“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“No,” he said. “It’s just...it’s intense.”
She circled the compass with a fingertip.
“Amy.” His voice was strained. He grabbed her wrists in loose cuffs between his thumb and fingers, and pulled her hands to his chest. He did not meet her eyes.
Her heart felt like it might break.
“What happened?” she asked, but she had already begun to suspect that the tattoos hadn’t scarred him. They were covering scars. Something else had hurt him, and he’d gone to great lengths to cover it up.
Instead of answering, he leaned forward, and kissed the top of her breast. Warmth blossomed beneath that touch, spreading through the top of her chest. His tongue drew a teasing line down to nipple and she gasped. He looked up at her, and his gaze made her forget fights, or fears, or the scars they both carried. Her jaw trembled as he pulled her hard peak into his mouth.
His tongue swirled around the tight bud, and her knees went weak. She reached for his shoulders for support, but he shifted, and grabbed her behind the legs so he could draw her onto his lap. Gently, he positioned her knees so that she was straddling him, and then dragged her hips closer, until she could feel how hard he was.
The pressure there, even through his shorts, brought a rush of heat that raced up her body and down her limbs. In the back of her mind she knew her pleasure had to remain silent, but it was hard not to groan when he rocked against her center. His tongue continued its slow, teasing assault, as his hands rose on either side of her spine, drawing her closer.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take anymore, he turned his head, licking her other side, then blowing cool air over her nipple to make the ache there nearly painful. She nestled her hips closer, and circled them, awaiting an answer he gave a few seconds later, when he lifted her, and laid her back on the bed.
This was what she wanted. This was what she needed. His fingertips, skimming her cheekbone. The weight of him, pressing her into the mattress. He kissed her and the intensity she’d come to expect in his arms was multiplied tenfold. Something important was happening between them, unnamed, but as crucial as breathing.
She touched his face, and sucked his tongue, as his hand moved between her legs and he made that same slow, torturous circle over her panties that his tongue had over her nipple. Lifting her hips, she beckoned him to take the damp fabric away, and when his fingers hooked around the sides of her underwear and eased them down her legs, she knew this had to be more than before.
He knew it too—that this was different. She could feel it as he worshipped her breasts again, as his lips lowered down her belly, and his callused hands opened her thighs. He shook with her when she came by his mouth, and when he rose back up her body, he didn’t stop her when she pulled down his shorts. He left her, just for a moment, to get a condom hidden in the top drawer of the dresser, and in his absence she didn’t even think of covering herself. He looked, and she let him. And she felt beautiful.
She could feel him as he nestled between her legs. Hard and warm and smooth. She held onto his shoulders as he fitted himself against her entrance, and was suddenly so overcome with emotion she had to look away.
He stopped.
“If it doesn’t feel right...” She was going to say, you can tell me, but she couldn’t, because she wasn’t sure she could stand it. Her vision swam with tears.
“Amy.” His voice broke. “Don’t break my heart.”
She looked at him, and then there was nothing but him. No ceiling. No bed. No space to stare while she composed her thoughts. She nodded, and he pushed inside of her, just a little. Most of his weight was rested on one arm, and with the opposite hand, he touched her everywhere he could. Her ribs, her thigh, her cheek. Soft caresses, while he moved deeper into her body.
“Is that okay?” he asked.
She held her breath. There wasn’t pain, just a fullness, beyond that of her physical body. She could feel him everywhere, and it frightened her, just as it soothed her. She opened her knees and willed herself to relax, but she couldn’t keep from trembling.
Inch by inch, he pushed inside, and her breath came tumbling out with the tears that slid down the sides of her face. He kissed them, and then closed his eyes, and buried his face against her neck. His fingers clasped hers, squeezing, almost to the point of numbness.
“Hummingbird,” he whispered.
He moved, a gentle rock up and down, in and out. And as her body became used to his, she moved with him. It wasn’t like before, with Danny. There was no rush to the finish, or long, painful wait for it to be over. There was no shame of what she looked like, or what she sounded like, or if she was doing the right thing. It was different, and somehow knowing this hurt deep in her chest, even as her body warmed, and that tension she’d come to recognize only with Mike, coiled in her center.
When he sensed she was close, he moved deeper, but not faster. He whispered Like this? And she said yes. Okay? And yes. And yes. And oh. And when she came undone, she muffled her gasp in his shoulder, and clung to him. He followed her to bliss, his face in her hair, his sharp breaths filling her ears.
The moments passed, but though their heartbeats gradually returned to normal, nothing else did. Amy felt profoundly changed, like the world was different. Like there were colors she’d never seen before. Like there was light in all the dark places.
He got up, seemingly unsure what to say, and went to the bathroom to clean up. When he came back, she was sitting up, arms wrapped around her knees, tears still damp on her cheeks.
He sat beside her, and swallowed a shaking breath, hands balled into fists on his thighs.
“It was too soon,” he guessed.
She shook her head.
Silence.
“Please talk to me,” he said.
“I just didn’t know it could be like that.” Her voice hitched.
For one second these words sank in. Then he wrapped his arms around her whole body, and pulled her close.
“I didn’t either,” he said.
They dressed in silence, and he laid down beside her. She turned, so her back was against his chest, and her bottom fit in the cradle of his hips, and her head rested on the hard pillow of his bicep.
There were no more tears, and no more dreams.
Chapter Twenty-One
She woke alone, with no other evidence that she had spent the night in Mike’s arms than an indentation in the pillow beside her. The room seemed empty without him in it, even if the space between her ribs pooled with warmth. She needed to see him again just to verify that what had happened between them was real.
His absence wasn’t her only problem. She still had to deal with the bank. Settling her face in her hands, she groaned. The clock by the bed read 7:25AM. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept so late, even on a Saturday, and with a flash of terror, she jumped up and ran to the girls’ rooms, panicked when she found the covers thrown back, and their beds empty.
“Pais?” she called, heading for the stairs. “Chloe!”
“We’re downstairs!” called a familiar female voice.
Amy forced herself to breathe. Damn Jonathan Marshall and damn Danny for installing an irretraceable worry in her heart. After she was calm, she padded down the stairs barefoot, surprised to find Iris around the corner in the kitchen, helping Paisley mix what looked like water and sugar on a large glass measuring cup at the sink.
“Hi Mom,” said Paisley. “I’m feeding the birds.”
She smiled, remembering the hummingbird feeder Mike had gotten as Paisley walked ultra-carefully out of the open sliding glass door.
“Good morning?” said Amy, hearing it come out as a question. She hadn’t known Iris was coming back so early.
“Morning,” said Iris, turning the water back on to scrub dishes. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine?”
Iris chuckled like she’d just figured out the answer to a riddle. “Mike went to work b
ecause someone called in. He said you weren’t feeling well and might need a couple extra hours of shut-eye, but I’m guessing he should have just said you two were making up all night and didn’t get a lot of rest.”
“Iris!” Amy felt the heat rise up her neck, and focused on anything else in the kitchen besides the mother of the man she’d slept with last night.
Iris only chuckled. “I read those ninety-nine cent books on my e-reader. I know how things are.”
Amy couldn’t help but laugh.
“It’s not what you think.” It’s exactly what you think.
“Mmm hmm.”
“Amy, there are ducks outside!” screamed Chloe at the top of her lungs from the back deck. “DUCKS!”
Amy blinked. “Who needs caffeine when you have a Chloe?”
Iris grinned, and Amy felt swamped with affection for the woman. She couldn’t remember many times in her life when she’d come into the kitchen to find her mother washing dishes or cooking something. Candace Morrow kept to protein bars, or green smoothies, or whatever new weight loss fad was in style, and the dishes were left for the housekeeper.
Amy had wanted for nothing growing up. But she’d realized from a young age that happiness wasn’t having what you wanted, it was wanting what you had. She may have been poor now, but she was fortunate.
Family, Iris had said last night. This felt like family.
She walked straight up to Mike’s mom and wrapped her arms around the woman’s waist, resting her head on the back of Iris’s shoulder.
Iris turned off the water in the sink and patted Amy’s hands. “What’s this for?”
“DUCKS!” hollered Chloe again from outside. “AMY!”
“I just love ducks so much,” said Amy. Iris snorted.
After a quick squeeze, she walked to the sliding glass door to see the miraculous web-footed birds that were feasting on full slices of bread the girls threw their way.
“Are you sticking around for a bit?” asked Amy.
“I am. Chloe and I are going shopping later to get her a D-R-E-S-S for the wedding.”
She remembered Chloe’s declaration that she would be walking down the aisle as a horse and grimaced. “Good luck.”
Iris passed her a knowing look. “I’ll be back tonight so you all can celebrate.”
Amy nodded gratefully. Tonight wasn’t just Anna’s bachelorette party, it was Alec’s bachelor party as well. Her smile warped into a frown as she imagined what Mike and Alec might be doing. Hitting up the strip clubs, probably. That’s what men usually did for these kinds of things.
The thought of some skank grinding up on Mike had her hands bunching into fists.
Better not to know.
She was just about to ask what time Mike would be home when her cell phone rang from the counter where she’d plugged it in. It was her mother, and knowing she really didn’t have an excuse to avoid the situation any longer, she answered.
“Hey Mom.”
“Where are you?” Candace’s voice, always sanctimonious like the preacher she so loved at her church, was ripe with irritation.
“In the kitchen,” said Amy, stepping into the living room for some privacy.
“You certainly are not,” said Candace. “I’ve been ringing the bell for five minutes and you haven’t answered. This isn’t exactly the kind of neighborhood I want to be hanging around outside for too long, if you catch my drift.”
Amy stopped walking abruptly. “You’re at my house?”
“Your apartment anyway,” corrected her mother. “I’m here to help with the wedding.”
“The wedding’s a week away, Mom.” Amy had broken out of her freeze and was jogging back up the steps to change clothes.
“I know that,” said Candace. “Is it a crime that I wanted to come early and see my granddaughter?”
Not her daughter. Just her granddaughter.
“No.” Amy had reached the room and was flinging clothing from the exploding suitcase in the closet onto the bed. She hadn’t even brushed her teeth. “I just wish you would have told me you were coming.”
“I tried to. I called you several times, but you’re always too busy to pick up the phone. It wouldn’t kill you to answer, you know. I’m your mother, after all.”
And thus begins the guilt trip, Amy thought. Not that it was totally unwarranted. She had meant to call her mom back, there just hadn’t been a good time.
“You didn’t leave a message,” said Amy.
“I shouldn’t have to,” retorted Candace. “You saw my missed calls. Where are you? Are you at Anna’s?”
“Yup,” Amy lied. “Just doing some...wedding stuff...tonight’s the bachelorette party.”
“Well, where does she live? I’ll meet you there. I don’t think it’s a smart idea to stand out here too much longer. People are starting to stare.”
Amy doubted that.
“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” said Amy. “Go get a coffee or something.”
Candace sighed. “Why can’t I see Anna? It’s been forever since I was around you girls. I’m all alone up north, you know.”
“I know, Mom.”
Amy had flung on a pair of hip-hugging jeans and her most conservative black and white polka-dotted top. She’d tucked her hair back behind a silver headband, and was quickly applying her makeup.
“My bridge group hardly ever meets anymore, ever since Sarah Spinally got the cancer. They took her uterus, you know.”
“That’s awful.” Amy switched the phone to her other ear.
“So between Bible Study and church, my days are pretty slow.” She sighed heavily. “I’m going to wait in the car.”
“Great idea,” said Amy. “See you in ten.”
She hung up the phone and yelled down the stairs for Paisley.
***
Almost twenty minutes later, Amy pulled into the parking lot at her apartment complex. She and Paisley hurried up the stairs, nearly landing in a heap as Amy tripped on the top step trying to find the right key.
“Yoo hoo!” called a woman, stepping out of a rented Lincoln town car below the landing. Amy looked down to see that her mother’s strawberry blond highlights blown out to that familiar blunt bob she’d been wearing for the last ten years. Her nails were coral—Amy could see them even from a distance—and her white capris and glittery gold peasant top screamed Florida Tourist.
Candace Morrow was petite, like Amy, and also like Amy, she had a pointy nose and thin mouth. Where Amy was always striving to make these features fuller, Candace accentuated her sharp lines with heavy dark rouge and lipstick. As her mother climbed the steps, Amy tried not to stare at her gaudy bunched pearl earrings or the embellished gold cross around her neck. With or without her husband’s considerable alimony, Candace Morrow had money. Her inheritance had paid outright for her two cars, five-bedroom house, and face-lift. Looking at her, Amy was reminded of housekeepers, and nannies, and her ninth birthday, when she had begged for a trip to Disney World and was instead taken to the spa for her first makeover.
“Anna must live in the Everglades,” she commented, turning her disapproving gaze from Amy’s platinum hair to Paisley. In order to get her daughter out the door in time, Amy had allowed Paisley to wear a green tutu and yellow swimsuit. Normally Amy would’ve encouraged her daughter’s free spirit and fashion experimentation, but today it made her wary. It didn’t matter how old she got, when sized up by Candace Morrow, Amy always felt like she wasn’t good enough.
“Mom, hi. Sorry we’re late.” Amy stepped forward, but Candace was already crouched, arms outspread for her granddaughter’s hug. Paisley stayed by Amy’s side, looking up at her as if for permission.
“It’s okay,” said Amy, rubbing her back. “You remember Grandma.”
She hoped that was true. Her mother’s last visit had been Christmas, eleven months ago.
“Come here,” said Candace, and when Paisley stepped into her arms, she cast an understanding look up to Amy. “Still not talking, i
s she? Not to worry, we’ll get her fixed. You remember Mary Sue from choir? Her son’s a specialist, and he’s already agreed to do a consultation next time you come home.”
Her mother’s house had stopped feeling like home a long time ago. Before she’d run away with Danny, before her brother had died. Hanging out in Mike’s kitchen with Iris felt a lot closer to the mark.
“She’s fine.” Amy tried to temper the growl. The thought of her mother telling strangers there was something wrong with Paisley made her irrationally angry.
They stepped into the apartment, and Amy instantly regretted not suggesting going to breakfast somewhere. The air was stale—she hadn’t left the air conditioning one while she’d been staying with Mike, and a fly buzzed against the window in the kitchen.
“Whew!” said her mother. “This Florida heat! My thick blood can’t stand it. Turn on the air, won’t you dear.”
Amy was already heading toward the thermostat. When she flipped on the cold air, she thought of her financial situation, and how cooling down the apartment was definitely not going to help things.
“I’ll take some coffee,” said her mother. “Fat-free creamer, if you’ve got it.”
“I don’t,” said Amy, who realized she didn’t actually have a full-fat creamer, or milk at all for that matter, when she opened the fridge. She hadn’t been restocking it since she started staying with Mike. Apart from some ketchup and a Tupperware she was afraid to open, there wasn’t much worth saving.
She closed the door quickly before her mother could see.
While Amy started the coffee, Candace tried in vain to engage Paisley in conversation, and when that didn’t work, Amy put on a movie. When her daughter was settled, Amy returned to the kitchen.
“I see we’re still doing the hair thing,” said her mother.
More: A Body Work Novel (The Body Work Trilogy Book 4) Page 20