by Amy Daws
Sloan shakes her head. “Well, prepare yourself for all things girlie.”
Sloan opens the door and my eyes are assaulted with an array of colours. Pinks, purples, teals, yellows. Bright, bold, loud colours. Sophia’s bed is covered in a multicoloured quilt with stuffed animals strewn all over it. It’s a messy bedroom. One that’s played in a lot and not kept neat and tidy at all times.
“I keep all her toys in her room when she’s away,” Sloan states as I walk around and inspect everything. “It’s too hard to look at them when she’s not here.”
This makes me frown and I turn my eyes to her. “How often do you have her?”
“Callum and I alternate every other week.”
I nod and toss a tiny football in the air that Sophia had on her dresser and catch it. “How do you like that arrangement?”
“I hate it,” Sloan replies without hesitation, then looks down and begins fidgeting with her hands. “Sophia and I have an unusually close bond.”
“Don’t all mothers have that with their children?” I ask, picturing the attachment I felt to my own mother. I can still remember the feeling of her skin on my cheek if I think on it hard enough.
“Ours is…different.” Sloan looks pensive and unsure.
I prod further. “How do you mean?”
She sucks in a big breath of air, then shakes her head. “We’ll have time to talk about all that later. Do you want to lie down? You must be exhausted.”
“I’m okay,” I reply with a frown, wondering what she’s hiding from me. Whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t involve more secrets. I want to move past that part of our relationship.
My wandering eyes land on a photo sitting on the nightstand. It’s Sophia with her dad—the same smug bastard I met when I rang his doorbell looking for Sloan over a week ago. He appears miserable in the photo. His smile forced. Sophia’s embrace unreturned. I can’t help but ask, “Is he a good dad?”
Sloan clears her throat. “He’s good enough to get fifty percent custody I suppose. I was going through all of that legal hell when I didn’t see you last year. I was shocked that he wanted Sophia so much. He’s a workaholic and more interested in going out with his girlfriend, Callie, than staying in and having family time.”
“I see,” I reply, my jaw tight. “And that’s why you would disappear on me for a week straight, isn’t it? You wanted to give Sophia your full attention when you had her.”
She nods, her eyes downcast.
“Don’t feel bad about that.” I move across the room to her and crook my finger under her chin to force her eyes up to mine. “Don’t you dare feel bad about putting Sophia first. I hate that you hid such a big part of your life from me, but don’t think for one second that I’m upset by the time you spend with her. If my father would have dedicated himself to us fifty percent of the time when we were kids, it would have been loads better than what we got.”
Her head tilts as her eyes shine with tears. “But your dad is here now, Gareth. After the way I spoke to him at the hospital, that has to say something, right?”
I nod and glance out toward the door where I can hear Vi and Freya’s voices wafting up the stairs. “I guess.”
My eyes catch sight of a photo of Sloan and Sophia up on the bookshelf by the door and I smile. It is the kind of photo a happy parent has with their child. Sophia’s arms are wrenched tightly around Sloan’s neck, and Sloan’s arms are hugging her daughter so close that their cheeks are pressed together as they smile into the camera. They look like a perfect mother-daughter pair. Probably how Vi and our mum would have looked at similar ages.
The pain that image evokes forces me to change my line of thought. “Show me your room.” I move out the door, needing some space from thoughts about either of my parents.
Sloan closes the door and walks me down the hall, past a bathroom, and into her large master suite. It has an attached loo with a big glass shower and wooden bench inside. Without a word, I pull my shirt off and stride toward where she stands in front of the bathroom door.
“What are you doing?” Sloan asks, her voice tight with surprise.
“I need a shower.” I toss the shirt on the floor and point to the area behind her.
She looks around nervously and makes a move to leave. “Okay, I’ll, um…give you some privacy.”
I hook her by the arm again and murmur softly, “Will you shower with me?”
Her eyes lift up to me warily. “Gareth, you’re concussed. I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
I exhale heavily and utter the only thing I can. The truth. “I don’t want to be apart from you right now, Sloan.”
We undress quietly in her bright white bathroom. I can’t help but drink in the image of her naked form in front of me as she turns the water on and steam begins filling the room. She’s so beautiful. Tall and curvy, natural and unblemished. She’s how she’s always been, but somehow different now.
A shocking image of her stomach swollen with a child pummels me out of nowhere. And just when I think it’s going to totally freak me out and bring my guard up, it does the opposite.
Without pause, I step up behind her and wrap my hands around her waist, pulling her bare back against my bare front. I drop soft kisses on her shoulder and up to her neck. She shakes her head and turns in my arms, stepping backwards and pulling me under the hot rainfall showerhead. She clasps her hands around my neck, and I pull her hips to my body and close my eyes as her hard nipples brush against my chest.
Through the stream of water running down over us, I open my eyes and bring my fingertips up, lightly touching the bruise around her cheek. “How badly does it hurt?”
She shakes her head. “It doesn’t.”
“You’re lying.”
She nods.
My heart sinks. “Sloan.”
“Don’t, Gareth.” She angles her face up to drop a soft kiss on my chin.
I pull away. “Don’t apologise for putting you in danger? Don’t apologise for how much worse this all could have been? I can’t not think about it. Seeing Sophia’s room. That picture of you with her, smiling and happy and completely innocent. It kills me that I almost took that away from her. How old is Sophia?”
“She’s seven,” Sloan answers, swallowing nervously.
“I was eight when my mum died. That shit sticks with you forever.”
She grabs my face in her hands and pins me with a firm look. “I’m fine. Sophia’s fine. You’re fine. Please stop this.”
She lets go of my face and turns to grab a bottle of shampoo. Squirting a huge amount in her hand, she brings it up to my hair and begins lathering my strands. “Just let me take care of you right now.”
My grim expression softens.
“Let me,” she pleads again and turns me so the backs of my legs press against the wooden bench. “Not because I’m in control, but because we both need this.”
She presses her hands on my shoulders, so I sit down and allow her to finish lathering me. She scores her nails all over my scalp, careful to stay away from my bandage, and my entire body hums to life. At the hospital, I was groggy and cloudy feeling. It felt like every step I took was in thick mud, slowing me down, trying to pull me into darkness. But right now, I feel good. Having Sloan’s hands on me is incredible and invigorating. It washes away my stress and anxiety so all that’s left is desire.
“Sloan,” I moan, my head tipping back as she rubs the soap down my hard shoulders and arms. She works her hands over my chest, my abs, my sides, my thighs, massaging all my aching muscles with firm, pressured strokes. The right strokes. The kind of strokes that she knew I needed the day we first met.
Everything about Sloan is right. Honest and decent. Understanding and sincere. Beautiful.
“Sloan,” I state her name again and she stops rubbing my back muscles and pulls away to look me in the eyes. I grab her foamy hands and move them to touch my groin.
She sucks in a sharp breath of air. “Gareth, you’re concussed.”
“Sloan, please,” I croak, my eyes closing in pain. “I need this.”
When I open my eyes again, I find her looking down at my erection. She’s chewing her lip thoughtfully, and I swear I see heat blossom in her eyes. Desire, passion, yearning. All the things that made me want her the first time.
After a short pause, she moves her bubble-covered hands down between my legs. She runs her fingers slowly over my inner thighs, her thumbs digging in the underside until they come together at my cock. She twines her fingers around me and squeezes the length of me, stroking and fisting up and down.
“Fuck, Treacle,” I groan and watch her lower herself to her knees between my legs, moving out of the way of the water so it runs down onto my dick. She points my tip up toward the stream, and I suck in a sharp breath as the droplets slap against my most sensitive appendage.
I stare at her through the stream, and she looks pleased at the pain she’s causing me. Bloody hell, she’s gorgeous.
Once the water rinses the last of the soap away, she licks her lips and dips her head down to wrap her mouth around my straining cock.
I think I’ve died a little.
My death is confirmed when she begins bobbing her head up and down my length, paying careful attention to lick and suck as she goes along. Her nails bite into my thighs, and I’m too transfixed to do anything but press my back against the cool white tile wall and watch the beautiful show in front of me.
“Are you all right?” she asks, out of breath and straightening to check on me. “Are you feeling dizzy?”
“Yes,” I reply instantly. “But only because my dick is in your mouth.”
She smiles. “Are you sure you’re all right? I don’t want to make things worse for you.”
“I’m perfect.”
My response elicits a smirk before she drops down and continues the marvellous work she’s been doing. I gently lower a hand on the back of her head, and I can’t help but thrust into her mouth. I want to fill her. I want to choke her, gag her, control her. Give her so much that she gets a little scared, but then watch her relax because she knows I’ll take care of her. This is my small moment of claiming.
The tip of my cock meets the back of her throat and she fucking moans. She moans like I’m in her pussy, and I can feel my orgasm building quicker than I ever thought possible. She picks up speed on me, riding my dick with her mouth and taking my control away with her eagerness. It’s fucking hot. Annoying. But bloody hot.
My dick tenses with impending need to release. Before I shoot it down her throat, I grab her by the arms and yank her up on her feet.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her face confused as I grab her by the waist and pull her toward me. “Gareth, I could have finished.”
Her breasts are right in my face. I can’t help but drop a kiss on the nipple of one as I force her to spread her legs and climb onto my lap. She straddles me and frowns as I move a hand between us to position my cock between her folds.
“I want to come inside of you,” I croak, my chest aching with an overwhelming feeling that I can’t give a voice to yet. It’s not the claiming sensation I had a minute ago. It’s desperation. I press my tip inside of her and command, “Sloan, let me come inside you.”
She nods and lowers herself, holding onto me by the neck as I press my face against her chest. “Fuck yes, Sloan,” I groan as her tightness wraps around me.
“Gareth.” Her voice echoes off the shower walls as she repeats my name and begins moving slowly on top of me. Smooth, artful strokes of her pussy around my dick that feels like the fucking waltz.
“Sloan.” I say her name again because it feels good. It feels real. It feels important. “Fuck. Sloan, Sloan, Sloooan.”
“Oh my God, Gareth,” she cries, her voice hitching as she tightens around me. A spasm between her thighs shoots up into her apex, and I feel the lightning bolt of her orgasm. Every fucking pulse of her pleasure seizing up through her core.
She goes quiet on me, biting her teeth down on my shoulder as her orgasm descends. The pain of her bite has me erupting inside of her, my hot come shooting into her as deep as I can get it.
But it doesn’t feel deep enough.
I don’t know if it’ll ever feel deep enough when it comes to this woman.
A VERY BRITISH LUNCH OF shepherd’s pie is served as soon as Gareth and I come downstairs. Freya, Vi, Vaughn, Gareth, and I gather around the kitchen table and dig into our food like it’s not completely obvious that Gareth and I both have wet hair.
In my youth, I would have been much more embarrassed by the notion of Gareth’s family knowing I was intimate with their son when we’re not an established couple. I married Callum so young, I never had any opportunities to be an adult couple in front of someone’s parents. But after everything we’ve been through in the last twenty-four hours, I couldn’t care less. Gareth needed me upstairs, and I can already sense that his mood has lightened toward his father, which makes everyone a bit less tense.
“The food is delicious, Sloan. Are you the one I pay my respects to?” Vaughn asks, looking up from his plate and eyeing me with his steely gaze. He’s been overly polite to me since he arrived, our battle at the hospital all but forgotten.
I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “Both Freya and me I suppose. I wanted you guys to have something comforting. Since I’m not the best chef of classic British meals, I enlisted her guidance. In Chicago, I would have whipped you all up tater tot casserole, but England doesn’t have the exact kind of tater tots I like, so I embraced the culture for once.” I smile and Vi, Vaughn, and Gareth look at me with puzzled expressions.
“What’s tater tot casserole?” Vi asks curiously.
I press my lips together to stop myself from laughing. “It’s a hotdish with beef and these round, fried potatoes on top. Kind of like a hash brown but bite-sized.”
“I want that recipe!” Vi states happily.
I wince. “It’s so basic…Like, it’s really nothing special. But it has a comforting feel to it that I think the British would enjoy. You guys really nail comfort food.”
“I can agree to that!” Freya states brightly and forks another bite of her pie.
Vi nods in agreement. “Nothing beats beans on toast, but I’ve got loads of really great Swedish recipes from our mum. She was a great chef.”
I can feel Gareth tense beside me and look over to see him staring down at his food.
“Was your mum a full-blooded Swede?” Freya asks innocently.
Vi nods. “She was. Most of her recipes were written in Swedish. I had to have them translated.”
“That’s so brilliant! Did you guys ever learn any of the language growing up?”
The table grows quiet as Vi and Gareth both shake their heads softly. What’s not being said is that they were too young to remember, even if they did.
It’s Vaughn’s deep voice that breaks the awkward silence. “I learned a bit.” We all turn to look at him sitting at the opposite end of the table from me. His aged face turns a deep shade of pink as he says, “Tack så mycket för maten.”
I smile back at Vaughn, who quickly drops his head.
“What does that mean?” Freya asks.
“Thank you very much for the food.” Vaughn looks up and stares back at me, his eyes pink around the edges as he holds my gaze captive for a moment. It feels like he’s saying something else, but I can’t be sure. The longer he stares at me with that sort of intense twinkle in his eyes, the more I find myself softening to him. He was horrid at the hospital, but he’s clearly a man who’s just sad at the core.
It’s Freya who’s brave enough to breach the unspoken subject. “Did you meet your late wife in Sweden then, Mr. Harris?”
I swear the entire table takes a deep breath and holds it. Vi’s fork of potatoes freezes in the air as she watches for her father’s reaction.
“Excuse me?” Vaughn asks, breaking his eye contact with me to look over at Freya’s bright, freckle
d face. His eyes are tight around the edges with obvious discomfort.
Freya flushes and slouches down slightly in her seat. “I was curious how you met your wife. You had such a large family together, I imagine it was a bit of a whirlwind romance.”
“Freya.” I state her name softly and give her a tight shake of my head. “I’m sure Mr. Harris doesn’t care to discuss—”
“No, no, it’s quite all right.” Vaughn cuts me off and I look over at Gareth, who’s watching his father intently when he adds, “It was love at first sight, so I suppose you could call it a whirlwind.”
Freya beams back at him with glee. “Really? I always thought that was something made-up in romance novels.”
Vaughn smiles tightly, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Not for Vilma and I. I saw her across the room at a pub in London and I knew I was in love.”
Vi makes a strange noise in her throat. “I never knew that.”
Vaughn wipes his mouth with his napkin and rests it on the table. “Well, your mother didn’t know it either. It took some convincing.”
“Do tell!” Freya tuts. As much as I want to kick her under the table and tell her to shut up, I can’t help but love my friend for being so brave and innocent.
Vaughn looks off into the distance as he tells the story about all but forcing Vilma to attend one of his football matches in Manchester. He said he loved her the moment he saw her, but it wasn’t until he saw her after his match that he knew he had to marry her.
“Vilma was the woman of my dreams’ dreams. She had this light in her eyes that she could so easily turn off and on. And when it was on and directed at you, you couldn’t help but feel like you had this incredible gift. This incredible immortal amongst humans staring you right in the face.”
“Blimey,” Freya croaks, her eyes welling with tears.
“But she was definitely human enough to get pregnant. Gareth was the result of our wild and overexcited passion.”
“Too much information,” Gareth murmurs, but Vaughn keeps on going like he’s in another world.