Whatever he has in store for me, I want it, no, I’m craving it.
My lips find his bare neck and shoulder where I pepper kisses all over him. When I bite down on his flesh he sucks in a sharp breath of air, but he doesn’t stop me. I remember he used to like this and I plan on marking every inch I can get to before the sun rises.
I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my lips at the thought: I have him, and I’ll be damned if I ever let go. That bitch, across the hall, has something else coming if she thinks she has a fighting chance.
He’s mine. He has always been mine. And he will always be mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Shane Braden
A sense of peace washed over me when she said those three words I’ve longed to hear. I love you. I doubt she has any idea how much I needed them at that moment. I don’t remember ever blowing that hard before. It’s as though I was holding onto everything until she returned.
My Whitney.
My Love.
I tighten the hold I have on her as I walk down the hall to the spare bedroom. There’s cum leaking from her, dripping onto me, and I love knowing a part of me is inside of her.
When she bites me, she creates a storm brewing deep within my gut. I squeeze tighter, planning to release it all inside of her—again.
Whitney pulls back, stretching her torso away from me but keeping her fingers wrapped around my neck. She looks into my eyes as I walk us into the room and lock the door.
“I’ve missed you,” she tells me when I lay her down on the bed. A tear forms in her eye, but she doesn’t blink it away. It’s as though if she closes her eyes, this won’t be real. It’s how I feel too.
“I’ve missed you more than you’ll ever fucking know, Love.”
“You cuss more now than you used to.”
“Maybe. But then life didn’t go like it was supposed to either.”
“I’m sorry, Shane.” Her voice falls somber.
“Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry ever again. You didn’t do anything, Love. And frankly, I don’t want to discuss that shit right now. I’m starved for you. I just want us, right now, at this moment. We’ll deal with everything else later.”
“I want that too.”
“Good.” I rise, hopping off the bed to shed my pants and boxer briefs. I’m back on top of her in a matter of seconds. She giggles, and it’s music to my ears. She has more than my heart wrapped around that tiny body of hers. She owns my soul. My being. She owns all that I am. She always has—always will.
Pulling her thigh up, I wrap her leg around me as I look into her eyes. Then I enter her slowly, inch by inch. Her eyes widen as I stretch her, and Whitney’s breath hitches. This time I’m taking my time with her, and I plan on reacquainting myself with every centimeter of her succulent body.
“Mmm.” Her moan reaches somewhere inside of me, tugging on my heartstrings. I pull my cock out, stroking her pussy lips never wanting her to forget the feel of them.
More moans escape her throat as her eyes flutter shut.
“Open them.” I don’t need to clarify. Her eyes snap open, finding mine immediately. “You’ll look at me, Love. You’ll look, and you’ll never stop looking. Got it?”
“Yes.” Her back arches, and I take hold of her hips, raising her ass off the bed and pulling her toward me, thrusting into her harder.
“Mmm. I can’t take this.”
“You’ll take it, baby. And you’ll love it.”
“Sh—Shane.” I pull out, only the tip of my dick remaining at her opening. “You’re torturing me.”
“And I’m loving every damn second of it.” I slide in, slower. I need her to remember what I want. And as the thought filters through me, she rakes her nails down my shoulders, stopping at the bottom of my biceps. My fingers dig into her skin, painfully I’m sure.
Getting that gleam in her eyes, her back rises off the bed. Her lips brush my skin seconds before her mouth opens and her teeth bite my chin, clamping down before sucking. She sucks hard, and when she pulls away, I meet her and capture her lips into mine and raising her ass off the bed. A nip to my bottom lip ensues, as my release starts to cord inside my gut all the way down to my dick. My speed increases and I continue until I'm fucking her hard.
“Harder,” she demands.
I push back through her, my body rapidly chasing my release.
I push her ass down to the bed and off my cock, and then I rush back inside her one last time, using everything in me to muster the strength to give her what she needs and then I’m gone—my seed, exploding deep inside her. Inside her where it’s meant to be.
I fall, giving all my weight to her. She greedily takes it, wrapping her arms around me to pull me closer.
After I come down, I roll off, bringing her with me. Whitney in my arms was always my favorite thing to do. And we lay here in silence for several minutes until I break the silence.
“I came inside you. Twice.”
She doesn’t flinch or even react to this fact. Instead, I get kisses and licks, and playful bites peppered all over my chest. “Yes! And you should do it again.”
“Love.” My warning falls on deaf ears. She laughs without any concern. “The last time I came in you, we created a person.”
“Yeah, well this time I’m on birth control, so I think we’re okay.” She pushes up and plants a chaste kiss on my lips.
Then she lays back down on me again. All feels right until my conscience creeps back in as I’m stroking the back of her hand. “I think it’s time to move.”
“Because of . . . the woman across the hall?” I still, not knowing what to say. I didn’t know she knew about Roxanne. “I heard most of your conversation with her when you went into the hall. I was on the couch.”
Her admission both soothes me and ignites guilt. One, because she knows the truth. I don’t have to hold back anymore. But two, because I do feel guilty and not just because of Roxanne putting her mouth on me, but because of the other women I remember being with. It always felt like a betrayal. Still feels like a betrayal.
“Hey, what is it?”
Whitney sits up and straddles me as she looks down, searching for what’s changed.
“I’ve slept with other women.” I can’t keep that fact from her. I won’t. I’ve always been honest with her.
I see it. The hurt that slices through her tears at my chest, trying to rip me open. It’s the same pain knowing she’s been with someone else too.
“I can’t . . . undo it.”
“No.” She shakes her head, as a tear drops down onto her cheek. “It’s . . .”
She looks up toward the ceiling for a second or two before her eyes fall back to mine. Her tear drops to my stomach. “I’m the one that’s married.” She says that last word with so much anger pouring out that it twist me up inside knowing I should have done more to find her. I could have made her remember. I close my eyes trying to rid that thought. It’s no use. I open them, seeing her beauty looking down at me.
“But I was the one with a memory. I knew you were out there . . . somewhere.” And I should have searched more—harder, longer.
“Stop.” She bends forward, propping her hand on the mattress beside my head and with the other, she cups the side of my face. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not asking you to undo it or even be sorry. We were dealt a shitty hand. But now we’ve found each other again, and going forward, it’s you and me.”
“And the girls?”
“Yeah,” she breathes out, then flicks her eyes up and away from me as if in thought.
“We tell her,” I let out. I need my daughter to know I’m her father. I want her to know. She doesn’t have to call me dad, or anything other than my name if she isn’t ready or if she doesn’t ever want to. But I need her to know. I need to start being her dad. Regardless of everything, I want to be a father to my little girl.
“I know. We will. Let’s get through Thanksgiving, and we’ll tell her then. Her birthday is next
weekend and . . .” Whitney trails off, and I had completely forgotten her birthday is December 2nd.
“We need to plan something,” I say before she finishes. “What do you usually do for her birthday?”
Whitney lowers her body down onto mine, and then she slides off to the side of me. Her face fell when I mentioned a birthday celebration for our daughter.
“Whit?” I question.
“Nothing. Just a cake with candles and some presents. My parents and Blake’s parents aren’t really celebratory people. Hell, neither is Blake.”
“So,” I twist to face her. “Everly has never had a real birthday party?”
“No.” She rolls to her back. “Neither of the girls have. I don’t . . .”
“You don’t what?” I inquire.
“I don’t have any friends, Shane. I don’t know any of the parents at her school. I don’t mesh with them, so I’ve never gotten to know them or their kids. And Blake never wanted to have anything extravagant or even take her anywhere.”
Hearing her say she doesn’t have any friends cuts me deep. She had great friends, real friends, before the accident. And she still has them, but I’m not sure if she realizes that.
“You have friends, Whit. You have people that love you and that you can lean on. You have me. You do know that, right?”
She’s silent for a minute, drawing circles on my bare chest. Finally, her eyes glance up. “I do have you, don’t I?”
“Yes, baby.” I roll forward, capturing her lips in a long kiss. “I’ll never go anywhere. And you have Kylie, and even Chance and Eve, though they aren’t around here. My brother and Taralynn like you too.”
“I remember my life before, but I’m still living the one I’ve had for . . . that last ten years.”
I breathe out, frustrated because she feels like she doesn’t have her former life in her grips.
“Whitney.” My use of her name sounds like a plea, and maybe it is. “You don’t have to have that life. You don’t even have to go back to the one before. I’m not expecting you to. But what I do expect—no, want—is for us, and the girls, to move on to a new life somewhere that isn’t here. I’m done with this place. This city even. We both need something new. A fresh start.”
“I just need you,” she confesses. “You and the girls without Blake or my parents. I’m done with them. I can’t even think of my mom or dad in a positive light anymore.”
“You have me. There’s no question about that. The question is, do I have you?”
“I’ve always been yours. Even when I wasn’t, I was yours, Shane. I’ll always be yours.” She makes me smile and it relaxes my mind.
“Will you move somewhere else with me? I am serious about moving from here. It’s not even big enough. The girls need their own room and—” she cuts me off.
“Boy, I’ll move and go anywhere you do. You’re never getting rid of me again.”
“Baby, I’m not a boy anymore.” I jump up, and out of the bed after planting another kiss on her plump, juicy lips.
“Where are you going?” She pulls the sheet up, covering her tits.
“To get your panties off the kitchen floor while you continue lying in that pee-ridden bed.” Her nose scrunches up in disgust, making me chuckle. Hell, she did clean it, and it’s now dry, but as I leave the bedroom, I catch her covering her eyes, causing a louder laugh to burst from my lips.
God, it feels good—so good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Whitney Lane
I have to gain control over all of these emotions running wild in my head. The pain. The betrayal. The elation that my soul finally feels whole again. The clarity and understanding my memories brought me toward the way I’ve felt about Shane these last couple of weeks.
So many things are taking up space in my brain that I’m tripping over all of them. I can’t focus on just one, and it’s driving me mad. I want to pull my hair out. Too much is consuming me.
I’ve washed everything in Shane’s apartment today just to keep my hands busy and my mind on other things.
It hasn’t worked though. I can’t stop the questions from taking root, or the horrible, awful thoughts I wish would come to light, or even the what could have been if I’d never been in that accident and lost my memory.
“Momma, can I bring the Kindle he let me borrow?”
I stop, placing the laundry basket on top of the dryer. “Sure, Ev. Just make sure you don’t leave it.”
Shane leant her his eReader after she pouted because I forgot to pack it the one time I went to our former house to gather as much of mine and the girls’ clothes as I could.
Now I wish I’d grabbed all of them.
“Hey, Ev,” I call out. “Will you make sure your sister has packed enough clothes for two days? The correct clothes,” I yell after her as she runs off—hopefully, to find her sister and do what I’ve told her.
I have to say, she has given me a lot easier time than I had first expected her to when I left Blake. We’ve have had daily arguments for as long as I can remember. But I can’t think of one since living at Shane’s.
Once I pull the dry clothes out of the dryer, I close the door and lean against it after taking my cell phone out of the back pocket of my jeans.
Doing a quick Google search, I find the number I’m looking for and press the call button.
An auto-attendant comes on. “For store hours, press one. For the pharmacy, press . . .” I don’t wait for the recording to finish before I press two.
While I’m holding, I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder so I can grab the basket of clothes off the dryer. I take them to the couch in the living room and dumping the clothes on it.
Ughhh. Is anyone going to answer my call or is it going to keep ringing?
It’s been less than a minute since I dialed the phone number, so there’s really no rhyme or reason for being upset. I’m mad, frustrated, and pissed off but not at this phone call. I’m furious at Blake for not sending Emersyn back with any of the clothes I’d packed the weekend before last when she went to stay with him. But even that isn’t what’s really bothering me. As frustrating as it is, I can buy Em more clothes. I’m certainly not asking her father to send more home with her.
I’m nervous. That’s the truth behind my irritation. On top of everything going on in my head, add nerves to the list.
“Pharmacy, how may I help you?” A sweet, older voice comes through the line, ripping me away from my thoughts momentarily.
“I need to have a prescription refilled,” I tell her.
“Sure. Can I get your name and date of birth?”
“Whitney Lane,” I say, hating Lane is still my last name, then I rattle off my birthday. I wonder if I can change it before my divorce is final? Probably not, but I could at least ask Jacob. I see how much it bothers Shane just like my rings did before I removed them.
“Thank you, Mrs. Lane. Which prescription are you refilling?”
“My birth control.” I’ll take my last pill tomorrow before the placebo week starts. I want to make sure I get the new pack called in and picked up before I need to start them next Thursday.
“Wonderful. I’ll get it entered, and we’ll notify you via text message if your number is on file when it’s ready. If not, we’ll give you a call.”
“Thank you.” I hang up, feeling better now that I’ve accomplished one thing today.
Now to get two kids packed and then Shane and myself. He asked me to toss him a couple of changes of clothes into a weekend bag before he left for work this morning. We’re leaving tonight after he gets home from work to go to his parents until Friday.
I toss the phone onto the couch as I look up at the clock hanging on the wall. He’ll be home in an hour. He told me not to cook, that we’d eat at his parents. As much as I’m stressing about seeing his parents again, I’m also excited. I haven’t eaten one of Pam’s home-cooked meals in ages. It’s the one thing I’m looking forward to, and I plan on enjoying it.
> “Momma.” I turn my head to face Emersyn as she saunters down the hall. My head starts to shake at the sight of her getup. “I not got no pants. I’m wearing this.”
“‘I don’t have any pants,’ is what you need to say. And no ma’am, you are not wearing a costume. Come over here.” I motion her to where I’m standing in front of the couch. “I know I saw at least one pair in this pile. Help me sort.”
“Why I got to help?” She puts her hands on her hips.
“‘Why do I have to help?’” Lord, help me with this one. “And because I said you do, so get to it, little lady.”
“But Momma.”
“Emersyn Rose, get your butt over here.”
“Fine. But princesses aren’t supposed to work.”
“Says who?”
“Says, my daddy.” Fuck my life.
“Well, your daddy doesn’t know everything.” I hate that man, but I push the smile forward so that my daughter doesn’t see that. “Look at the costume you’re wearing. Maybe you need to re-watch Cinderella. She worked. She worked hard.”
“She had a bad mommy, too.”
I give her a look that quickly shuts her up, and I don’t feel one ounce of bad for doing it.
If Blake thinks he’s going to use her to get to me, he’s got another thing coming. I haven’t answered one of his messages that wasn’t concerning Emersyn and I don’t plan to. It’s likely he’s only going to get worse, and I’ll need to figure out what I’m going to do about him. I’m not going to put up with his shit. I think ten years was plenty. He’s not getting another second of me.
“What’s wrong, Love?” The butterflies haven’t stopped since we left Memphis.
“Why do you think something’s wrong?”
His head swivels toward me before going back to looking out the windshield as we drive down a road I fondly remember. His road. Well, his parents’ road, leading to their house. “Because I know you.” That’s all he gives me. I don’t need any more. We may have been torn apart for years, but he gets me better than I get myself.
More Than Memories: A Second Chance Standalone Romance Page 20