Divine Conspiracy (Divine #1)

by Rose Hudson

  Oddly enough, I haven’t heard from Erin other than a quick text as I ate a late lunch about three hours ago. Unfortunately, since given her majority ownership of GRACE, and getting ready to close down in two weeks for Thanksgiving, her schedule has been hectic. I’ve had lunch twice this week at her office, but other than that just texts here and there. We’ve only been seeing each other for three weeks and it already feels like she is becoming a part of my everyday life and it scares the shit out of me. Nothing I do happens fast. Nothing. But with Erin, everything between us seems to be in a race for time. Every time I’m with her it feels like it’s the last time I’ll touch her, kiss her, bury myself so deep inside her that it makes me forget what evil there is in this world. The urgency to hold onto her and the need to let her go for fear of hurting her, and now Ruth, waging war against each other and holding me accountable to choose the winner.

  I examine the screen of my phone from where it lays on the deck floor beside me. Wrong number. Getting a glimpse of the time, I push myself up off the deck and decide to head down to the shop floor, anxious to get this day over with, but admittedly fearful to close my eyes and venture into sleep tonight. Looking out through the open bay doors as I descend the stairs, even the sunset is drained of its usual bright rainbow of vivid neons. It is now a dull gray and excruciating yellow.

  “Damn dude, you ain’t worked that hard today.” Dawson startles me as I round the port side, chuckling at my wide-eyed response. I open the shop fridge and pull out a beer, holding it out for Dawson who waves it off. My face draws to the middle and I stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “I’ve gotta’ split. Picking Mel up in an hour.” Okay, make that three heads.

  “Is that right?” Tossing the bottle cap into the trash, I press the bottle rim to my lips and take a much needed pull. The ice cold liquid satisfying me enough to keep from shaking this idiot into awareness. “You are aware of what a shitty idea that is, right?”

  “I knew you loved me, but this much? I never,” he smarts off, washing his hands in the utility sink opposite the fridge.

  “Ha, ha. Seriously though, you fuck anything up for Erin, I may just have to fuck you up.”

  “Now, was that necessary douche-nugget? How bout’ you loosen up a bit and cut me some slack. You know I could charm the pants off a snake.” The idiot actually winks at me and I consider knocking him out with this bottle and saving Mel the trouble, but I think better of it, lucky for him.

  “Snakes don’t wear pants dumbass; you might want to think of an analogy that actually works before you say it tonight. Considering Mel works for Chanin’s company, odds are she’s got more than tits and ass.” He appears to ponder that like he hadn’t actually considered it before, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking about the fact that snakes don’t wear pants or Mel actually having a brain. I shake my head and he rolls his eyes, grabbing his truck keys from the hook on the wall.

  “Okay Dick, enjoy your night alone while I enjoy miles and miles of smooth tan legs. Try not to think about that after I leave,” he flips my hat off by the bill and ruffles my hair, trying to rub it in, but he doesn’t see what I do. He turns to go but halts in his tracks as he sees Erin propped against the doorframe of the office, eyes set in a glare pointed straight at him. “Oh shit,” he yelps, leaning down and slapping his palms flat across his knees. “Damn Erin, how long you been there?” Her smile is subtle, probably not even apparent to Dawson, but I see it, and my dick twitches at the knowledge that I see her. I see her and all the things about her that nobody else does because I feel it, feel her proximity, her emotions and everything else that makes up the stunning woman that scares me to death because she is perfect. I snicker in Dawson’s direction, slapping him hard on the back as I make my way to give my beauty a kiss. After a day of hell, nerves twisted and mind racing, the mere appearance of her in my doorway is like Super Woman flying in to keep a plane from crashing, saving the day with all her strength and grace.

  “I’ve been here long enough, and you better be glad Mel didn’t ride with me like she originally planned to or you’d be screwed, and not in the way you’re insinuating.” She feigns amusement and reaches up to cup my face lovingly, but as I pull her into me, I feel the tense muscles of her back and see the underlying hurt in her eyes. Concern overtaking my need to get lost in her, forgetting my troubles all together.

  “Ah, come on! You know I was just kidding, right?” Collecting his shit and his thoughts, Dawson registers what she said. “Wait? Why didn’t Mel come? She didn’t change her mind did she?” Her eyes drop from mine, trying to hide what I’ve already seen, and cocks one eye at Dawson.

  “Against my advice, no, she didn’t. She went home to change and said she would meet you at Charlie’s.” I look from Erin to Dawson, scoffing.

  “You’re taking her to Charlie’s? Seriously?”

  “It was her idea, not mine. Look, I’d love to stand here and continue y’all’s reprimand, but I have a feisty babe waiting on me that I need not keep waiting.” He opens the door to step outside and a white business card falls to the ground. He hands me the card, apparently it’s from a cleaning company making door-to-door visits. Moving past her to leave after kissing her on the cheek, I take the opportunity to give him the ultimate death stare. “You two have fun now.” That fucker. This right here is all mine.

  Waiting until Dawson is out the door, I move quickly, locking the door behind him and wasting no time getting back to Erin and scooping her up over my shoulder.

  “Patrick Lawson, you put me down! You know, I can walk,” she shouts through giggles as I reach the stairs, knowing there is no better remedy for my pain than her.

  “You can’t move quick enough to suit me right now, Ms. Abrams,” I taunt, busting through the door and making giant strides to the couch, too impatient to make it to the bed. I need her. More than I need the air quickly flowing in and out of my lungs. I need to sink into her and find the feeling that I only feel when I’m with her, that feeling that makes me forget everything in my past, present, or future. Already I’m addicted to her, and at this moment, unabashedly so. Still giggling as I toss her onto the suede covered couch, I have to pause even in my greedy impatience, to take in the picture of her; my beauty. Her long red waves cascading all around her, the vivid contrast against the tan background. Her pink lips and those blue diamonds that shatter me every time I allow myself to take them in. Today she’s wearing a gray sweater dress and tall black leather boots. My eyes settle on the small patch of bare skin showing between the two, my dick hardening beyond comprehension and causing the most primal of cravings to spread to the ends of every nerve in my body.

  “God, Erin. This is one of those times that I have to ask for forgiveness later.” Her eyes narrow in confusion, but I take her mouth, inhaling her unspoken words before giving her a chance to speak. Propping myself up with one hand as I use the other to free myself from my jeans, I kiss her roughly like the animal I’m feeling like. Unable to undress her, to wait one more second to feel her warmth surrounding me, I reach below the skirt of her dress and pull her panties down her knees. Pushing up slightly, she moans as she takes my mouth, pulling me forward onto her as I sink two fingers into her already wet pussy.

  “Oh god, I need you Patrick.” Her voice is breathy, a ragged plea appealing to all my senses as I take in the sweet taste of her lips, her sounds, and the slick feel of her desire for me.

  “Me too, Beauty. But I can’t promise I’ll be gentle.” I look down at her, ready as I’ve ever been, as her eyes turn dark and wicked and she rolls out from under me. I stare, confused and a little interested in where she thinks she’s going. I open my mouth and try to say something as she lifts the sweater dress over her head and all words of the English language leave my brain. Walking around the end of the couch, she swings those luscious curls over one shoulder as she leans and bends over the arm of the couch, looking up at me from her lowered position, wicked stare firmly in place.

 
“Who said anything about being gentle.” Pushing my pants down my legs as I position myself behind her, I almost choke, forgetting how to swallow at the sight of the most beautifully perfect ass I’ve ever seen. I lean over her, my chest flat against her back and my rock solid dick caressing the divide of her ass.

  “I hope you know what you just did, cause I’m about to be anything but gentle.” I bend my knees slightly and lick from the top of her ass, all the way up the line of her spine, settling on her ear and nipping it gently with my teeth. The smell of her skin like spring flowers, crisp and sweet; the taste even sweeter. I grab my shaft, spreading her wetness with the tip, groaning at the thick heat as it covers me. I couldn’t control myself right now if I tried. My dependency growing stronger by the second, the need to get completely lost, to be completely found by her. Through gritted teeth I demand raspingly, “Grab on to something and don’t let go, Beauty.” As soon as the words leave my mouth I grab her hips roughly and thrust into her with one fluid movement. I blink rapidly, the sensation of blacking out playing in my vision. Fuck. Like the lock to my key, her pussy is a perfect fit every time. Tight. Wet. Giving in to me and causing a rush of heat to run up my legs, all the way to the back of my neck. Her sounds incoherent and shameless as I rock into her harder and harder. I love watching her ass bounce with every forward motion of my hips slamming into her. I don’t even worry about the fact that my door is standing wide open because if another human being walked within ear-shot of this loft they would have no doubts about what’s going on up here. Slap, slap slap… The sound coming louder and faster, filling the entire building with the unmistakable sound of skin-on-skin and moans of pleasure. Feeling the heat coil into an impending explosion, I reach around between her thighs, stroking her clit with my middle finger. I lean up to kiss her neck and hear her breathing; heavy and ragged. Every fucking time it’s too much, to the point that I can’t decipher where she ends and I begin. The connection is unreal. With the need for something tangible, confirmation that this is real, I taste her from my finger. The dangerously erotic and tenderly sweet intermingling turns my palate on for only the taste of her.

  “I crave the taste of you on my tongue…so fucking good,” my voice a deep whisper as I pound into her harder. I pull her hips back, push her torso down, ass up, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen; with her knee high boots, red lace panties around her calves. I wanna’ fuck her so hard and deep that my hips are black and blue tomorrow. “Erin I’m close, I wanna feel you come. I’m gonna’ fuck you deep.” My words are a demanding plea as my fingers dig insistently into her hips, pulling her, slamming our bodies together with urgent force.

  “Patrick,” she shouts, arms extended flat above her head, fingers gripping the fabric of the couch cushion. “Oh god, I’m coming!” The vocalization of her bodies submission to me is the final straw as I flood her and my knees nearly buckle from the soul shattering depth of it.

  “FUUUUCCKK,” leaves my mouth in a roar. Drained and completely spent, I fall to the rug-covered floor, pulling Erin with me as I go. Breaths heavy, heart pounding, I squeeze her into my side and place a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You okay,” I ask, concerned as I register just how rough I’d been with her.

  “I’m good,” she says through panting breaths. Leaning up on one elbow and looking down at me, she grins. “I’m better than good, I’m great. I needed that more than you know.” Her lips land softly on mine and I swear to god I could fuck her again right now. But looking at her as she absently traces the lines on my chest, I notice the worry on her face. Even though we have made an unspoken pact not to ask questions, I have to know what is plaguing her usually bright spirit.

  “I want you to trust me, Erin. You’re just as strong in your weakest moments as any other time.” I try my best to ease her mind, wanting her to want to open up to me without me pushing her. Watching her, feeling her need for comfort radiating from the core of her heart, I brush the soft pink of her cheek with my finger.

  “My father is dying,” her voice is small, but ripe with emotion of unshed tears that I know I’ve resurfaced with my question. I pull her to my chest, knowing what she’s feeling, wanting to give her everything I wish I’d had when Mom was sick.

  It’s crazy how when feelings come into play that you want to know everything all at once- every single memory and piece of history that makes up the person that is becoming a part of you. Almost like you feel a stranger to yourself because you’re melting into one with a person you know nothing about. Where were they born? What was their favorite band as a teenager? What was the name of their best friend growing up? Who was their first kiss? Answers to these questions are necessary to know who you are becoming, and until then, you’re lost. But when you fear questions asked of you in return, you keep your mouth shut and eyes straight ahead. Sure I would love to talk freely about my childhood and how my mother made every single birthday an all day celebration. How she would have random strangers over to our house to feed them when she heard they were new to town, or the homeless she’d find sleeping on the docks. How she taught me to be kind to everyone and never pass up the opportunity to help another. She was a priceless treasure and I felt like a horrible son for not being able to tell everyone about her, to carry on her spirit now that she’s gone.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, thankful that Erin can’t see the pain I feel settle over my face as tears threaten to fall.

  “What can I do? Anything Erin, I’ll do anything.” I press a kiss to the crown of her head, breathing her in, feeling the heavy weight of her pain thick in my throat. She lifts her hand to her face, wiping away the tears that I know have fallen even though I can’t see them. Returning to her propped up position beside me, skin flush and eyes damp, more vulnerable than I’ve seen her and more angelic than words could say. She toys with her lip, contemplating her response as she runs the tips of her fingers over the small smattering of hair on my chest. I tilt her chin up, forcing her gaze to meet mine where I think we both know she can’t hide. The one connection shared between us that I know with certainty will always speak the truth.

  “Go with me to Memphis for Thanksgiving. Not just because I can’t stand the thoughts of you here by yourself, but because I need you with me. I don’t think I can do this alone.” My heart stops for a beat as her words pierce the soul I thought was cold and dead. I can’t help but hear the screaming voice in my head telling me I can’t do this, that I can’t give her reasons, promises to believe that this can be more than it is right now. The voice that was muted the first time my lips met hers and I awoke to a world unknown to me before then. The voice that I refuse to believe because I know I’d cross hell to make this pain in her go away.

  “If you need me, I’ll be there.”

  WE ARE LEAVING AT seven and of course I’ve been up since five, sleep deprived and a ball of worry over this trip and the fact that I haven’t seen my parents in five years. Last night I lay in my bed wishing Patrick was beside me, under me, over me, inside me. Somewhere touching me and holding me, allowing me to get lost in him so that I didn’t have to rehash that horrible time in my life. I feel like I’ve worked so hard to keep that time from defining me and consuming me with anger and sorrow. Working every waking minute that I wasn’t wrapped up in Ruth. Not giving my mind one empty second to let the loss of Glendon and my marriage, or the fact that my parents were self-absorbed assholes have any power over my life. It’s insane to think that five years have come and gone and not one day of that time have I allowed myself to process any of the negative. Sure, I’ve cussed them out in my head more times than I can count. I’ve even screamed out loud in the silence of my empty house when Ruth wasn’t around to witness it. But never, have I allowed my heart to wallow in the misery of it all. How can I say it’s truly misery anyway? Lots of kids grow up with shitty parents. Lots of wives lose their husbands. And though my heart breaks every time I acknowledge it, lots of children have lost their fathers. So my thinking at the time was ‘put on those
big girl panties Erin and deal with it’. Others have dealt with it before you and many more with deal with these things after you. You’ve got a lot of motherfuckers to prove wrong, and if you don’t, you’re settling. You’re allowing yourself to live the life set within the boundaries of nothingness established by people who didn’t give a shit. Who didn’t even care enough to make themselves available for their granddaughter during the most devastating time in her life. Any anger or resentment I’d felt toward them up to that point paled in comparison to what I felt after the funeral. You can treat me however you like, but don’t you dare treat my innocent child with anything other than care and kindness and love.

  Somehow though, with Patrick taking this trip with me, it feels like the beginning of something new, like a cleansing of the past. No matter what I’m met with when we get there, the woman that I’m becoming is strong enough to meet it with her head held high and forgiveness given freely- regardless. If I would’ve found out by some chance that Dad was dying two months ago, I don’t know that I would’ve been so quick to forgive. Yes, it would’ve made the little girl inside me weep at the knowledge that I was losing him, but would be a loss without a resolution. Now, I feel it will be a rebirth before an impending end. A daughter hopefully finding her way back to her parents before it’s too late.

  My phone dings with a message. Picking it up from where it lies on the bed beside me, a wide smile spreads as I see Patrick’s name on the screen.

  Patrick: I couldn’t sleep. I’m up and packed. You up?

  I feel like a giddy schoolgirl as I type my reply with quick fingers.