Make Me Stay_A Second Chance Romance

by Amarie Avant

  Salvador gripped her hips. Water sloshed over the side of the tub as she rode him faster, harder. Her thick ass popping up and down with each thrust. Screwing him released every tense muscle in her body, leaving her ready to hum with desire.

  “Oh, oh,” she screamed against his mouth.

  “That’s right, mi amor. This is your dick,” he moaned, tweaking her nipple. With his hard, slick body beneath her, Avery felt all powerful.

  Beautiful.

  Salvador’s thick biceps bulged. He cradled his arms behind his head. His gaze began to lower with intensity. He looked like a cocky bastard. Who didn’t love a cocky bastard?

  Salvador was a lover, not an asshole. The look on his face stated that she owned his cock. That his thick, veined shaft was especially for her pleasure, only her pleasure.

  “Sal!” she screamed. The walls of her valley squeezed in on him, drawing his seed forth. His muscular thighs tensed under her. This was the part where she felt so damn close to Salvador Esparza—when he released in her.

  She kissed the moan from his lips. Damn. If only she could hear the sound, hear him say how much he was in love with her.

  Then she could fall, right?

  ~~~

  A few hours later, a fire danced in the stone fireplace across from the bed, casting a glow over her thighs, and Salvador’s long, thick legs.

  He spooned her, running a thumb over her nipple. Avery was just about ready for round two.

  “You could make a song for us.” Salvador’s sexy voice came out of the blue, his breath tickling her earlobe. Of course, Avery hadn’t heard a single word, so she didn’t notice the urgency. He needed to refute what his mother had said about her music.

  She giggled as Salvador pulled her up onto his body, straddling him. “Avery, you should make a song for us.”

  She offered a half-hearted scoff.

  “Do you know how much I love you?” she asked, to change the subject. Salvador laughed. That tipsy chuckle couldn’t be any hotter.

  “Not as much as I love you.”

  “Okay, chill out, my Latin lover. You’re not that smooth. Heck, even I know that I love you more.” A giddy grin graced her face, her brown skin glowing. Avery twined her hands into his much larger ones, looking closely at them, and trying to steer them further away from the love and music discussion, joked, “These suckers have taken a few lives.”

  “Only when necessary,” he added, a bit more serious.

  “Yeah, because you’re by the book, and I love that.” She smiled. Salvador was everything that the boy she once loved was not. Salvador Esperanza was dependable. If there was one quality that every man in the entire universe should have, dependability was it.

  Licking her lips, she spoke. “You know those times when I come over late at night?”

  He nodded. “I hate that. We’re past the booty call phase.”

  “I agree.” Avery settled down next to him. At this moment, she wanted more than anything to connect fully with Salvador. She wanted to love him with her whole heart, but she was afraid. If she lost herself again, like she had when her entire life was snatched from her after giving birth, she would not recover a second time. With that weighing on her mind, she couldn’t be the wife Salvador needed. There was a hollowness in her heart that had to be mended before she continued with Sal; he deserved it. He was worth being a good woman for.

  There wasn’t anything she wanted more than to be that woman. He had revived her, and he didn’t have the slightest clue that he did. Prior to Salvador, Avery had attended college and obtained a degree in a subject she had no intentions using. She had a bachelor’s in creative music and had already sworn not to create. The only happiness she had found and clung to before she met him was the smiles of children after teaching them how to play their first songs.

  “We’ve been together two awesome, wonderful years. Most people say long distance relationships do not work. We rocked that.” She wedged herself into his strong arms. “But for the last six months since I’ve returned to South Carolina, I just—”

  His thumb grazed against her chin, bringing her eyes to his face. “Talk to me, Avery.”

  “So, for these past few months, we’ve been perfect. You text me when you’re not going to be home soon, and I’d come over. Warm your bed. And I would wake up at what, two a.m., four, and cook you something.” Her smile became genuine at the thought of pleasing Salvador.

  He sighed before skimming her cheek in appreciation. “Avery, you should just move in. I hate that you leave your home.” He emphasized home since they both knew that half the time she was at Baudelaire Plantation.

  “Yeah, I know,” she signed happily. When she spoke again, she was determined to tell him about Sunnymead Resort. Everything. She just wasn’t sure how to do it. “I just . . . sometimes I have to be alone. But then again, I don’t. And sometimes I worry about you.”

  He arched a thick eyebrow, giving a cynical frown.

  “Ha! I’m not worried about you. Okay, not overly worried.” She slapped at his thick bicep. “You were never a scary, trigger happy cop. It’s just; I know how it feels being alone. And after you’ve had a hectic night fighting crime and righting wrongs, it just seems your work is lonely. Feeding you,” she said, her palm cruising over his sexy abdominals, “and our talks makes me feel good, you know? So, I thought it all makes you feel good too.”

  “It does, mi amor, but Avery, what do you know about being alone? Besides, moving to New York for college and work. You had a roommate the entire time.”

  The conversation was going exactly where she had anticipated, but now, suddenly, she was determined to bow out of said conversation. Why was she determined to tell him about the past? It would do nothing, she realized now, but make her seem like she was a gullible teenager.

  Salvador must have sensed her apprehension. He pulled back and looked her in the eyes.

  “Talk to me.” He simply said.

  She took a deep breath.

  “Talk to me.”

  Her gaze flitted around the room then landed on his.

  They would be married one day. She often contemplated what their children would look like. She craved a future with Salvador Esparza, a handsome, hardworking, dependable man. She had to be honest with him.

  Tears burned in her eyes. “A few minutes ago, you wanted me to make a song for us. I really can’t.”

  Voice constricted, Avery glanced at the ceiling fan for a moment to compose herself. She continued. “I’ve only composed when it seemed like the world was no longer worth living in, and I was too afraid to,” she sighed, aware that there was no turning back, “kill myself.”

  Salvador didn’t appear to be surprised.

  Well, that makes it a little easier. No astonishment on Salvador’s part meant no judgment.

  “Sal, when I was sixteen, I became pregnant.”

  “Wow,” his voice hardly rose above a whisper, although the intensity was enough to blow her away.

  “He was my first. I’m not a whore or anything, Sal. You’re the only other . . .” The particulars weren’t necessary. Her man didn’t look at her in disgust, just shock. It was plain to see Salvador had expected something, but clearly, not this revelation.

  “The guy, I knew him forever. I was seven, he was eight, when we met.” She stopped her mouth from tensing. “At first, I believed my dad did something dumb. It’s no secret that Alexander has connections, and he is involved in a lot of military operations and warfare. I was heartbroken. Most people think falling in love so young is puppy love. There’s no weight to that term.” She almost chuckled at that. The greatest loves that ever could occur came from history—from knowing someone, growing, loving them for a lifetime.

  “I liked to think Donn—Donavan—loved me, but he disappeared right before I had to chance to tell him. Hence my delusion about my father conspiring to murder him. But during my pregnancy, I was so heartbroken that I composed nine songs. One for each year that we were friends, love
rs. After I gave birth, I ended up at the crazy house—Sunnymead Resort—very exclusive. Five stars by the way, for the affluent psychotic. The songs were made into a CD. My old mentor, the acclaimed French pianist, the “Great” LaChelle, refused to let the damn songs just sit there. So, while my agent had requests from various organizations, even the head of the piano faculty at Julliard, inquiring about me attending school, I was already in my own little hell. I was alone. I didn’t have a single conversation for years.”

  The confession left Avery emotionally exhausted. She snuggled closer to Salvador, closing her eyes. Though telling him felt like an old scab had finally been stripped away, it also made her nervous. How would he perceive her in the future? Did he doubt her love now?

  The soft graze of Salvador’s fingertips gliding across Avery’s lips made her eyes open. She looked up, just as he asked, “What happened?”

  “Oh, besides my dad showing me proof that Donavan got consent at seventeen from his foster parents to enlist into the army, which debunked my conspiracy theory and made me feel as dumb as a doorknob for allowing those songs to be produced?”

  “The baby? Where’s the baby.”

  Avery’s heart clenched inside of her chest. “He died in childbirth,” she murmured, wondering if her words were even audible until Salvador’s sweet actions made her eyes cloud with tears. He held her tightly to his chest.

  Crumbling into a million tiny pieces, Avery lay in his love for a few minutes, neither of them needing to say a word. After a few minutes, Avery stopped. She remembered the talk she was having with him was meant to solidly their relationship, bring them closer.

  “Sal, after the day I met you, I never felt alone again. You healed my soul. And so, when you’re out fighting crime in the middle of the night, it brings me joy to wake up out of a dead sleep and cook for you when you come home. See, the little things.” She offered somewhat of a smile though her heart ached. “I’d rather make you fufu any day of the week than play an original work on the piano.”

  Salvador chuckled softly.

  “I think my new pieces are reserved for heartbreak. So, can we stick to Karaoke music?”

  Salvador held her at arm’s length. “Forever.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Donavan

  He was eight years old and already at his fifteenth foster home. It was only a matter of time before the Hardys called it quits on him. To be honest, he’d preferred to live in a group home. There weren’t any caregivers pretending to give a damn in those places. Just workers on rotation and they always told the truth.

  Foster kids were a lucrative income in a group home setting.

  He knew for a fact that the Hardys had the same mentality. They were just good at pretending to give a damn. How could they care? Donavan was worse than the ginger who played “Problem Child.”

  He sat in the passenger seat of an Oldsmobile. Greg Hardy, with his bushy blond eyebrows and smile framed by a thick beard, reached over and patted Donavan’s shoulder. “Just think positively, son, you’ll make friends.”

  Slowly turning his head, Donavan side eyed him. “I don’t need friends, and this uniform fucking sucks.”

  The older man huffed. “That language will not get a response from me, Donnie. You’re too smart for your own good. Go inside and do your best. That’s all I will ever ask of you. Should I walk you—”

  “No,” Donavan grumbled climbing out of the car. He glanced around. The school wasn’t in the neighborhoods that he was used to. In fact, the Hardys had a much nicer home than he had expected, but then again, that’s what you get when you have foster kids. He had expected more foster brothers and sisters to annoy. But it was just him, the old man, and the man’s wife, in a clean home on the side of the neighborhood where people should’ve looked at him crazy and told him he did not belong. A few days ago, the Hardys had mentioned adoption in the future. They were just trying to butter him up while meeting with Donavan and his social worker during placement.

  Donavan shoved a hand through his golden-brown hair that turned a dirty blond under the sun. His foster mother had snuck in and combed it while he ate flapjacks. Now, his hair stuck up like a rooster, and some fell in front his hazel eyes. He headed toward the building that resembled, Hogwarts, a place from a book one of his previous foster brothers was addicted to. To Donavan, it might as well have been.

  The other boys wore the same navy-blue blazer and pants. Some of the girls had switched it up with plaid skirts. At the entrance of the school, Donavan turned around, waiting for his foster dad’s rattrap to be whisked away and replaced by one of the many luxury imports that were pulling up. His eyes bugged out. A few of the drivers wore those caps, the kind that chauffeur always donned.

  As soon as Greg’s car had disappeared in the line for the parking lot exit, Donavan sauntered back down the steps. He was so focused on leaving without a teacher or Greg noticing that his shoulder slammed into someone else.

  “Ouchhh . . .” A girl fell straight down on her bottom. Her skirt flew up. Long wisps of kinky hair fell around her face. The diamond solitaires in her ears almost rivaled the clarity of the chocolate brown of her eyes. Donavan glanced away before stalking down the remainder of the steps.

  “Excuse me,” The girl spoke. She sounded odd, but there was no maliciousness in her tone. Most people said, ‘excuse you,’ to Donavan, and he’d chew them out for it. They treated him like a piece of trash, and although his actions were no better, he had no problem correcting folks. He turned back.

  “Can’t you see?” He cocked a brow.

  The girl didn’t respond. She kept staring at him intensely, focusing on his mouth.

  “Yeah, girl, that’s right. I don’t belong here.” He expected her to slam him for not being one of “them,” the damn rich kids he heard attended this private school. Donavan had already seen the latest cell phones and expensive kicks on other students, and he hadn’t even entered the damn school.

  “Would you please apologize?” she asked, arms folded.

  “Can you see?”

  She nodded slowly.

  “Hello, idiot, of course, she can see. She’s just deaf, stupid. Not deaf, dumb, and blind. But you can be her DUMBass sidekick.”

  An older kid had appeared, shouting at the both of them while pushing Donavan in the chest.

  Donavan shook his head, trying to get the first day he met Avery out of his head as he started into JJ’s Bar. Its draw today was its location, which was conveniently across the street from Kelly’s Construction. All he wanted to do was have one last look at Avery Castle. No conversation. No argument about why she broke his heart.

  Just one last look, when Avery met with Mr. Kelly again, at Donavan’s request, to review a potential contract.

  “You again,” Willie grumbled while moving around the chairs at various tables. “Don’t cha know that one daggone night isn’t going to give me a chance to pay the rest of what I owe you, seeing that you gave me a week the first time. C’mon, kid, you’re smarter than this. Use your brains.”

  Again, the old man reminded him of the man who raised him, Greg Hardy. Donavan pointed a finger at him. “You, shut your cunt. And proceed as usual.”

  Willie seemed confused as Donavan moved toward the window and stood just to the side, glancing at his iPhone. Donavan was never early for anything in his life. But today, he had a good twenty minutes before Avery Castle should be meeting Kelly.

  “William?” A hard, heavy voice traveled from the back. Seconds later, Willie’s younger brother Mathis appeared. Mathis looked Donavan up and down with pure contempt, knowing a goon when he saw one. A deep sigh escaped past the sixty-something Mathis’s thin lips. Looking back at his brother, he asked, “So you're messing around with Mr. Palmer's money again?”

  Willie had a problem betting on horses when he rarely had a dollar to his name, and it was written all over Mathis’s face that he’d tried to help him kick the addiction. Donavan allowed the two to bicker as he left the window and
came around the counter, opening a bottle of whiskey and chugging straight from the bottle.

  “Come the fuck on,” Willie exclaimed.

  Donavan pointed the bottle at him. “After all the passes you’ve gotten, old man, don’t fucking tempt me.”

  The comment stopped Willie and his brother from saying another word. But Donavan was still tense. His ears perked. There was a loud commotion outside.

  Catcalls. More catcalls. And then—

  “Hey, you bitch, you hear me talking to you?” A voice shouted from outside. Donavan’s head snapped toward the window. Those hazel orbs, which often fooled people into thinking him a good guy—until he needed to assure them otherwise—darkened.

  Avery.

  She was walking away from that fucking flashy car of hers, on JJ’s side of the street, since there were no parallel spots available on the side of the construction business. Two men were on Kelly’s side of the street. They looked familiar like maybe they’d been working there the last time Donavan had to threaten Kelly for Palmer. They were shouting out lewd catcalls. Avery was none the wiser as she locked her car and scanned the street for when to cross—closer to those fuckers. Again, he went back to their first encounter.

  When that rich fifth grader called her deaf and him a dumbass, Donavan had punched the boy square in the mouth. It wasn’t so much for the rich boy talking about him; he was used to being called a bastard and much worse. But the fifth grader had taunted the girl, Avery, who Donavan had just hurt. So, he’d punched the boy with everything in his being, and then Donavan had turned and ran, ditching school as he intended to in the first place and leaving a shocked Avery in the same spot.

  He wondered if he beat these guys’ asses for disrespecting Avery if he could run like a pussy without saying a word to her?