by Brock, V. L.
If I accept it, does that mean that I am choosing to forget my loss? What my body went through? What my heart and mind have and is still experiencing? I don’t know how to move on and not feel inundated by guilt––guilt for showing my love to my fiancé, but powerless to show it to my daughter.
Quelling my nerves and anxiety, I lift my right hand and fist it through his hair, subsequently pushing back that sexy lock which rests on his brow. I trail my hand down the side of his face, over his stubble, and brush my thumb over his lips. He gasps, and I can feel the power he is commanding to suppress the urge, and not lean into my touch.
“I’m ready to go now,” I mutter, dropping my arm heavily to my side.
“Okay.” Hayden steps down from our tiny island with poise then holds his arms out to me. I lean down to grasp his hands, but he seizes my underarms and pulls me down instead. I giggle as he twirls me around twice before setting my feet firmly into the wet sand.
“Ladies first,” he gestures for me to proceed.
Looking down at his hand, I grin. Instead of proceeding, I charily fit my hand over his palm. His eyes widen and I breathe in profoundly. Everything starts with a stepping stone. Lacing his fingers between mine, he tightens his grip and grazes his thumb over the back of my knuckles as we retrace our steps hand-in-hand.
Replete from our Chinese banquet, I lean back against the leather and cord surface of Hayden’s couch and take a warranted sip of Prosecco. Hayden sits opposite me with his legs crossed. He looks gorgeous as always with his hair still damp and slicked back perfectly from the shower, and both of us sporting our black fluffy robes thanks to our homeware shopping excursion.
The coffee table sits between us, the flames of four small candles flicker and glow romantically from each corner.
“Pick,” Hayden holds both his hands out, palms upward with a fortune cookie resting inside.
Pointing between them indecisive, I finally say, “That one,” and recover the one from his right hand. Squeezing it over the surface of the table, I straighten the slip of paper, read my fortune and stuff it in to the large front pocket of my robe.
“What did it say?”
“Something I already knew.” Not wanting to press on the subject, Hayden purses his lips and nods.
We throw each other the odd, gauche glance over the rim of our glasses as we sip at the golden liquid. The soft voice of Diana Ross croons through the speakers about reaching out to touch somebody’s hand. Hayden places his wine glass on the counter, and pushes himself up from the flooring with ease.
Holding his hand out to me, he murmurs darkly, “Dance with me.”
I gasp and fight the tears of profound love and desire that I have for this man, his voice, his commanding tone that weaves around his words, his appearance; it’s a heady combination.
Mimicking his movements, I place my glass on the surface, before placing my hand in his. Leading me around the table, he positions his free arm around my waist, holding the small of my back, while my hand rests snug in his large, masculine clutch. We sway and he twirls me in time with the music. As the song fades and is replaced with a sweet, innocent voice of an adolescent purring Who’s Loving You, I feel his hold on me strengthening, pulling me flush against his body with such intensity, such feeling, that all I can do is sink into his hold, and snuggle up to his chest as we rock gently in a lovers dance.
Tipping my head back, I gaze into his eyes, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I completely lose myself in his loving scrutiny, and I don’t feel guilty. Swaying rhythmically, he lowers his head down to me until his brow is resting against my own.
He moves in and tenderly brushes his lips against mine. As soon as that briefest of connections is made, I feel him physically tremble as he forces himself back, and I hear a gasp pass his lips. It’s like he’s combatting his every desire, just for me, to not rush me…understanding me, even if it’s not clearly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, struggling to form two simple words that shouldn’t need to be said.
Gazing up at him under fanned-out lashes, I see a wet streak trailing down his cheek. I slip my right hand free. Raising my arm, I dry the dampness from his cheek and cradle the side of his face in my hand. Moistening my drying lips, I pull in my eyebrows and shake my head very slowly as we continue to rock to the music.
“Don’t be…” I whisper. Drawing his head down to me, I seal my mouth over his briefly. “I’m ready,” I breathe against his mouth.
Hayden withdraws and stares down at me with fixed, curious and expectant eyes. His brow wrinkles while his mouth twitches as he tucks my hair behind my ear.
“I’m ready to let you love me again.” And with that I push myself up onto my toes, and press my mouth to his, allowing myself to get lost in his touch, his caresses…to get lost in his love.
Without warning, he scoops me off my feet, and carries me down the hallway to the bedroom.
With his mouth still tenderly yet rapturously claiming mine, he sets me on my feet at the side of the bed. His stubble grazes me, but I welcome the burning sensation it leaves in its wake, like I always have done. Teeming with nerves, we untie one another’s robes and push it off each other’s shoulders, letting it fall heavily from our naked bodies.
Our eyes may be transfixed, but our hands reacquaint themselves with the shape and texture of one another’s surfaces as I glide my hands down Hayden’s neck, his shoulders, chest and sternum. Then down the crease that separates each bulging abdominal muscle. I tenderly press feather-light kisses down his neck, his throat, and chest and heart, while my hand slip through his trimmed, dark pubic hair.
Gasping and shuddering at the contact I make below his hips, he dips his head to splay sensuous kisses down my body. He guides me so the back of my legs press against the bedstead behind me, and carefully lowers me onto the mattress.
He’s hovering over me between my parted legs, his mouth and hands caressing every inch of my body. I flinch as he sinks his finger into me, but I adjust to the forgotten sensations after he eases inside me twice and circles me.
Gazing down with hooded eyes, the corner of his mouth twitches, “Are you sure?”
I cock my head minutely, pushing his wayward lock off his brow, and hold the nape of his neck to wrench him closer to me. I kiss him gently, meaningfully.
“Love me, Hayden. I need you to love me,” my pleading travels on a whisper against his parted lips.
I can’t remember the last time I was so nervous. I think Hayden understands because he seizes both my hands, interlocking his fingers between mine at the side of my head. His grip tightens with white knuckle force as he very carefully pierces through my entrance, and it’s like having my virginity taken all over again––this time, with a man worthy of such a gift.
The soft, innocent voice of the adolescent repeats itself yet again throughout the apartment. Hayden watches me raptly from above, as he pulls his hips back and eases into me again, and again and again. I’m lost as I study him from under the shield of his body, his lower lip trembling, his eyes burning, his body beginning to sheen.
“I’ve missed you so much,” he pants, his hands still locked in mine.
“I’ve missed you, too. I love you, Hayden.”
“I love you, beautiful. I’ll always love you.”
His commitment and devotion behind his words, the way his body slots into mine and works against me lovingly and tenderly after weeks of minimal physical and emotional contact, is my unraveling. I let go, yielding to my body’s demands as I climax around him, and in that one moment as I spiral down from my blissful release, my face irrigated with a barrage of warm, salty tears, I’m admitting to myself that I was lost, that I wasn’t me, and now I’m ready to begin the next chapter in my life.
I curl up in the protection and heat of his arms, my head rising and falling on his chest along with his shallow breaths. My body arches as he skims his fingers up and down the length of my spine, and over my sensitive spot at
the midway point.
“How do you feel, beautiful?”
I smile wearily against the smoothness of his chest as I attempt to assimilate exactly how I am feeling. Lifting my head to face him, I draw tiny spiral shapes over his heart.
“I feel…found.”
His eyes widen curiously, “Found?”
I nod, “Yes,” I snuggle back up into his chest and take a deep, purifying inhalation, taking in the scent that I have only just realized that I have missed, “Found.”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me in closer to his amazing body.
“You didn’t tell me your fortune.”
I yawn. “If you’re afraid to shake the dice, you will never throw a six.”
I hear the curl of Hayden’s mouth. He kisses my hair and says against my scalp, “Happy Birthday, Samantha.”
“Thank you,” I reply sleepily, and in the protective arms of my lover––the man who has sought, found, and rescued me more times than I can count––I slip into a deep and tranquil sleep.
The next morning, I am awoken by a freshly showered, delicious looking Hayden with the top two buttons of his crisp white shirt undone and tucked neatly into his black suit pants. The silver metal of his buckle gleams in the light, along with his chain.
He’s leaning against the doorway of the bedroom with his hands wrapped around a mug, and ‘the cat that ate the canary’ smile.
“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”
“Good morning.” I stretch out in the enormous bed and glance at the clock. 8:50 a.m.
“Oh, my God, Hayden, we’re late for work.” I push myself up and kick the comforter back. Hayden strolls into the room looking all sexy and charismatic. Memories from last night come flooding back and hit the same emotional pinnacle that had me wailing with my orgasm.
“There’s no rush, I have already let Chloe and Victor know that we will be in a little later this morning.” The mattress dips under his weight. “I come baring caffeine,” he teases, and hands me the steaming, black ceramic.
Leaning into him, he brushes the side of my face with the back of his knuckles, before snaring my chin between his thumb and middle finger. He tips my head back gently, allowing our lips to meld together.
“Thank you,” I utter against his mouth, before taking a welcoming sip. “Why are we going in late?” I push my hair back and grasp the nape of my neck.
He tapers his eyes and pouts his lips. Flashing an enigmatic smirk that is also filled with ill-disguised mirth, he taps the side of his nose.
Hmm, a secret, my subconscious shrugs her shoulders and rolls her eyes.
“But, we do have to leave in thirty minutes, so, Miss Kennedy, please haul that delectable ass out of bed.” He stands and heads into the en-suite, and runs my shower.
I’m in and out of the shower in less than ten minutes. Pulling my hair back, I secure it into a tight, assertive bun and apply a moderate amount of makeup. I release the towel unceremoniously from my body, and recover a black lacy bra and matching thong from the second draw of the dresser before gliding my skin-tone, hold-ups up to my thighs. I choose to wear my tan, gauze, silk blouse and my black pencil skirt, with my patent, tan heeled pumps, thanks to our New York trip before Thanksgiving.
“Okay, let’s go,” I call out as I make my way down the hallway, fetching my purse off the corner table alongside the apartment door.
“You, Miss Kennedy…” Hayden purrs. Snaring my narrow wrist in his clutch, he pulls me flat against his body. His roaming, left hand glides down my back and firmly cups my backside. “…look positively striking. How am I going to get any work done today?”
I trace my tongue at a languid pace across my lips, retracting it just as slowly. Aware that if we were left to sanction our hormones after last night’s recoupling, we wouldn’t leave the apartment, I blindly seek the door knob with my left hand.
Tipping my head back I whisper in his ear, “With the greatest of difficulty, Mr. Wentworth,” and I pull the door open before escaping the clutches of my tantalizing lover.
We derive from a long driveway with trees towering over us on both sides. A magnificent white house comes into view. My mouth falls open as we gradually close the distance between us and the great structure, which has an extravagant Roman pillar-style porch.
Hayden circles an ostentatious water feature that graces us in front of the property, before pulling up at the entrance and parking behind a black BMW.
I’m flabbergasted as I take a moment to absorb the opulence that I am witnessing. This is seriously…over the top style living.
“Hayden…” a mutter cautiously, turning to face him. “What are we doing here?”
His answering grin is both secretive and arrogant…and it one that halts my world and causes it to crumble at my feet. “Come with me.” He unfolds himself from the car, and I sense those familiar butterflies in my gut striving to break free.
He’s already at my side when I push myself up from the cool leather seat. He proffers his hand which I rather shakily, but readily accept.
“Nice fountain,” he says casually and points with his chin at the decorative, circular feature. If I were to put my feet in it, the water would easily be at the same level as my knees.
“Nice fountain?” I gasp while flaring my eyes. “Hayden, this is…I was less intimidated going to meet your mother. I feel like I’m going to meet the Queen of Sheba.”
Paying no relevance at my scaling anxiety, Hayden tosses his head back and laughs, before escorting me into the house.
Somewhere between the drive here and stepping into the house, I have lost every word in my vocabulary, except from one word––Wow.
The foyer is all dark, polished hardwood flooring, cream walls with gold-leaf trimming. An enormous tear-shaped chandelier hangs above a round table which has two, deep red chesterfields’ at either side. In the center, an overlarge fireplace separates two different archways, but both lead into a second foyer. The opposite side is exactly the same as the one we just walked through, but this side has two red and gold trimmed wingchairs instead of chesterfields’.
“Mr. Wentworth?” A Hispanic woman donning a sharp, cream pantsuit which compliments her glowing complexion, and thick, black layered hair that reaches just past her shoulders welcomes Hayden from one of the doorways.
“Yes.”
“Vina Mendez,” she tucks a file under her arm, and holds her hand out to Hayden, who shakes it politely.
“Vina, this is, Samantha Kennedy; my fiancée.”
“Ah, the blushing bride-to-be,” I shake her hand warily. “It’s nice to meet you, Samantha.” She turns her attention back to Hayden, who is rhythmically stroking the back of my hand with his thumb. “Shall we?” and she gestures to another door that leads out of the foyer, and we make our way deeper into the mansion.
As we reach the lounge, I am awed by the semi-circle of floor-to-ceiling windows before me overlooking the expansive back lawn, and the breathtaking views of the San Francisco Bay, Aquatic Park and, oh, my, God, even Alcatraz.
I am ephemerally aware of Vina spilling out information regarding numbers and something about the dining room and ballroom, but I am too entranced to pay any attention. This really is a riveting view.
“If you’ll follow me,” she murmurs, and opens the door to the left of the panoramic windows.
Hand-in-hand we step outside and descend the curvature stairway with metal balustrade, to a patio below. As we stand back, I take a moment to appreciate the grandeur; it is truly a real-life fairytale visual. The arc of windows of the lounge overlooks us from the first floor, and two staircases, one to the left and one to the right, both curve and leading onto the courtyard.
With tears in my eyes, I promptly pull my hand to my mouth.
“What do you think, beautiful?”
I shake my head. I am rendered speechless yet again. I peek up at an anxiously waiting, Hayden. “It’s spectacular.”
“Samantha,”––he turns his e
ntire body to face me––“will you marry me here?”
I gulp a profound breath and tighten my brow. “What?”
“Vina is a wedding planner; we can hire these grounds for our wedding. It has the views,” he waves his arm to the right, gesturing to the Bay and lets his arm fall heavily at his side, “a bridal suite upstairs. I know we haven’t discussed it, but I––”
I cannot think of a solitary word, other than, “Yes.”
“Yes? Really, yes?” his eyes flare with excitement and skepticism, but they’re also teeming with love…and relief, I think.
“Yes, I would love to, Hayden.”
With a grin bigger than the water feature out front, Hayden peeks over to Vina. “Yes, we will take it,” he exclaims, lifting me and spinning us around in exultation. I squeal and succumb to cathartic giggles, like a school-girl who has just agreed to marry her Prince Charming. Well, I suppose that isn’t straying too far from the truth.
Vina holds her finger up, indicating to give her a moment, and fishes her cell out of her purse. She answers her call and walks away, while Hayden and I continue to gaze at the spectacular views of the grounds.
After a few minutes, she returns and pulls a document from her file.
“Well, Mr. Wentworth and Miss Kennedy, let me be the first to congratulate you, I am sure your day will be magnificent. Secondly the waiting list for this venue is exceeding up until next August, fortunately for you, I have just had a cancelation.”
Hayden makes no attempt to disguise his delight, when he quickly rasps, “For when?”
The woman smiles, her black eyes glimmering. “July 14th.”
I never knew it was possible for one word and a number to make my face fall instantly, and cause my spirits to plummet into the base of my stomach.
Looking up at Hayden, I offer a weighted sigh. He encircles his arm around my waist, pulling me to his side.
“July 14th, Rose’s due date.”
I’m silent the entire journey back to Stalwart Tower. July 14th? Reluctantly, I pull my focus from the passer-by’s, and hang my head.