More Than a Memory

by Marie James

  “Why do they want to meet me?” she asks the window, her breath steaming up the glass. She turns to look at me. “What if they don’t like me?”

  “They’ll love you because I love you.” She stiffens at the words, but mere moments later, her face softens and a small smile forms at the corners of her mouth.

  I force myself to look away, back to the road. I’ve said those words to her hundreds of times while she’s been sleeping, but this is the first time I’ve told her while she’s aware.

  Silence fills the cab and I wonder if I’ve said them too soon—if uttering those words now not only dampers our trip, but also the relationship we’ve been building.

  She shifts in her seat, turning her body toward mine before she speaks. “Do you think we’re moving too fast?”

  I shake my head. “I just want you to meet my family. I want them to get to know the girl who’s captured my heart.”

  She nods in my periphery, but she doesn’t say anything else.

  “We’re not moving too fast, Liv. It’s not like I’ve bought a ring yet or anything,” I sigh, focusing on the highway ahead as the silence between us stretches.

  I thought the lack of speaking before was bad, but by the time we pull up to the cabin a few hours later, I’m nearly deaf from the lingering absence of noise.

  “This is beautiful,” she says, leaning closer to the windshield, as if we hadn’t just spent two uncomfortable hours together.

  Normally I’d force her to talk, but due mainly to my fear of rejection, I allow it this time.

  * * *

  “Thank you,” Olivia whispers.

  “For what?” I ask, my voice soft. Tugging her closer to my chest, I grind against her ass, and tease, “I haven’t even been inside you today.”

  It’s Wednesday and we’ve been in secluded bliss for four days, finding alternative amusements when we discovered we not only ended up with no service, but the cabin doesn’t even have a TV. We’ve both woken up with blissful smiles on our faces and fallen in to bed with content yet exhausted sighs each night. It’s almost as if she’s a brand new person. I only see sporadic glimpses of the woman she was several months ago. Her transformation has been nothing short of dramatic, and I’m honored to walk this journey with her.

  “For bringing me here. For helping me make new memories.” I still my hips at the seriousness in her tone.

  “I want to make a lifetime of memories with you,” I confess against her naked back.

  Her contented sigh and the shimmy of her hips as she snuggles further into my embrace soothes an aching part in my soul that has been wondering if she’s happy with me, if she can see us together a year from now, twenty years from now.

  I roll her onto her back and sweep hair from her face before cupping her chin.

  “I love you,” I whisper.

  A soft smile takes up residence on her lips and in her eyes as she reaches her mouth up to mine. That she hasn’t said the words back yet doesn’t go unnoticed, but I know she will in time. She’s still coming to terms with the idea that moving on and being happy is something she can do.

  My hand roams down her stomach, exploring her bare flesh as she clings to my biceps.

  “These are new,” I observe, tracing the small abdominal muscles now peeking out from under her skin. “You’ve gained weight, too.”

  She giggles when my fingers find and tease her most ticklish spot.

  She tries to back away, smacking at my hand. “You can’t say that to a woman. It’s rude.”

  “You’re stronger, more durable,” I say close to her lips. “Just means you can handle me a little rougher.”

  She quirks an eyebrow up. “You implying I haven’t handled you well yet?”

  I shake my head before lowering my mouth to nip at her bottom lip. “You handle me perfectly.”

  “I’ve been doing yoga,” she says, distracting me before my seeking mouth lands on her nipples.

  I peer up at her, a devious smirk on my face. “Really?”

  She nods her head. “While you’re in class, I do workout videos on my computer. Ordered a few DVDs. In fact, it’s the only disc I brought. Never took it out after my last workout.”

  I slide off the bed and pull her up with me.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, but follows along as I tug her toward the living room.

  “We’re going to do yoga.”

  “Right now? I thought we’d work up a sweat in a different way.”

  “Oh, we’re going to work up a sweat, beautiful.” I pull her to my chest, my hard cock standing proud between our naked bodies. Gripping her hips, I lower my palms, taking her ass in my hands. “I want you to suck my cock while you’re in downward dog. Then I want to see how far you can arch your back when I fuck you in puppy pose.”

  She moans into my mouth when my tongue breaches her lips.

  “That sounds awesome for you. But what do I get?”

  I lay down on the soft rug in front of the fireplace and stroke my cock, pre-cum pooling at the tip as she licks her lips. “Don’t worry, beautiful. When I’m done with you, corpse pose is the only thing you’ll be able to manage.”

  I watch, riveted as she widens her stance near my feet and bends over, her glorious breasts just out of reach.

  Holding my cock at the base, I tilt it toward her slightly so she can wrap her lips around it. Aside from being inside her bare, nothing has ever felt better than her unbelievable lips wrapped around me.

  I hiss at the scorching heat of her mouth and every muscle in my body clenches when she leans forward and takes me down her throat. I wrap her hair in my fist and watch as she continues her assault, her lips and tongue moving up and down my shaft. When I notice how hard it is for her to maintain the up and down motions, I hold her head and shift my hips into her eager mouth like a gentleman.

  She turns her eyes up at me, smiling around my cock, letting me know I haven’t fooled her. I grin until she increases the suction and my eyes roll into the back of my head. Clearly, she has the upper hand. A handful of minutes later, the tingle starts at the base of my spine.

  I shift my hips to the side, falling from her mouth with a satisfying pop. “Knees and elbows, baby.”

  She bites her lip as she crawls back on the rug and leans forward. Olivia’s lithe, flexible body amazes me when she stays on her knees, her ass high in the air and breasts lower to the rug. She’s all but bent in half and the luxurious lines of her naked body enthrall me.

  “So perfect,” I praise, swiping a finger up her center only to find her wet for me.

  “Mmmm,” she moans when I ease inside her, my movements slow and controlled. “I love yoga.”

  I scrape my short nails down her back, loving the hiss of breath that leaves her lips before I grip her hips, draw my cock out, and pound into her.

  We’ve been latex free for a week now, and I spend every waking moment either inside her, or dreaming of when I can have her again. Just like right now, sinking into her is just like the first time. Sweat forms on my brow as my fingers flex against the soft flesh of her hips. I grind my teeth to stave off the tingle from the orgasm trying to creep up my spine, but her moans, pants, and urges of “harder, harder” bring me to the edge almost immediately.

  “Oh God!” Her voice echoes off the walls, spurring me on. “I’m going to have carpet burn on my face.”

  She’s definitely gotten more vocal since our first few times together, and her words are almost as desirable as the tight heat of her body. Together they are a deadly combination that can easily turn me into a two pump chump.

  Not wanting to mar her beautiful skin, I pull her up and sit back on my heels. Taking over, she commands the movements, ensuring we’ll both come quickly.

  All I can think when I blow is we may both be in corpse pose when this is over.

  Chapter 43

  Olivia

  “This is so weird,” I mutter to Bryson, who’s sitting beside me on the sofa. “How did this even happen
?”

  He holds his beer bottle in front of his mouth before speaking. “Emerson convinced me having all your information, including your parents’ number, was important in case something happened.”

  “Emerson doesn’t seem like such a fatalist,” I argue.

  He shakes his head and chuckles. “She’s not, but my mom mentioned it to her, and Emmy pretty much does whatever my mom says.”

  “That still doesn’t explain this,” I hiss, waving my hand out in front of me toward the roomful of people.

  “My mom broke into Emerson’s phone last week when she went home. My mom called your mom, they plotted and planned, and…well,” he pauses to look across the room at his older brother, Josh, and his wife, “here we are. One big, happy family.”

  I squeeze his thigh until he winces and pulls his attention back to me. “You’re a little too happy about all of this for me to believe you didn’t have a hand in it.”

  He feigns innocence, but the sparkle in his eyes tells me I’m closer to the truth than he’ll admit.

  I glare across the room, watching both of our mothers with their heads together, formulating some type of devious plan. Bryson just met my father for the first time this morning when we drove over. He’d been out of the country working on his latest business venture, but is home for the holidays. Bryson was received by my father with open arms, just as I’d hoped.

  The last month has been beyond amazing. I leave the apartment freely now, on my own, as well as shopping with Ainsley and Emerson when she comes to visit. The week over Thanksgiving break was exactly what we needed to concrete our relationship. It seems my parents love Bryson, and that’s a relief I didn’t realize I was stressed over until I heard my dad offer him a beer, something he’d never do with a man he didn’t like.

  It wasn’t until a couple hours later when the doorbell rang and the entire Daniels family traipsed into my childhood home that I felt the walls begin to close in.

  My heart pounds in my chest as I watch Emerson help her nine-year-old niece tie bows on Christmas presents while my dad and Mr. Daniels argue over whether the Broncos are going to win the game this evening. This whole scene is very surreal. I know my mother has good intentions, but how could she think for a moment I would be okay with this?

  This exact situation is what Christmas looked like for us, with exception to last year when Duncan was away for treatments—only it was the Kellys in our living room and Duncan beside me, drinking egg nog and laughing with my dad.

  I swipe at the tears that manage to break past my anger and pain, rolling down my cheeks.

  “Excuse us,” Bryson says, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet.

  Conversations continue behind us when we walk out of the room, but dissipate before Bryson places me against the wall and leans his forehead against mine.

  “New memories,” he whispers against my lips. “We’re making new ones, Liv.”

  He can read me like a book; he’s always been able to. He knows when my mood shifts and what’s going on in my head before I can even verbalize the thoughts and feelings myself.

  “It’s hard to make new memories when they look exactly like the old ones,” I say, my voice hoarse as more tears form on my bottom lashes.

  He nods in understanding. “I don’t know how to change things for you, to make it easier.”

  “Just hold me for a minute,” I beg, wrapping my arms around him.

  “I’ll hold you forever, Liv. You don’t even have to ask.”

  I pull him closer, hating that I can tell the difference between young love and mature love. It feels like a betrayal when I give a voice to the knowledge that Duncan and Bryson love so differently, but my heart soars knowing each man gave me exactly what I needed during the moments they were in my life.

  “Josh is very handsome,” I say, trying to pull us out of this dark moment.

  He lifts his head from the top of mine. “Do I have to worry about you and my brother?”

  I grin. “Your father is incredibly good looking too.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, but I see the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth. “Where is this going?”

  I shrug. “I just don’t have to worry about you getting ugly is all.”

  “Good to know.” He chuckles, pulling me back against his chest. “Ready to go back out and face the mob?”

  “Might as well get it over with,” I complain, taking a step back. “Or we can go up to my old room and make out?”

  A light sparks in his eyes as he contemplates the idea. He grabs my hand and heads toward the stairs.

  “Lunch is ready!” my mom calls out from the living room.

  “Damn it,” I mutter. “Think they’ll miss us?”

  Bryson changes direction from the bottom of the stairs and pulls me toward the dining room.

  “Making memories, remember?” he whispers in my ear as he pulls out a chair for me to sit on.

  “Memories,” I repeat, looking around the table, hoping my mother doesn’t ask too many questions about our relationship in mixed company.

  * * *

  “That was brutal,” I complain as Bryson opens the door to our apartment. The last four hours with our combined parents has been more stressful than the last couple of months while Bryson and I built our relationship. Needless to say, I’m extremely grateful to be home.

  “It wasn’t so bad,” he argues.

  I scoff and raise my brow. “You weren’t the one being grilled about school and plans for the future.”

  “Sure I was,” he says, leaning down to pull my shoes off. He stands up and winks at me. “Your future is my future.”

  I watch his back as he walks away, his button-down shirt pulling free from his body as he makes his way to his bedroom for more comfortable clothes.

  “You sure are sugary sweet today,” I call after him.

  He emerges from the hall less than a minute later, shirtless and tugging sweats over his naked butt. Commando is my favorite. I turn my eyes from him, doing my best to tamp down the arousal that seems to flare whenever he’s around. He must think I’m a sex fiend, even though he hasn’t complained yet.

  “I’m sugary sweet every day, beautiful.” He leans in and kisses my forehead before turning toward the kitchen. “Why? Are you getting tired of it? It’s my nature. I can’t help it.”

  “I don’t want you to get tired of it. Your mom mentioned she’s never seen you this way before.” I stand with my hip propped against the counter as he searches for something to eat.

  “Like what?” he asks, his voice echoing in the near empty refrigerator.

  “‘Head over heels’ I think is the term she used.”

  His head pops up over the door. “Maybe because I’ve never been head over heels before.”

  I frown at him. This man is amazing and charming, surely he’s been interested in other women for more than sex.

  “What? Don’t believe me?” His eyes narrow as he evaluates the situation. “Are you trying to pick a fight on Christmas? Trying to force my eternal love for you? Fishing for compliments?”

  The refrigerator door closes and he stalks toward me.

  “Women must throw themselves at you, if you act like this around everyone.”

  He shakes his head and clasps my hips when he’s within arm’s reach. “They fight over me, claw each other’s eyes out when I walk by.” I shiver when he runs his nose up the length of my neck. “Every woman in the world wants a piece of me.”

  Sighing at his playful words, I can’t help but wonder how much of it is truth. Simone, the girls at the ball field—they all wanted a piece of him.

  “Every woman? A little arrogant, don’t you think?”

  “Yet, here I am with you,” he whispers against my mouth.

  “With me,” I pant as his hips finally make contact with mine.

  “Only you.” His lips take mine in a fevered kiss, one hand around my hip and the other cradling my head.

  His mouth leaves mine,
trailing delicious kisses down my throat.

  “I love you,” I whisper as his ear nears mine.

  “I know,” he says on a breath, trying to play off his body’s reaction to my confession, but he becomes more rigid before a small tremor rocks through him.

  When he pulls his head back, a wide grin splits his face.

  I bite my lip to keep from mirroring him.

  “One more time,” he pleads.

  “Just one?” I tease, my lips quirking at one corner.

  He shrugs. “Maybe a million then.”

  “How about one time each day for forever?”

  “Make it ten times a day and you’ve got a deal,” he bargains.

  “I love you,” I repeat, leaning my head down to his.

  His kiss is tender, worshipping, reverent, and I’m weightless as he lifts me up and carries me to my room.

  When he deposits me on the bed and walks out of the room, I frown at his retreating back, but he reappears with a small box in his hands.

  “We already did gifts at my parents’ house,” I chastise, even though my blood is pumping harder at the sight of the tiny jewelry box.

  I got him a new phone since he cracked the screen on his a couple weeks ago and insisted on continuing to use it. He gifted me with more bath and body stuff—in his favorite scent, of course—than I’ll ever be able to use in a lifetime, and a personalized playlist he says is our love story. I’m equally excited and nervous to listen to it.

  “I didn’t want to give this to you in front of family in case you hate it. I don’t want you to feel obligated to respond a certain way.”

  My heart thunders and my hands shake to the point where I almost drop the box when he hands it to me. He climbs on the bed behind me, pulls me back against his chest, and continues to shred any restraint I had on my anxiety.

  “I didn’t want to ask you the question with an audience. I wanted you all to myself when you said yes.” I blame the breath escaping his mouth and washing over my shoulder for the chills wracking my body as I prepare my rejection to the question he’s asking too soon. I love him, there’s no denying that, but four months is not long enough for this big of a leap.