He smirks and I know exactly what he’s going to say next. My face is already heating up in anticipation.
“Then I told you that you didn’t know you were good at giving blow jobs until you tried that either.” He winks. “I told you, I remember everything.”
I sit here and muse over the fact that, as much as fate worked to tear us apart eight years ago, you could knock me down with a feather right now with all the coincidences life is throwing at us today.
“I could ask you the same question about names, you know,” he says. “Not that I’m complaining, in fact I love it, but why did you name him Maddox if you hated me?”
“Ahhh, Touché.” I rip apart a french fry and pop half of it into my mouth. “I guess I wanted Maddox to feel like a part of you, because I felt bad for him that you didn’t want him.”
“Fuck!” He slams a fist on the table. “That bitch!” He looks at me apologetically. “Sorry,” he says, before taking a drink of his soda.
“Don’t be, she is a bitch,” I say. “She’s a goddamn lying shit-slinging bitch whore.”
Gavin spits his drink out, laughing. “Oh, my God, was that hard for you to say?”
“Nah, I’ve had some practice over the years.”
He pushes his plate of fries over towards me.
“Thanks, I’ve got enough here,” I say.
He stares at me with raised eyebrows.
“Oh . . . twenty questions?” I ask, laughing.
“Not twenty,” he says. “I need about a million. I want to know everything. About you. About Maddox. About the eight years I missed.”
“Okay.” I push his fries back at him. “But I can do better than twenty questions.” I get up from the table and walk over to pull the heavy photo album from my satchel. I place it next to his plate on the table. “I have pictures of every birthday, every holiday, every milestone. Almost everything you need to know about Maddox is right here.”
His eyes go wide and he stares at the album like he’s scared of it. Maybe he is. In a way, he’s about to meet his son for the first time. He wipes his mouth and puts the napkin on his plate of unfinished food. He gets up and goes over to the bar. He pours himself a few fingers of whiskey then he reaches inside a cabinet and comes out with a bottle of Merlot.
“What? How?” I ask.
“I read your author bio. It said you love a good Merlot.”
I smile as he pours me a glass. I take the album to the couch and he sits next to me as I open it to the first page. He stares at the picture of Maddox where I’m holding him as a newborn in the hospital. He takes a finger and traces his little face. Then he traces mine and my insides tingle. He’s only touching a picture of me, but it might as well be my own flesh with how intimate it seems.
“He’s so tiny,” he says.
“Six pounds, eight ounces.” I point to his birth announcement on the next page.
“November 7th,” he says, reading it out loud. He looks over at me. “I’m telling you right now, I’m gonna spoil the shit out of this kid. And I’m not waiting until his birthday to do it.”
I laugh.
He slowly turns each page as I narrate Maddox’s life for him. I captured all of it—first smile, first tooth, first step, first haircut—and everything in between.
“Wow, is that Skylar? She looks exactly like you did,” he says, pointing to a picture of Piper.
I shake my head. “No, that’s Piper. She was eighteen then. That was taken three years ago at her going away party. She saved every cent she ever made in high school and decided to spend that and her college fund traveling the world with a friend. She’s in China now. Or maybe Korea, I forget which.”
“That’s right. I think I remember Skylar telling me that Piper didn’t want to go into the family business,” he says.
“Ha! No way. I’m not sure she’ll ever go into any business. She’s a free spirit, a gypsy,” I say. “Piper decided long ago, after spending a semester abroad her junior year in high school, that she would lead a nomadic life. Skylar, on the other hand, is now managing Mitchell’s NYC. She’s in heaven being in the city.”
He comes across a picture of me crying in an embrace with Maddox. “Why are you so sad in this one?” he asks.
“This was his first day of kindergarten. I was a mess,” I say, laughing. “They practically had to rip him out of my arms. Not because he didn’t want to go, but because I didn’t want to release him. After Callie took this picture I’m pretty sure he rolled his five-year-old eyes at me and turned to walk away without ever looking back.”
Gavin laughs. “Independent, is he? I wonder where he got that from?” He winks at me and butterflies take up residence in my stomach.
He turns the page to see a gap-toothed Maddox smiling for the camera, wearing a Red Sox T-ball uniform. “Baseball . . . really?” He gives me an evil eye.
I roll my eyes. “Just wait.”
A few pages later, Gavin gives me a smug smile when he sees Maddox holding a soccer trophy. “Hey, there we go!” he shouts.
“I swear to God it’s in his blood,” I say. “I tried him at every sport. I think I may have even tried to dissuade him from playing soccer, but he kept coming back to it.”
“Ha! That’s my boy,” he says. Then he gets all choked up. “Oh, God—that’s my boy.”
I see him try to hide another tear that rolls down his cheek. A powerful rush of emotions makes my throat sting with regret.
“Fuck,” he says, turning away. “I’m crying like a damn girl. I haven’t done that since the day you left.”
My heart breaks for him. For us. For all the needless suffering we went through. He stares down at Maddox, who is wearing a dirty soccer uniform. He has several bandages on his knees and is sporting a silly grin that screams he’s Gavin’s son.
Tears fall onto the album. His tears. My tears. He doesn’t have to explain to me why he’s crying. I already know. He cries for all the soccer games he didn’t get to attend. He cries for all the skinned knees he didn’t treat and first days of school that he missed. He cries for all the memories he will never have. And I cry right along with him.
Somewhere in all the tears, our hands find each other and our fingers lace together. He reaches his other hand up to wipe my tears and then I reach up to wipe his. Neither of us can stop it when our lips meet and we taste each other as if for the first time. A hungry swipe of his tongue takes my breath away. Our kisses are heated, demanding, punishing even. Our tongues work fervently, licking, sucking and tasting with unwavering urgency. We break apart only long enough to gasp for air while my hands weave into his blonde locks and his gently hold the sides of my face. We lock eyes as he puts his forehead against me and we breathe into each other, him exchanging his breath for mine.
“Miss me?” he asks.
“No,” I say, unable to stop more tears from falling.
“Liar,” he says.
“Yes,” I respond.
chapter thirty
Gavin stands, holding my hand to bring me along with him. He leans over and scoops me up and carries me off to the bedroom. As we cross the threshold, I ask, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
He smiles down at me. “Darlin’, this is the best idea I’ve had in eight years.”
My insides melt into a gooey pile of mush. I’ve forgotten what this feels like. This pure carnal need. This intense wanting of another. I’ve tried to be with other men. I’ve been with other men. But sex with any one of them didn’t even come close to this feeling I have merely being held in Gavin’s arms.
He gently deposits me on the king-size bed and crawls over the top of me. “This is all I’ve thought about for the past two weeks. I want you so badly I can hardly stand it,” he says, his voice strained with emotion. “I need to make love to you, Baylor. I need it more than air. Will you let me?”
I think about the protective armor around my heart. The walls I built up after Gavin left me. The shield that protects me from heartache that only
Maddox has been able to penetrate. Maddox is the only one I’ve let in. He’s the only one I’ve let myself love. I’m not ready to lower my defenses. It’s been so long I’m not even sure I could. But part of me wonders if my heart resides in the very same shoebox that contains all my memories of Gavin. That’s the part that will allow this—that’s the part that wants Gavin buried inside me—that’s the part that remembers how perfect we were for a short time so long ago.
“Darlin’?” he questions me. “You’re killin’ me here.”
I look up into his eyes—those same ice-blue irises that he passed on to Maddox—and logic is replaced by a visceral need for him. I give him an answering smile.
He captures my smile with his lips. We explore each other’s faces, necks and ears with our kisses. I moan into him when he murmurs how good I taste. I thread my fingers through his soft hair. He sucks on the place beneath my earlobe that always had me squirming under him.
“Everything,” he whispers into my ear, pointing out to me just how much he remembers.
He grinds himself into me and I can feel his hardness through our jeans. My body is humming in anticipation. It remembers how his steel length felt in my hands . . . my mouth . . . my very core.
My clitoris throbs against the seam of my jeans. When he reaches under my sweater and grabs my breast, tugging on my nipple through my thin bra, I all but explode.
I reach down and grab the hem of my shirt and pull it over my head with his assistance. I belatedly remember I’m wearing the most basic pink cotton bra and panties as I certainly was not expecting this.
His eyes widen and his pupils dilate when his gaze washes over my chest. He uses his thumbs to pull down each cup of my bra, augmenting my cleavage as they truss me up higher. His head drops down to lave each breast, extracting more pleasurable moans from me. “God, Gavin . . .” I groan, gripping his hair as he lightly bites down on my nipple. Urgency plows through me at his demanding touch.
“Please . . .” I beg, tugging at his shirt. He leans up and straddles me from above, locking eyes with me as he removes his shirt to reveal a chest that confirms my suspicion—he spends a lot of time at the gym. I run my hands from his strong, defined shoulders slowly down over his pecs. I trace every tight ripple of his abs. I put a finger in the waistband of his jeans, running it along the top edge where his erection is straining to break free.
“Jesus, Bay,” he breathes.
I undo the button and zipper, reaching into his boxer briefs to release him from confinement. He gasps when my flesh touches his. He rolls off me, and in one quick movement, has his jeans and underwear in a pile on the floor next to the bed.
Oh, my God! I’m not even sure I care that my jaw falls open. Naked Gavin is exactly like I remember. Only better. Bigger, stronger, more confident. Absolutely stunning. He has a body created purely for female pleasure.
He removes my jeans as well, leaving my panties in place—the cotton panties that are drenched with my desire. He stares at them. I try not to blush. I know he can see exactly how much I want him.
“You are so damn beautiful, Baylor,” he says, slowly pulling them off my body. He lifts my heel to remove them but keeps my leg elevated as he trails kisses from my ankle up to my thigh. My body trembles at the sensation of his stubble, his tongue, his hot breath flowing over me.
He reaches the apex of my thighs and draws in a deep breath, causing me to turn crimson in the quickly darkening room. “God, darlin’, you smell just like I remember,” he says. “Perfect.”
When his fingers separate me and his tongue runs along my wet folds up to my throbbing clitoris, I cry out, “Uhhh . . . Gavin . . . please . . .”
He inserts two fingers into me and moans at how slick I am for him. He curls his fingers up and runs his tongue in circles, bringing me to a quick, intense orgasm. I shout his name as he draws every last quiver out of me before crawling up my body.
“Please tell me you have a condom,” I say breathlessly.
He smiles and reaches down to retrieve his wallet out of his jeans. In seconds, he’s rolled on a condom. I feel myself building back up at the mere sight of it.
I tug and pull and practically tear at his body to get him closer, to get him inside me. He hovers over me, staring down at me, his tip at my entrance. “So long,” he says. “We’ve waited so long.”
I cry out as he pushes into me. The intensity of this moment overwhelms me. As he fills me up, I gasp at the feelings flowing through my body and at the thoughts flowing through my head.
We both struggle to pull each other tighter, grasping arms, shoulders and hips to ensure we become as close as possible. To ensure there is nothing between us. Not even air.
Our eyes bore into each other. I’m ripped open by his stare. He can see all the way inside me—all the pain, the hurt, the unimaginable heartache. It’s all there for him to see, to feel. And as I stare into him, I’m certain that I can see the exact same things.
His thrusts become more powerful and demanding. His eyes roll up briefly and he stiffens. “Baylor, please . . . come with me.” He reaches between our sweat-slickened bodies to push on the very place that will take me with him.
His words, his thrusts, his fingers, his pain—they all come together as my legs tense and my belly tightens. I claw at the sheets and buck beneath him, gripping him with my spasms, milking him as he shudders inside me. We yell out each other’s names along with declarations of pleasure.
He collapses on top of me. I run my fingertips along his spine, eliciting shivers and goose bumps from him. “Baylor,” he says, his voice reduced to nothing more than a needy whisper as he leans into my neck, gasping for air.
“God, Baylor,” his husky voice cracks, extracting my tears as he embraces me in a way that seems even more intimate than the very act we just performed. Our bodies mold together, reminding us of how they belong to one another even after so many lost years. Our chests heave in synchronized emotion as we breathe into each other and mourn all that we have been deprived.
Slowly, we recover, our glistening eyes being replaced by triumphant smiles.
Gavin lifts his head. “That was . . .”
“Worth waiting eight years for?” I try to complete his thought.
He laughs. “No. Nothing is worth waiting eight years for you,” he says. “Not even life-altering sex.” He kisses the tip of my nose before he rolls off to my side, wincing as he pulls out of me.
“The condom didn’t break, did it?” I giggle, remembering the night I lost my virginity.
“No.” He laughs. “And it never broke back then, either. I must have some pretty kick-ass swimmers.”
“I suppose,” I say. “But I never took the chance again. I’ve been on the pill since Maddox was born.”
He stiffens. “The pill, huh? So, you do this a lot then?”
I try to hold in my giggle. He’s jealous because I’m on the pill. Men.
“Well, I wouldn’t say a lot, but it’s happened,” I tell him.
A look of pain and regret flash across his face. “Just how many times are we talking about, on a scale from one to say . . . slutty?”
This time I can’t hold in my laughter and he gets an eye roll to boot.
He’s not laughing. His stare is deadly serious. “How many men have there been, Baylor?”
It’s almost adorable how he’s been back in my life for two hours and is already possessive of me. “Only a few, Gavin,” I say. “Reel it in, cowboy.”
He sighs. “But there’s no one now?”
“No, there’s no one now,” I assure him.
He relaxes into the pillow next to me. Then he removes the condom, ties it off and drops it on the floor next to the bed.
“How about you?” I ask. “I mean, on a scale from one to man-whore.”
He closes his eyes and a frown overtakes his face. “You’re not gonna like my answer, darlin’.”
“Well, then the condom was a good idea,” I joke.
“I’ve
been tested. I’m clean,” he says. “But after I thought you left me, before I got married, I was, um . . .” His guilty eyes hold onto mine as he explains, “I was broken, Baylor. I couldn’t take drugs or they’d have kicked me off the team. Sex was the only other way I could think to deal with it. That and a lot of alcohol.”
I guess I can hardly blame him. “And after you married. Were you . . . faithful?” I ask wearily.
He nods his head softly. “Yes, but not for the reason you might think.”
“Okay—what am I thinking?” I ask.
“You think I loved Karen.”
“Well, didn’t you?”
“No.” He winces. “I know that makes me sound like a dirt bag.” He picks up a lock of my hair and plays with it. “But after you left I couldn’t, uh . . . let’s just say you took my heart with you.”
I think of the shoebox sitting back on my bed and momentarily wonder if his heart is locked up in it as well.
“Then why get married? And why her?” I ask.
“Karen and I were friends. We had fun together. She was safe. I knew she would never hurt me the way you did, because I could never love her that way.” Anger flashes across his face and he shakes his head. “The irony is, she’s the one that ended up hurting me the worst. Hurting us.
“I married her because I knew I’d never put myself out there again. It was a way to keep myself from being available for another relationship. And our families were all for it—well except for my mom. So when Karen suggested we get married after graduation, I agreed.”
“You agreed? She asked you?” I ask in utter disbelief.
“Yes. Why, does that somehow make a difference?”
“Maybe a little,” I say. “But you and Karen, you still, uh . . .”
He sighs. Big. Then he nods his head reluctantly. “Yeah,” he says. “Not a lot, because for me anyway, it was kind of like sleeping with a sister.”
“Ewww! That’s just wrong,” I say.
“Yeah, but guys have needs.”
I roll my eyes.
“I always wore a condom. Every time.”
The Mitchell Sisters: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 21