“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, as his finger slipped inside of her with ease, curling up just right, reducing her to a moaning, writhing mess.
“Can we start that tomorrow?” he asked, removing his finger and moving his body between her legs, positioning his hard cock against her pussy. He put her feet up on his shoulders, waiting for her answer. She tried to move, but he held her legs to him.
“Tomorrow,” Mia whimpered, wanting him to relieve the ache he’d built.
With a shift of his hips, he entered her and began the heated process of relief. Josh wasn’t quick; he took his sweet time, making sure they savored this last time together. Mia screamed out when the pressure finally broke and her release flowed out of her. Josh came a few strokes later. He leaned down and pecked her nose.
“Best break-up sex ever,” he said, pulling out of her and sitting up. He grabbed his discarded shorts from yesterday and put them on. Mia scooched back against the headboard, grabbing the sheet to cover her nakedness. They sat on opposite ends of the bed, staring at one another.
“Why?” he asked simply. From the look on his face, he knew the answer, but she had to speak the words aloud for him.
“I want Ethan back,” she confessed, the words lifting the weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying off her chest.
“But what if after all this he doesn’t want you back?” he asked. There was no jealousy in his tone. All Mia heard was support. She knew Josh only wanted to make sure she wasn’t going into something that would hurt her. From the beginning, that was what Josh had done—protected her from getting hurt. Mia didn’t want to get hurt, but she had to do this.
“I won’t know until I try.”
Mia
Walking into the therapist’s office that day, Mia sat down in her normal spot on the sofa and felt numb. She was going to do this. She’d taken some steps towards her future but the only one she could tackle now was facing her past. Accept it and put it behind her.
For good.
First up, discussing it with Simone. Only then could she even consider talking to Ethan. She needed to do this despite the leaded stomach and the heart that felt like it may explode at any moment. She would get through this.
“Mia, you look determined.”
“Today’s the day.”
Sensing what she meant, Simone took her seat and said, “Okay. Whenever you’re ready.”
Mia let out a quiet snort. She wasn’t ready, but it was time.
“I haven’t seen my mother in over twenty-three years. The last time I saw her was on Christmas when I was eight years old,” she paused, closing her eyes, that night playing in her mind so damn clearly, like she was still that little girl going through her mother leaving her. The thing that sucked though was that this scene too often played on repeat.
“Mia,” Simone spoke her name softly, just loud enough to pull her back to the present. Mia locked her watery eyes on her therapist. “You can do this. It’s history. It’s not happening right now. You’re just telling me the story. What do you remember of that day?”
Everything.
Determination filled her. She would tell this story and not leave out any detail. That also meant she couldn’t hold in her emotions; she would fully feel the pain of what her parents did to her. That right there so often stopped her from recounting her story.
Not today.
“My mother spent most of Christmas day up in her bedroom while I celebrated with my father downstairs. It had been like that a lot. My mother stayed away from me. She . . . uh . . . she was very emotional when she saw me, which really wasn’t very often. There would be times I wouldn’t see her for days, but I knew she was just up in her room. I did try to see her, but after a few times having her scream and yell at me to leave, I basically stayed away too . . . that is, until Christmas. My dad and I opened presents together, and while he made breakfast, I snuck upstairs to give my mom a present. This time, I had hoped because I had a present I’d made for her at school, it would be different,” Mia paused, shaking her head back and forth, desperately trying to tell her eyes to not let the tears fall. “But it was worse. She took the tree I made her in art class and threw it across the room, pieces flying everywhere. Her screams were wails—painful, sorrowful noises. My father came and ordered me out of the room. I ran down to my father’s library and hid under his desk. I have no idea how long I was there. My father eventually coaxed me out and somehow got me to the piano. He asked me to play a song that he’d had me practicing the past month or so—‘Raindrops’ by Chopin. I did not like this song. It hurt to play, but Papa seemed to need it so I played my heart out for him. Afterwards he held me in his lap. I should have known something was wrong . . . I—”
Mia took a deep breath to calm herself. The soft cries of the persistent notes of “Raindrops” the soundtrack to her story.
“After dinner, he sent me to my room and told me lights out at eight. I did as he said, but I’d snuck my new Walkman into my room and played with that. It was between songs when I heard my parents’ raised voices. I stopped the tape and tried to hear what was going on. Then their voices were louder. I knew they had left their bedroom and were now in the hallway. I heard my father ask my mother why she was doing this. His voice sounded so different. He was scared and that frightened me. If Papa was scared, I knew something pretty bad was happening. I remember him telling her that they could work it out, that they could fix this. I didn’t know what he was talking about and that frightened me even more.”
Closing her eyes, she let out a sob and grasped her shaking legs.
“It’s okay, Mia. Go on,” Simone urged. Mia opened her eyes and saw her therapist give her an encouraging smile and nod.
“My . . . um . . . my mother then told my father that she loved him, but she couldn’t be a mother anymore, that she’d never wanted to be a mother. She said that she loved him with all her heart, but she couldn’t even bear to be in the same room as me. I remember his response: ‘What am I supposed to do, Isa? Just leave Mia? She’s our daughter. She’s just a little girl!’ With those words, I started to shake uncontrollably. I really don’t remember if anything else was said. I heard the slamming of the door and I cried. My mother didn’t want me. She’d never wanted me. I felt so cold. So alone. Abandoned.”
This was more emotion than she had ever shown Simone. It overwhelmed Mia to the point where breathing was difficult. Her shallow breaths were many and were only making things worse.
The only disruption to her panicky breathing was Simone’s calm, but commanding, voice breaking through the thick haze that surrounded her. “Breathe, Mia. One, two, three . . . slowly let it out. Feel it enter your body; feel it leave as you expel that breath . . . that’s it. Now, do it again.”
Once Mia calmed down, Simone sat back down to continue. “Mia, it wasn’t your fault that your mother left,” she began, but Mia quickly cut her off.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said? My mother said she never wanted me. She wanted my father to leave me so he could be with her. How is that not my fault? I was the reason! Me!” she yelled, hitting her chest with the palm of her hand. “If I wasn’t a part of the picture, my father and mother would still be together. My father wouldn’t be disgusted by my mere presence. I wouldn’t have caused so much heartache because I wouldn’t have been around.”
“Your father chose you, Mia. He stayed with you. Think about that.”
“I have! But it’s obvious he didn’t want to. He changed after that night. The father who loved me left with my mom. His heart went with her. His love. His happiness. All I got was the skeleton of the man he used to be. He left too, though he was physically there with me,” she paused, desperately trying to control her emotions, but she failed, buckling under their weight and sobbed. “I lost both of my parents that night. I was an eight-year-old, little girl and they abandoned me!”
“And how does that make you feel?”
“So fucking mad!” she yelled.
“What else?” the therapist pushed.
“Sad,” she said quietly, wiping at her tears with one hand and pulling a few more tissues from the always-present box to her left with the other.
“Why, Mia?”
“Because I miss my dad. I miss the way he used to smile when we played in the backyard. I miss the way he would read to me, the way he would sit by my side as I played the piano. Always humming along, always encouraging me. We were always so happy together. I want that again. I want my dad to love me again.”
“How do you know that he doesn’t?”
“Because I haven’t heard those words from him since I was eight!”
Over twenty-three years without hearing her dad tell her that he loved her or hearing him call her ma petite, the nickname he always used for her. She missed feeling safe in her father’s arms.
By not telling Ethan about her past and pushing him away, she’d lost the strength his arms gave her. His love. During the infamous second tour, when weeks passed between him telling her that he loved her, when he ignored her, all she could envision was the way her dad was with her after her mother left.
That yanked out every demon she had tucked away to the surface. Mia didn’t know how to handle them; she struggled. When she told Ethan she needed a break, she had just been trying to protect herself . . . and Ethan. She didn’t want him to see her fucked-up childhood and what it had done to her. And when she did let him in, she only gave him an excerpt, not the complete story.
She needed to finish telling him her story.
Ethan
Los Angeles, November 2010
His hands skimmed up soft flesh, over the hardened nipple of a breast. When he squeezed, the sexiest moan he’d ever heard evoked a memory. He knew that voice. He pinched the other nipple and the sound was even louder, the memory even clearer.
Mia.
His eyes shot open and his breath left him at the sight of her smiling down at him. Ethan quickly took in the situation. Mia straddled his stomach, naked like she always should be in his bed, her wet heat feeling so wonderful against his skin.
Her body still felt the same, looked the same. Just like he remembered.
“Hi,” he said, his hands on her back, pulling her closer to him.
When she responded like always, his heart soared. His girl was back with him.
“Hi,” she replied, a soft smile touching her face. He couldn’t hold back any longer. He needed to kiss her.
Running his hand up her back to her neck, he pulled her to him, their lips finally touching after two very long years. It wasn’t enough. Needing more, he cupped her face, angling her just right and delved right back in, his tongue exploring deep.
Her hips moving against his hard as rock cock diverted his attention from her mouth. His dick was desperate to be inside of her. Now.
“Mia? You ready, suga?”
Her lids opened to reveal her glassy eyes. She smiled down at him and nodded.
“You sure, suga?” he asked, one of his hands traveling down between her legs. Her eyelids fluttered and her nods came faster. His finger found her slick and warm . . . oh, so warm.
His dick twitched thinking about being inside of her. For now, he’d be happy with sliding his finger inside of her, hearing and feeling her moans against his neck.
“Tell me, Mia. Are you ready now?” he asked, his lips making their way up her jawline to her ear, not relenting on the pleasure he gave her.
“Please,” she begged. “Ethan. I’m ready. Oh, God, so, so ready.”
And then she fell apart on top of his hand, her pussy squeezing the life out of him before her body collapsed upon his.
“I need . . . I need . . .” she stuttered, holding him in a death grip.
“What do you need?” he asked, slipping his fingers out of her. Mia slid back and stopped when her soaked pussy touched his cock. She lifted her head and her sweet smile stilled his heart.
“You.”
“You can always have me, Mia. I’m always yours. Forever, suga,” he said, punctuating the “suga” with a hard thrust. As her pussy surrounded him, he groaned in satisfaction. He’d waited too long for this moment. Hell, he’d thought it would never happen again, especially since she was with Josh. He mentally shook his head.
Josh.
Fuck him.
Mia was his. Not Josh’s.
He flipped her over. “You’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” she agreed as her hips met his thrusts.
“No one else’s,” he groaned, pounding relentlessly into her.
“Just yours,” she said, her hands sliding down his glistening back, her fingers digging into his ass, keeping him close. Her eyes held his, an emotion there he hadn’t seen in a very long time—love.
“Tell me,” he begged, needing to hear it from her, needing to know that all this had been worth it. “Please tell me.”
He continued to pound into her, her body arching up to meet each and every thrust.
“Please, Mia. Tell me.”
“I love you,” she said breathlessly. She swallowed to gather herself and the next words came out stronger, louder. “Oh, God, I love you!” Immediately after her declaration, she let go and her orgasm took over—her words of love reduced to cries of passion.
“I love you, too,” he said, thrusting with each word and then came inside of her. It felt like a damn out of body experience. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, then he lowered himself to carefully lay on her, but instead of her softness, he felt the wet fabric.
Not her body.
His eyes flew open and searched the bed and room. Mia wasn’t there. But the hotel bed was covered in his cum.
Fuck!
The best sex he had in years was a goddamn motherfucking dream.
Because his teammates couldn’t go an hour past their normal dinner time, Ethan stood alone in his room trying to figure out what he was going to eat. He could order room service, but he’d been cooped up all day in meetings with his coach and offensive coordinator.
Glancing over at the bed, his mind wandered once again to Mia. This was the very room he’d brought her to that first time he visited her in L.A. He’d made love to her on that bed over and over. He could still picture her in the fluffy, white hotel robe, splayed out on the mattress, waiting for him to ravish her.
Memories and visions of Mia had been assaulting him from the moment he entered the room yesterday evening. That damn real as fuck dream top among them. He had never had a dream like that before. Maybe his severe lack of sex was the reason for that.
Ethan had done a somewhat decent job of forgetting her the past couple years. But the things he did to forget her, he hadn’t been doing as of late. There was no other decision to be made. Not once he heard that she had moved on to Josh. That had been a wake-up call. He could lose her—really lose her, if he kept up with what he was doing.
He thought back to their last conversation when he’d laid it out for her and told her he wanted her back. Her response hadn’t been what he’d had hoped for. But having her say she wasn’t ready to come back to him didn’t deter thoughts of her from infiltrating and interfering with his life.
Damn it. He needed to get out of there. Hotel restaurant it was.
Ethan stalked out of his room to the elevator. As he waited for the doors to open, a vision assaulted him of snaking his fingers through hers and watching her eyes light up in desire as they stood in this very elevator.
He jabbed the number for the restaurant and then impatiently hit the button to close the elevator doors. Should’ve just taken the goddamn stairs.
Thankful for the short ride, he took a right out of the elevator and headed down a non-descript hallway towards the restaurant lounge. He glanced down at the floor, momentarily fixated on a dropped business card. When he raised his head, his eyes landed on the woman of his most recent dream.
Fuck.
He immediately stopped and watched her talk to a woman in a yellow dress. Th
ey air-kissed each other’s cheeks and the other woman walked away from Mia, towards him. Yet Mia stayed where she was, rifling through her purse, looking for something.
He took that moment to drink her in, with her short black dress, which she covered up with a thick, beige cardigan. Her long, wavy hair fell in her face as she continued her search.
For a short moment, he considered turning around and going back to his room, but he nixed that ridiculous idea and found himself closing the distance between them.
“Mia?” he said, his disbelief that she was in front of him unchecked.
Her head whipped up and when her eyes met his, her bag fell from her hands, the contents scattering to the floor. They bent at the same time to retrieve her possessions. He deposited a few of her handwritten notes, a lipstick, and the same iPhone he bought her years ago back into her purse.
“Thanks,” she said softly, gifting him with a small upturn of her lips, her voice as sweet as he remembered. She secured her purse, her eyes focused on the floor.
Ethan needed to talk to her, wanted it more than anything right now. “Do you have time for a drink?” he asked, his heart in his throat. He couldn’t believe he was nervous about this, but he desperately needed her to say yes. Running into her here, at this hotel, after that dream . . . it was a goddamn sign!
She stared over his shoulder for what seemed like forever before nodding her head. Thank God. With his extended arm, he gestured for her to head back inside. He fought against his nature when he didn’t put his hand on the small of her back as he led her to a somewhat secluded booth. He sensed her skittishness and didn’t want to spook her.
Mia sat at one end of the half-circle booth far away from him, but Ethan wasn’t having that distance between them. He went in from the other side and scooted all the way around until he sat next to her, his thigh mere centimeters from hers. His eyes fixated on the curve of her knee and the strong muscles attached to it, and curbed the desire to put his hand on it and squeeze.
They didn’t even get to speak before a waitress was there to take their drink order. Mia ordered a plain Coke and he went with the same. The waitress left, and Mia and Ethan stared at one another.
Still Into You Page 26