like the precious jewel it is, I sink to the floor, crossing my legs. A small, waaay-too-sober voice mutters that drunk texting is a really bad idea. But I shut that bitch up with a long, deep gulp of Moscato.
Pulling up my message app, I scroll to the last text I sent Axel when he messaged me this morning to let me know he’d arrived at the hospital. God, how was that just this today? So much had hap—No! Nonono. We’re not going there. Just to make sure, here’s more wine. I give the maudlin side of me another sip.
“There we go,” I mutter, tapping on his name.
Our stream is very short. Just him informing me he’s there and me saying okay. I stare at the new message bar.
Well, shit.
What should I say? Something like, You down to fuck? Check yes, no, or maybe? seems kinda, I don’t know, sophomoric.
“Fuck it,” I grumble. Minutes later, I stare down at what I’ve written, feeling my mouth pull into a stupid grin.
Dear Axel,
It is incredibly stupid to write this text while I’m drunk. But what’s the saying? No gain, no pain. Or, no pain, no shame... Whatever. You know what I mean. And let’s face it. There’s no way I would be doing this if I was stone-cold sober. But since I’m plastered? To hell with it.
I want you.
I know. Crazy, right? Not only am I your temporary roommate, but I’m a chatty nurse from Providence and you’re a broody, commitment-phobe sculptor who communicates in grunts and single syllables. Not to mention, you’re returning home to England in several weeks. And yet, from the moment you dragged me for being a Swiftie, I’ve wanted to climb you like my personal jungle gym.
There’s no future for us. I’m not even sure I like you half the time. But that doesn’t stop me from hungering for those same hands that bend and shape metal to bend and shape me. So, in all my drunken glory, I guess what I’m trying to say is if you want me, I’m yours. For the next few weeks until you return home and we resume our lives as before. No strings. No demands. No regrets.
So meet me in the kitchen where all this started.
Or don’t.
It’s your decision.
Not that it matters. It’s not like I’m going to do something monumentally dumb and hit send on this text.
--Zenobia
I pick up my wine glass and toast myself. That’s a bomb ass letter, if I must say so myself. Shaking my head, I tap the screen, shutting the phone off. Yeah, I’m shit-faced, but I’m not stupid or far gone enough to actually send that text. Damn sure felt good writing it, though.
Sighing, I tip the glass up and finish off the wine, part of me wishing I really had the lady balls to send it. To proposition Axel. Cackling to myself, I crawl over to the bed and pull myself up onto the mattress. Thank Christ I’m off tomorrow because I’m going to regret this in the morning.
Whether I mean the drinking or not going after what I want, I don’t know.
I pass out before I can answer that question.
Chapter Eleven
Zenobia
God, I’m Your child. Why are you trying to take me out?
If God hears my prayer, He’s not in the mood to answer. Which is a bit unreasonable. I mean, granted, it’s been a minute since I’ve been in Bible study or a Sunday service, but I don’t remember overindulging being among the Ten Commandments.
“Dammit!” Pain shoots from my stubbed toe, up my leg and straight to my heart. Bracing a hand against the bathroom doorjamb, I grasp the knot of my towel between my breasts with the other and try not to pass out from the throbbing agony that only increases the pounding in my head. “Fine,” I grit out. “I’m sorry for the disrespect, God. My bad.”
Geez, He answered that one quick.
Attempting to breathe through the pain, I limp down the hall and into the guest room, gingerly closing the door behind me. The fact that I’m feeling better than I did when I first woke this morning is something of a minor miracle. Now I only feel like day-old roadkill instead of fossilized roadkill. The Aleve I popped is kicking in and “human” seems achievable.
Still cautiously moving, I pull loose pajama pants up my legs, tying them at my waist and pull a tank on. Since I didn’t bother putting on my sleep cap last night before passing out, I do what I can. Which isn’t a lot, considering each pull on my tender scalp has pissed off nerve endings calling me everything but a child of God, regardless of what I claimed on my way out the bathroom.
Coffee. This calls for coffee.
Moments later, I shuffle into the kitchen, all my focus on the Keurig as if it’s the one ring to rule them all and I’m seconds away from hissing, “My precious.” Oh yeah. It’s that deep.
Just as I open the cabinet door and grab a cup, the door to the garage opens. I glance over my shoulder.
“Hey, Axel.” I set the mug on the counter and turn around, rummaging for a smile. Since I had a hot date with a bottle of Moscato last night, the last time we saw each other was at the hospital, and I haven’t had a chance to tell him about— “Whoa. What the fuck?”
Axel stalks forward, brows lowered in a forbidding V, blue eyes almost glowing with intensity. My mouth drops open—I hear the small pop my lips make as they part—as he crosses his arms over his chest, grips the bottom of his shirt and drags it up and over his head, dropping it behind him. Long, blond hair tumbles to his powerful, bare, inked shoulders, hiding the shaved sides of his head. Lust, searing hot and immediate, blasts through me like a furnace ratcheted to Burn This Motherfucker Down. He doesn’t stop, just keeps coming for me. And that’s what he’s doing. Coming for me. Hunting me down.
And though I’m not afraid of him, I still back up the scant inches between me and the counter until my butt smacks the edge. My palms hike up, seemingly of their own volition, and they meet naked, tight flesh. I groan. He groans. I don’t know. But the dark, needy sound rents the air seconds before his big, long fingers tunnel through my hair, jerking my head back. Pain nips at my scalp, and I whimper at the minute sting, but it’s different from earlier. Maybe because it’s Axel’s hands on me. That has to be it. He’s the secret ingredient that turns pain into a curious blending of acute pleasure.
He presses his forehead to mine. “Yeah,” he growls.
I blink. Yeah? What does he— Oh shit! The answer barrels into me like a runaway car with faulty brakes. Fast. Catastrophic. That one word unlocks my fuzzy memory. Wine. The text.
Hitting fucking send.
I groan again, but this time it isn’t one of hunger, but mortification. I can’t believe I sent that damn text. I’m an idiot.
“Axel—”
His mouth crashes over mine, and every word, every thought disintegrates under the heat of his kiss. Kiss? Ha. What a misnomer for this clash of lips, tongue, teeth and wills. It’s wet. Wild. Raw. And so goddamn messy and greedy there’s nothing beautiful about it. It’s primal. It’s necessary.
Blunt fingertips press against my scalp, tilting my head where he wants me, and I go, following his lead, trusting him to take me where he’ll give me only the utmost of pleasure. And he does. He dives deeper, stretching my lips wider for his possession, licking at the roof of my mouth, the side of my cheek, sucking on my tongue. Axel leaves no part of me undiscovered, like I’m his greatest expedition and afterward he plans on staking a flag, letting everyone know he’s been here. Letting them know he’s claimed me.
My hands climb the hot, firm wall of his chest to tangle in his thick, silken hair. To clench. Hang on. I’m shameless in how much I want—everything. His tongue plunging in my mouth. His teeth nipping my swollen lips. His hands dominating me.