Accept Me

by J. L. Mac

  “Yeah. I heard,” Andy replies. “She’s… interesting. I’ll miss visiting with her.”

  We both laugh a little at his vague description of Grams. Interesting is a definite truth.

  Grams comes into view right on cue, like a lifesaver from the sea of doom that stirs in the back of my mind. She’s dressed in her favorite gear, a royal blue jogging suit paired with her usual brightly colored running shoes. It’s such an impractical clothing choice given her age, but it matches her spirit to a T—she’s bright and witty and full of energy. I love Grams and I make it no secret. Damon knows how close she and I have become over the course of my relationship with him. Moving her into our home means so much to me—I’m excited to have a real family again. I hated having to go to some retirement home just to see Grams. Having her so close will mean she’s safe and taken care of by the two people who love her most. Most importantly, she’ll be away from staff who have no vested interest in her happiness or well-being. They remind me of the caretakers in the orphanage; they do their job, but beyond that, I don’t think they really care about Grams just like I don’t think the caretakers at the orphanage really cared about me.

  “Hey, gorgeous!” I coo upon entering her room.

  She turns to me with a smile mirroring my own. It’s a sight that makes my heart swell to the bursting point.

  “Hey! You come to break me outta here?” she teases.

  “You got it. Looks like you’re just about ready,” I say, observing the neatly stacked moving boxes in the corner waiting to be picked up by the movers that Brian hired for the job. Handy Andy’s work, no doubt. “I see Andy must’ve helped you a little?” I raise a brow with my little innuendo.

  “Nuh-uh!” she scoffs, wagging a finger at me. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  We both laugh at our usual banter. It’s another thing that never gets old. From the first time I met Grams I knew I would love her and thankfully, she must’ve thought the same, because our bond was instant. We shared a connection right away, just like I shared a connection with her handsome grandson. I knew when her blue eyes met mine that she was a safe place for me. She was witty, and full of life, and exactly what I needed, especially now that Captain is gone.

  “What’s Edward doing here?” I ask, peeking out into the hallway to see if he’s still lurking around.

  “Eddie hasn’t visited me since I found out about Damon’s journals. I haven’t had the chance to ask him about the money either. I hope he had nothing to do with that mess but who knows?” Grams’ mood turns grave and we both look to our feet, recalling the composition notebooks that uncovered the years of heinous abuse that Damon endured in silence. Grams hasn’t said much to me about whether or not she has confronted Edward about the notebooks, but I imagine she has. I can’t see Grams holding back after what she found out and she’s definitely not the type to bite her tongue. It’s yet another way that she and I are two birds of a feather. As for the missing money, I imagine her take on it is the same as mine—Damon is taking care of it. It’s as simple as that. I know that in her heart she knows that Edward is likely at the center of the missing money, but he’s her son and despite his destructive behavior, she probably hopes that the check fraud, for once, isn’t his dirty work.

  Damon still doesn’t know that I told Grams’ and Elise, his sister, about the abuse, either. He and I have discussed the notebooks, but that’s it. I’ve tried to find the right time to explain, but it just hasn’t come yet. Damon has endured one blow after another lately and I don’t think I could put him through more. Not right now anyway. Thankfully, Elise and Grams’ have agreed to keep quiet until I can smooth this over with him. Secrets aren’t welcome in our relationship and yet I’m walking around with two that are capable of pulling the rug from beneath my Big Man. I’m no idiot. I know that when he finds out he’ll be angry. I just hope he isn’t as mad as I think he’ll be.

  “Oh,” I reply quietly, patting her hand. “I just saw him in the hallway. I called him McFuckstick, so maybe he thought better of visiting.” I smile recalling my insult, but Grams isn’t amused.

  “Jo, just leave him be, you understand? I’ve known that Eddie’s a monster for a long time, but I’m his mother and I tried to see the best in him. Don’t poke the sleeping dog, ya know what I mean?” She shakes her head, her face awash with disappointment.

  I just nod in understanding and agreement to leave the asshole be. What’s done is done and Damon and I are building a life together that has no room for that drunken fool.

  Grams shuffles around the box at her feet and motions for me to follow her to the sitting area where we’ve spent so much time together. I follow obediently and watch as she takes on a serious demeanor as rare as a full eclipse. “Jo, I want you to be honest with me now. No joking.” She caps off her statement with a pointed finger.

  Oh shit. I nod and wait for it. She can’t possibly know about Noni. No one knows. Unless she’s always known? There’s no way. Is there?

  “I know you’ve said a thousand times how you want me at home with you and Damon, but I just need you to know that you don’t have to do this.”

  I silently take a breath of relief that this has nothing to do with Noni. It’s proof that my growing paranoia is an issue. I begin shaking my head in protest at her speech and start to open my mouth to speak.

  “Sweetheart, I’m old and falling apart. I don’t want to be a burden for you and Damon. I can stay here,” she insists.

  “Grams, you aren’t that old! Hell, you’re the youngest blue-hair I know.” I reach across and pretend to ruffle her silver hair.

  She bats my hand away and narrows her blue eyes at me. “Hey! I haven’t let that beauty school crew touch my hair since that whole mess. It washed out just fine,” she mumbles, patting her short silver curls. “I mean it, Jo. I’m old as the hills. I’m just fine with staying here.”

  “If you’re old as the hills now, how old will you be next year?” I do my best to make light of the conversation that there really isn’t a need for. She’s coming home with us and that’s final.

  “Well, I’m old as the hills now, I’ll be older than sin next year and older than dirt the year after that.” She smiles a toothy grin that has us both erupting in laugher, as per usual.

  “Come on. It’s time for you to see your new home.” I stand and lead Grams away from this place and to the home that awaits both of us.

  The first home I’ve had since Maman and Papa died.

  The home that Damon has made.

  The entire ride to the new house is nerve wracking as hell. I want Grams to love the new place as much as I do. Anyone with a brain would be impressed with the property; I know that, but I can’t help my rising anxiety. The house itself doesn’t mean a damn thing if she doesn’t feel at home here.

  I peek over at her in the passenger seat of the pricey SUV that Damon insisted upon. She’s been quiet and watchful of the passing scenery the entire drive, which is unlike Grams. Her silence magnifies my already sky high level of concern.

  I carefully pull into the drive and switch off the ignition. “Ready?” I ask nervously.

  “As I’ll ever be,” she chimes back right on cue.

  I snatch her walker from the cargo net in the back and jog around the car to help her out. She eases out of the passenger seat and onto her feet, a wide smile exposing her dentures. Those awful, giant, pearly white dentures! I’ve never been so pleased to see them in their full, toothy glory. She likes it. Thank fuck! I melt into a puddle of sweet reprieve nearly instantly.

  “Niiice crib,” she drawls out coolly.

  My eyebrows arch skyward at her terminology. She’s hilarious. “Crib, huh?” I mock.

  “I keep up with the youngsters’ language.”

  I don’t doubt it for one second either. Cable TV has been her insight into the world from inside the retirement home. Her blue eyes light up and I turn to confirm what I already know has earned Grams’ smile. That particular smile is reserved for
only one person.

  “Damon, you’ve really gone all out this time.” She edges around me and heads for my Big Man, who is standing under the awning at the front entrance looking like heaven personified.

  I’ve never seen a more gorgeous man. When my eyes land on him, whether it’s the first time or the one thousandth time that day, it’s like seeing him for the first time; my stomach flutters as I drink in every handsome attribute. His height. His frame, filled out with the perfect amount of lean muscle. His dark hair. His defined jaw, spattered with coarse five o’clock shadow that he knows I love. The sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up his forearms exposing ribbons of sinewy muscle. Of all things about Damon Cole that leave me breathless, his eyes are by far my favorite. Persuasive doesn’t even adequately describe those golden irises of his. Those eyes are captivating. Absorbing. My gaze meets his and I’m sucked neck deep in an instant, like some strange gravitational pull so damn intense draws me nearer to him and is impossible to escape. Even if I felt like fighting, I wouldn’t do any good because that same force that pulls me into Damon’s orbit steals any desire for solitude that I once had. I’m his. And then there’s that subtle smile when his eyes meet mine, that smile that’s always laced with something more, something primal and compelling that consumes us both—one look in those eyes, one glance at that smile, and it’s clear as crystal to both of us that I am exactly where I belong.

  He doesn’t even have to speak. Not aloud anyway. Something in the way he’s looking at me sets my feet moving on a path straight to his arms.

  “You were gone too long,” he says just loud enough for me to hear.

  I wrap my arms around his middle and rest my cheek against his chest. Grams is milling about on the front porch taking all of it in and I can’t help but watch her and smile.

  “I would say she likes it,” I whisper to Damon.

  His lips meet my hairline, where he plants a tender kiss. “I think you’re right. Lunch is waiting for you two. Go eat.”

  Damon’s phone buzzes from inside his pocket and he releases me to answer it. I turn and watch Grams, who is carefully cataloguing the front of the house, muttering to herself about the paint color and the shutters.

  “Tell me good news, Mike,” Damon says into his cell phone as he disappears into the house.

  Who the hell is Mike? Although I’ve never been introduced to or even heard of this Mike person he’s talking to, it doesn’t shock me that Damon has business with people that I don’t even know of. He’s got his hands in various pots of all shapes, sizes and profitability and that means business dealings with a multitude of people. I’m sure it’s boring work crap and nothing exciting. I leave him to it and waste no more time getting Grams all settled in her brand new crib.

  Four hours, a delicious lunch, one Golden Girls episode, and a bag of Circus Peanuts later, and Grams is moved in. Thanks to my thoughtful Big Man, getting her things put away took very little effort on our part. He had the apartment fully-furnished, including a wall of cherry wood shelving to fill with her knick-knacks, trinkets, and do-dads, and even had the bed already made with some obnoxiously floral bedding. Somehow Brian swooped in while we were eating lunch with all of her boxes from the home, leaving very little real “work” for me, just organizing all of her thingamajigs onto her new shelves and putting some clothes away. Two-thirds of our unpacking time was spent chatting and joking with each other. She told me all about her high school sweetheart and a whole host of other transgressions that I was sworn to secrecy about. Turns out, Grams has always been quite the little firecracker. Not that I’m surprised. She’s a straight up vixen and I love her for it.

  The remainder of my day passed easily. I helped Grams settle in and left her to get acquainted with her new place while I went over some plans for the store, not getting back over to her apartment to say goodnight until well after dinner. After a quick tour of all the reorganizing she did, I make my weary way upstairs to our new master suite to find Damon already showered and dressed, or shall I say undressed, for bed. He’s lying across our mammoth bed in nothing but those yummy little trunk underwear. They hug and hold tight to every delicious curve of his… assets. The bulge of his considerable girth is evident even when he’s relaxed and I can’t help but lick my lips. The elastic fabric clings and cups him so perfectly that my fingers feel a little itchy. It’s a hell of a sight that has my mouth watering for the salty velvet taste of him on my tongue.

  I pause at the door and take a moment to breathe in the sight of him. He’s watching me watch him and the air between us grows heady and thick all at once.

  “Get over here. I need to be inside my future wife,” he orders in a composed voice, ripe with the guarantee of pleasure.

  Without saying a word, I stroll across the space between us. Damon sits upright and swings his legs off the side of the bed, inviting me to stand between his bare, beefy thighs. I do as he silently ordered. His hands envelope each of mine at my sides and drift slowly up my naked arms, coming to a halt at my neck. His fingers curl around the nape of my neck as the other hand cups my jaw. I’m pulled closer to him, our faces only millimeters apart. His heavy eyes slide shut. It’s clear that my Big Man is doing what he does so frequently. He’s savoring this. He’s savoring me. He’s taking his sweet time because more often than not, that’s just how he prefers it. My lips are achingly close to his. As many times as I’ve felt the fullness of his mouth covering mine, it never gets old. I edge my head forward, hoping that my wanton lips can coax his perfect mouth into giving me what I long for. The grip he has on the nape of my neck tightens fractionally, keeping me in place. It keeps me deprived of what I want and only works to cultivate my appetite for all of him. Just as he wants me. Damon is a calculated man. He has a purpose and a plan for everything he does. Even in the bedroom. His hand on my neck is a subtle way to control and direct me. I happily accept his control over my body.

  “You have to get this wedding planned,” he says hoarsely. “I don’t know how much longer I can wait to make you my wife.”

  Before I can respond to his confession, I’m hauled up in his powerful arms. In one fluid movement, I’m on my back, still fully clothed except for my bare feet. Damon kneels between my widespread legs and flicks open the button and zipper of my denim shorts, tugging them down as I plant my heels and lift my ass. He grasps the waistband of both my shorts and panties and frees me of them, swiftly moving his attention to my cap-sleeved blouse. The soft fabric is lifted up my torso, exposing the beige lace bra that I chose to wear today. The shirt is carefully drawn up over my head then tossed to the floor somewhere beside our bed. It takes him all of a fraction of a second to relieve me of my bra. He falls forward, catching the weight of his body on one carefully planted palm. His other hand clasps me behind my knee, hoisting one leg up on his hip. Once he’s got me spread wide and bare for him, he eyes me carefully. Something unspoken blazes bright in his amber eyes. It’s unfamiliar and it sets me off balance as soon as I see it. He’s got something to say but he isn’t uttering a word. I could ask him what it is, but I know better. Damon isn’t the type of man that can be coerced, bullied, bribed, or threatened into doing or saying anything. I hold my tongue, hoping he’ll tell me without my having to pry.

  After a lingering look, eye to eye, his lips part to speak. “You know how much I love you, right?”

  I nod in response, tightening my leg around his hip and hoping he’s about to tell me what’s going on.

  “And you know I would never let anything happen to you?” he says softly, forcefully, holding my gaze. “You know that no matter what, I’d do anything to keep you safe and happy?”

  I nod, careful not to let the confusion show on my face. Why is he saying this right now? Is there something going on that I don’t know about?

  “Say it, Jo,” he insists, still looking down at me.

  “I know,” I oblige him.

  “Good,” he whispers, his lips pressed to my neck.

  My eyes aut
omatically slide shut. My back arches into him so that my peaked nipples meet with the sculpted muscle of his burly chest. The light touch isn’t nearly enough and it sends my need for him over the top. I use what little leverage I have to pull him to me. My leg tightens around his hip again, pulling him down to me. I can feel a smile spread across those masterful lips of his. A needy moan slips out. With practiced ease, he sinuously slips off his underwear. Damon has heard my plea. My eyes follow his hand to his extensive cock, where he grips himself, taking one drawn out stroke down then back up. With my heart hammering hard in my chest, my breathing comes in rapid shallow puffs. He directs the swollen tip of himself to my pulsing clit. The lightest touch has me squirming for him. I want him. I need him filling me. He looks at me once more, then allows his wide tip to slip down my slick opening and into position. I still myself and prepare for him. It’s more than enough to distract me from the gravity of what I have to discuss with Noni tomorrow. His eyes bore into me as he lunges his length deep inside me, stealing my breath and replacing it with a sensation that only Damon Cole knows how to elicit from me. Completeness.

  The day has gone by in some weird Stepford Wives monotonous fashion. Noni has kept busy cleaning, organizing and reorganizing and I’ve used any and every excuse I could to stay in my office with Hemingway as my only company. She kept meticulous notes while I was out yesterday, and each little sticky note detailing every phone call and delivery is conveniently posted at my desk. I know Noni’s efficient, but I’m sure her detailed note taking has everything to do with avoiding me. I know that this whole situation must be weighing on Noni the way it has been weighing on me, but I hate that I have to psyche myself up to talk to her. I hid out in the office for the majority of the day browsing listlessly through a wedding magazine that I picked up at the checkout counter in the grocery store. This hoity-toity wedding shit definitely isn’t my style. We’ve been engaged for a mere three weeks and I’m already lost in Wedding World when I really should be focusing on the store. Various contractors, and venders have been in and out and back in again over the last month and some days it’s enough to make my head spin. The grand reopening is quickly approaching and there’s a mass of things yet to be done. One plus to hiding in my hole, avoiding Noni and the truth, is that I managed to get a huge amount of clerical crap done.