by Ginger Scott
“Andrew, I never should have let you go to that place. I never should have let them take you away. I should have told the truth, defended you, taken your place…” I say, my eyes burning from the tears building somewhere deep and buried within me.
Andrew moves to me quickly, his hands finding my face, his thumbs erasing the tears as they fall and his eyes searing through mine. “That’s the thing, though,” he says. “I never would have let you. You get to come first. I don’t have a choice, Emma, the universe wants you to be my reason for living. I’m a slave to its demand. And I will lo…” Andrew stops his speech suddenly, his body rigid and his eyes scared as hell as they stare back into me.
He shuts them; one small tear escapes, leaving a wet trail along the rough stubble of his face. Such a soft moment on something so hardened and masculine—a face still lightly bruised and battered from aggression cries for me now. His eyes are clear when he reopens them, and I fall into him completely.
“I will love you for always,” he says, his voice void of any fear or apprehension. The only sign left that he’s scared at all is the hard swallow that follows the most beautiful thing he could have ever said. He doesn’t ask to love me. He tells me. He claims me. And though he doesn’t say it, I am his too whether I want to be or not—Andrew Harper will spend his last breath defending my honor. I’m lost to this man. I was lost to the boy years ago—happily lost, and so in love in return.
I take the small note still clutched in my hand and bring it to my lips, kissing it and smiling to him.
“You’re mine,” I say, wanting to hear how it sounds, wanting to feel the way the words run off my tongue.
Andrew laughs lightly, nodding just enough. “Yeah…I am.”
“I’m yours,” I say, his eyes widening ever so subtly, giving away his excitement and hunger. “And I will love you more.”
Andrew’s jaw twitches as his gaze remains on me, on my eyes and my mouth and my body. I’m his—and I want to be taken. The air between us is almost thick enough to drown in—our breath gone, and each the only thing the other needs to survive from this point forward.
His mouth mere inches from mine, his lips find mine within the second it takes me to blink. His hands again cradle my face, his body moving me in demanding steps backward through his living room and down the small hallway to his room until my back is flat against his closed door. The sudden stop gives him enough leverage to push the hardness of his body into me.
In one swift movement, his hands rush down my back, scooping me up and wrapping my legs around him as he maneuvers the door open behind me. He takes long, deliberate steps to his bed, his hands grabbing the bottom of my sweater and tugging it over my head as my body slides down his to sit at the end of his mattress.
He turns around, kicking the door closed, then faces me, pulling both of his shirts over his head quickly. My eyes take in his form, but they also gaze over his fading bruises and the few scars left on him from his time at Lake Crest. I slide toward him and run my hands along his hard chest and hot skin, my fingers grazing over every curve, contour, and mark left behind by those who tried to hurt him. I gaze up at him, my breath catching at the way he looks at me, at the love reflected in his eyes.
Leaning forward more, I keep my eyes on his as I kiss my way up his stomach and chest, taking care to be tender where I know he’s still hurt. I trail kisses up the center of his chest, holding my lips longer over his heart as I climb to my knees to reach more of him.
Andrew moves two fingers to my chin, tilting my face toward his, then slides both of his hands deep into my hair, holding me there under the scrutiny of his gaze as I wrap my hands around his wrists.
“God, Emma, you have no idea how many nights I dreamt of looking at you just like this,” he says, and for a moment, his smile seems lost—he seems worried.
“I’m yours,” I repeat, needing to reassure him.
His eyes fall closed and he brings his forehead to rest against mine, his lips grazing lightly on mine with his breath until he sucks my bottom lip in between his and I feel the scratch of his teeth as he lets go.
“I will be the man who deserves you. I will, Emma. I promise,” he says, his breaths shallow, almost panting. I nod yes, knowing he’ll keep good on any promise to me—knowing he already deserves me, and I’m the one who has work to do.
Andrew slowly presses his weight into me, laying me back in his bed as he crawls over me with the grace of a tiger, his tongue licking his bottom lip and his hazed eyes raking over me with desire. When my head hits his pillow, his body cages me completely, his hands cupping my face gently at first, then growing stronger as he leans my head to one side, giving his mouth access to my neck and shoulder.
The sensation of his tongue drawing a line down my body makes me arch my back, and Andrew seizes the opportunity to sweep one arm behind me to hold me up, my breasts firm and barely concealed by the thin undershirt I’m wearing. Andrew’s eyes find the hard peaks of my nipples quickly, and he bites through the fabric, his tongue soaking the material as he makes each of my breasts his, working them into painful submission through my clothes.
Lying me on my back again, he leans his head down and grabs the bottom of my undershirt with his teeth, and I hold my breath, bringing my knuckles to my mouth as he slowly drags the bottom of my shirt up and over my breasts. The cold air makes the ache in my nipples sweeter, but I’m also paralyzed over the display of my scar. My mark isn’t subtle—there’s no way around being cut open three times, and I notice the moment the evidence of my transplant hits Andrew’s eyes. His breathing is steady, and as much as his body is still in a lustful trance, he’s also seeing a glimpse of our past—of reasons why and excuses and selfish requests.
“Your father told me,” he breathes, his eyes never leaving my scar. I can’t tell if he’s afraid of it or disgusted by it, and I part my lips with a worried breath as he speaks. Just as the sound leaves me, his eyes close and he leans down, kissing the dark pink of the center of my scar, the deep line that draws nearly the length of where my ribs meet. “I went to see him, to find out why…” Andrew swallows, his lips dusting against my body as he speaks, his strong arms holding him above me. “I just needed answers—why you didn’t write, why they lied to you. He told me. And as much as I wish you were the one who told me, I also understand why you didn’t. You were afraid of dying, Emma. And your father was afraid of you dying, too. I…” Andrew’s voice breaks, and his eyes finally lift to mine. “I would have feared losing you, too. So I don’t blame him, Em…for keeping my letters from you, for lying about where I was, for telling you to forget about me. I don’t blame him. I would have done the same if I knew it meant you were safe.”
I swallow hard, willing my eyes to keep their hold on his, not to break. I feel like looking at him, bare and all of my secrets before him, is the ultimate show of trust—this is me giving him my heart. I won’t turn away, not now.
“I regret so much,” I say, my voice hoarse with emotion.
“I know,” he says, his lips grazing mine as he breathes the words again. “I know. But I’m begging you…no more regrets.”
My eyes hold his a few seconds longer, and I nod yes. “No more regrets,” I repeat, as if reciting my pledge. My arms around his neck, I pull him to me, the warmth of his chest crushing against mine, igniting something deeper inside of us both. Andrew’s movements grow needier, his hands roaming my body more, gripping and clawing down my back as he kisses his way from my mouth down each of my breasts, sucking the peaks and pinching each between his teeth while I writhe beneath him.
He slides down my body, his lips pausing over my stomach, his mouth open and panting with a hungry need as he unhooks the button of my jeans and grips them around my waist, sliding them down my legs as he stands. My body shivers. He stands before me, slowly removing his jeans and boxers, letting himself spring free while I wait in nothing but my small, white cotton panties. I’ve never wanted to feel someone inside me more, to take someone
completely, to give myself wholly. My legs part for him, and he groans, kneeling on the floor in front of me, and he slides his hands from the tips of my toes up the insides of each of my thighs, my core throbbing and my heart pounding.
“I…I waited,” I say, biting my lip hard, my eyes intent on him as his long lashes lift and his eyes widen on mine. “For you. I…I haven’t given this to anyone. I saved it. And I’m pretty sure I was saving it for you.”
His breath catches once and he exhales slowly, leaving his gaze on me. He lowers his head to the inside of my knee, placing soft kisses all the way up my leg until he’s at my very center.
“This,” he says, running a finger slowly along the waistband of my panties, teasing me by slipping a finger underneath, but never far enough. His eyes boring into mine, he draws a soft line with a barely-there touch from my belly button, over the top of my panties and down to the wet center where he presses his thumb, easing my need and igniting it all at once. “This…is only mine?”
“Yes,” I breathe.
His breathing ragged, his lips fall to my center, and he runs his tongue over the small strip of material, the only thing between us, and my body goes wild in response. The heat of his breath is almost too much to take. I feel his hand sliding along the inside of my leg, then pull aside the center strip, exposing me to him, and my body rushes with heat from blushing and desire. I grip at his pillow, pulling it over my face, biting the material hard as his tongue traces it’s same path, this time no barrier there to stop it from dipping deeper inside me.
“Oh my god, Andrew…” I pant, arching against him. His hand tugs hard, tearing my panties until they’re completely ripped away. Andrew’s tongue caresses me as his thumb presses on the swollen center between my legs until finally his hand slides forward far enough for him to push a finger deep inside, leaving it there as he works me with his mouth. The pressure is so much that I pull my legs up, bending my knees, wanting to hold on, to make this last longer.
Andrew continues to suck and kiss me, letting his other hand find my breasts, running the rough pad of his thumb over each nipple and pulling them back to attention instantly until I cry out with the sensation of my first orgasm. The waves are almost too intense to take, and I pull away on instinct, but Andrew holds me to him, pressing his tongue into me hard, cupping my breasts and pushing his other fingers in and out at an intoxicating rhythm.
As I come down from my high, he kisses his way back up my stomach, worshiping my breasts until he’s completely holding himself over me, his body matched up with mine, his hard cock hot against my skin. He takes himself in one hand, and runs the tip down through my wet and still-pulsing center in long, slow strokes that almost send me over the edge again. The sensation has me raising my hips, begging for him to penetrate me.
“Patience,” he says, his mouth an arrogant grin as he dominates me. Andrew moves to his feet, stepping around to the side of his bed where he slides open his night table drawer to pull out a condom. I watch as he tears it open and slides it over himself, my mind a little worried over his size and how this is all going to feel. We’ve reached the limits of my sexual experience, but I’m also desperate for him to take me beyond them.
Andrew positions himself in front of me again, repeating the same teasing strokes along my center, his cock in his hand as he pauses and pushes just enough against me to have my body completely ready to accept him. Leaning forward, he runs his hand behind my neck, tilting my head back slightly as he kisses me hard, possessively, then drags his hand in a hard line down the side of my body, his thumb grazing my nipple as it passes. He reaches the inside of my thigh and pushes my right leg out, opening me to him more, my left leg following his lead as he guides himself to my entrance. His eyes concentrate on every movement, and I’m completely seduced by the vision of him looking at me like this, of him watching himself slide inside me, slowly.
His movement is slow at first, taking long seconds in one place to let me grow accustomed to his size before sliding back out and entering me again, each time falling deeper and deeper until he finally thrusts forward, filling me completely.
“Oh god!” I cry, arching again, his arms sweeping under me, holding me to him while his hips take over the work of pumping in and out in long, tortuous strokes.
“My dreams, Emma. This is better than my dreams,” he says, his breath hot against my ear.
I wrap my legs around him, searching for ways to feel him even deeper inside, and Andrew responds, his hands moving to my ass, pulling me up into him with every pummel, our pressure meeting, the sweet ache growing and growing with every thrust.
I can feel the sweat beading on my body, and Andrew’s back is moist as his muscles work to hold us together, to send us both over the edge.
“I’m so close, Andrew. Please…just a little more,” I gasp, my teeth grazing his shoulder, my fingers digging into his skin as he rocks into me. The need to release builds until I can no longer breathe, and when I feel Andrew begin to push harder, I know he’s with me, so I let everything go.
“Come for me, baby. Please…come for me,” he growls into my neck. I cry out loud until all I have left in me are soft whimpers of pleasure as I feel Andrew thicken inside me, his breath held as he follows me into bliss.
“Emma! Fuck me, Emma,” he grunts, pulling me into him harder and harder, exploding inside me until all that is left is exhaustion and two satiated souls in love.
Andrew doesn’t still right away, sliding in and out in slow movements, wanting to drain every last moment of pleasure from my body. He finally pulls out of me completely, then kisses my scar softly before whispering against my skin. “For always, Emma Burke. For always,” he breathes.
* * *
Showered and now nestled deep in Andrew’s sheets and arms and clothes, reality begins to settle in, and I grow still and quiet. For long minutes, Andrew doesn’t ask why, instead content to have me here and hold me, to stroke my hair and press his lips to the back of my head every so often as I lay here in the safest place in the world.
“Do you know that the only time I ever smoked a joint was that one time?” Andrew says, breaking the silence. I swallow hard. “Once. Ha! I’m like the perfect anti-drug campaign. Don’t do drugs, kids. Even just once could ruin your whole life.”
His joke is the sad kind, and I squeeze his arms, pulling them tighter around me. “I’m sorry, Andrew,” I say, kissing his hand and pressing it against my face.
“Don’t be. I made my choices. I made every single one of them,” he says. I’m not looking at him when he speaks, but there’s something about the timber in his voice that lets me know he’s smiling. Right now—with me—he’s smiling.
“You still shouldn’t have had to go through any of that,” I say, shutting my eyes at the thought of his younger self at the hand of someone hurting him. “They shouldn’t have punished you at all, let alone to that extent.”
“I’m a Harper. We’re bad seeds,” he chuckles.
“No. You’re not,” I whisper.
“How you see me,” he says against my neck, leaving a soft kiss there before blowing it away. “That’s what matters.”
His hand moves back up to my hair, and he continues the gentle strokes, combing his fingers through my long waves and letting them fall against my bare arm, my body hugged in the soft cotton of one of his shirts.
“Are you going to tell someone?” Andrew asks, and I turn a little, my head shifting to look at him, not sure what he means. I’ll tell the world about you, about how I love you, Andrew. Why wouldn’t I?
“About Graham,” he explains, my gut sinking the second he utters his name. “I know it’s hard, and I know you want to just forget, but he hurt you, Emma. He can’t get away with that.”
“I know,” I say, letting my face fall back to the pillow, away from him.
“I’ll go with you…to tell someone. We can go together,” he says, and I squeeze him again, so thankful for him, but sick knowing I’m going to disappoin
t him.
“I can’t,” I say, my eyes shuddering to a close as his arm pulls away from me and he pushes himself up to sit next to me. I suck in a long, painful breath, feeling the bruises on my ribs as I do, as if those injuries mock me. I sit up to face Andrew, but never lift my eyes to his. “He’s Dr. Wheaton’s son. She…she’s my mentor, and she was the one who…” I move my fist slowly to my chest, letting my thumb scratch over the space in the middle where my scar resides.
Andrew understands in an instant, breathing in once, sharply. His head bows and he nods. Slowly leaning to the side, he slides his phone from his small night table, then holds it up to me, his lips pursed, his forehead wrinkled with question. “May I?” he asks, pointing to the camera lens. I pinch my brow, but offer a small nod yes. I let my expression fall to nothingness as he clicks a photo of me then lays by my side.
He turns the screen to face us both, sliding his finger over my image, zooming in, the purple around my eye still very much there. I close my eyes remembering the feel of Graham’s hand crashing into me.
“I understand, Em. I swear I do. I just…I thought you needed to see what I see,” he says.
I pull his phone into my hands, zooming the image back out, hoping from farther away the bruise is less noticeable, but it’s not—it’s all I see. I push the small button at the bottom to share the image with me, sending it to myself. Then I move to Andrew’s contacts screen and enter my number, biting my lip as I hand the phone back to him.
“I thought it was about time we exchanged numbers,” I say through a half-hearted laugh. Andrew makes the same sound, pulling his phone in his hands and typing me a message. I read along as he types I LOVE YOU, then slides his phone back onto his table, pulling me into his arms again.
I have him. He’s mine, and I’m his. And we’ve left this wake of destruction, disaster, and remorse all about us to get here, yet I hold onto him tightly feeling somehow justified that it was still all worth everything.