Enflame

by S. Layne

“How are you? Doing good?” I ask my dad, turning my focus to him.

  “Better.”

  I smile, my lips stretching into a grin so wide my cheeks ache. “I’m glad.”

  We spend the next few minutes talking, and he slowly tells me about his therapy. They have him trying to hold his own silverware and lift his arms, but I know from the progress reports I get when I visit that it’s difficult for him. He’s doing better with major muscle movement, though—things like stretching his legs and standing with support.

  I can almost imagine the day where he’ll be able to walk out of here on his own. As we talk and I see him begin to yawn through his words, I know I’ve exhausted him. Jeremiah and Ben don’t say much, but I can tell they’re listening to every word. And when I finally kiss my dad on the cheek and tell him I’ll see him soon, I can’t stop more tears from forming in my eyes when I see Ben and Jeremiah both walk over and shake his hand.

  “Be good to her,” he says, through slow words and stretched-out pauses. “She’s the best.”

  “She’s all right,” Jeremiah says, clearly teasing.

  My dad simply smiles and pats his hand.

  As we walk out of the nursing home and toward my car, I’m surprised when Ben says, “Your dad seems cool. Well, like he would have been, before…”

  His face twists like he said something wrong. But he didn’t.

  I put my arm over his shoulders, even though I have to slightly rise on my toes to do so. “He was the best,” I tell him and pull him to me.

  We head home in silence, just the radio filtering through the speakers, but slowly, the further away we get from the nursing home and the closer we get to Donovan’s house—my house—I feel a tension lift in the car.

  When we pull into the driveway, Ben slides into the middle of the seat before getting out, and he props his elbows on the backs of the front seats. “Thanks, Miss M. You’re pretty cool.”

  He exits the car before I can say anything in return—like tell him how awesome I think he is, too. I can’t help but grin as I watch Ben run into the house, throwing a playful punch against Jeremiah’s shoulder when he slides past him.

  Because there’s a lot of difficult things going on in our lives right now—Ben’s, mostly.

  But there’s also a lot of good, and just like when I prayed for a miracle for my dad, I bow my head and take a few minutes to pray for a miracle for Ben, too.

  I sit with my back straight in a simple black leather chair, and watch as the judge in front of us peruses Ben’s file from Jensen.

  He’s standing behind us, due to a lack of chairs. On my side, Donovan is holding one of my hands, and I’m squeezing onto Ben’s hand on the other side of me so hard I can only hope I don’t break it.

  We’ve discussed his options, discussed the proof of abuse that Jensen’s investigator was able to lift from a security camera last Friday. After we sent Jeremiah to school this morning, we got a call saying Jensen had a judge willing to fast-track everything.

  It includes temporary foster parent status for Donovan, with the promise he begins his twelve-hour foster parenting course immediately.

  Freedom for Ben.

  I can’t believe it’s only been forty-eight hours since Ben walked into the house bloody and in pain. It feels like forever.

  Thank God for Jensen and his most likely slightly illegal views on the legal system. He’s getting us what we want, and that’s all I care about.

  “So,” Judge Cochran says. He closes the file and clasps his age-spotted and pudgy hands together on top of the manila folder. “I’ve reviewed everything, and while I haven’t had the time to go over it as intently as I usually review a case, I think I have a good grasp of the situation.” He slides a narrowed glance toward Jensen behind me.

  I can practically sense the careless shrug Jensen gives in return.

  I like him. Would never want to be standing opposite him, but when he’s in your corner, Jensen kicks ass.

  The judge looks down at Ben and rolls his lips together. His blue eyes are hidden behind thick glasses and his overweight cheeks grow bigger when he smiles. It’s kind, though, and that’s all I care about. Despite the pressure he felt to do this, he seems like a good man, and fair.

  “Do you have anything else to add to this other than the accounts I’ve read?”

  Ben shakes his head. His palm grows sweaty in mine. “No, sir.”

  “Is everything you said the truth? No embellishing just because you’re pissed at some unfair grounding?”

  I gasp, squeeze Ben’s hand, and open my mouth to speak.

  Donovan beats me. “With all due respect, your honor—”

  He silences him with a glance and holds one palm up. “With all due respect, I’ve had two hours to look over this case and I’m not interrogating, simply asking.”

  Ben shuffles in his seat. My fear begins to bubble to the surface. He can see the bruises on his cheek and eye, for crying out loud. He’s seen the video.

  “No, sir. It’s all true.”

  “Very well.” He nods and licks his lips. “If I were to grant you full emancipation, I’m not sure you have the financial means to care for yourself. Based on what I’ve read, it’s unlikely I can trust you to meet the emancipation requirements that we like to see for being able to live on your own. However,” he says, with a kind smile when he sees my jaw drop.

  The color feels like it’s draining from my face.

  “In order to get you out of your current home environment, I’m willing to grant temporary guardianship to Mr. Lore here, seeing as he’s an upstanding member of the community with the means to take you in, and someone it seems you’re comfortable with. In six months, if you’d like to reapply for full emancipation as a minor, you will need to show me a bank account with more than lunch money in it, and proof of your ability to live on your own, pay your own bills, pay rent, etcetera. Does that make sense?”

  I wait for Ben’s response with bated breath. Donovan and I are more than willing to take Ben in. Now it just has to be his choice.

  Seconds tick by on the clock hanging behind Judge Cochran and I squeeze Ben’s hand, silently pleading with him to take the offer.

  It’s the best he’s going to get, and far better than going to the streets, which is where I know he’ll end up.

  “Ben,” Donovan says, his voice low and quiet, completely nonthreatening. “Please. Let us take care of you.”

  Tears begin forming in my eyes as he stiffens next to me, and when I slide my glance in Ben’s direction, I see his eyes mirroring mine.

  “My mom,” he chokes out, his voice thick. “Doesn’t she have to sign that away or something? Give me up?”

  I close my eyes tightly. He doesn’t know that Jensen convinced her to do this already—showed up at her house, apparently, with his investigator. And I don’t know the specifics…don’t want to know them…but I know when he left, he had her signature on a document stating that she’s willing to surrender parental rights. I didn’t know if she would, considering also late last night, once we sent a copy of the video to Jensen, he sent on another copy to the county’s police department. Dick was arrested by members of the police force from his own squad. Sweet justice and good riddance, I say.

  At some point Ben might have to testify, and we haven’t told him that, either. We were waiting until we knew more about his situation.

  The judge’s kind but quiet look speaks for itself, and next to me, Ben brushes his fingers across his cheeks.

  “Okay,” he says, inhaling quickly. “I’ll stay with them.”

  Sweet, beautiful relief floods my veins and I choke on a thankful sob.

  It’s one thing for him to be forced to stay with us. It’s another for him to choose us.

  And it seems like he has.

  We hash out the specifics, sign enough paperwork to kill a small forest, and leave the office.

  As happy as I am, as thrilled as I am, I know not everything is going to be simple; and while we
drive back to Donovan’s house, we’re all silent, and I’m sure we’re all wondering the same thing.

  Ben jumps out of the car almost as soon as it pulls to a stop in the garage.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, climbing out after him. He’s halfway to his truck and turns around, keys spinning around his thumb.

  “Sorry…” He shakes his head, looking confused. “Am I always going to have to tell you where I’m going and when I’ll be home?”

  He doesn’t sound defensive. Surprised. Confused, maybe.

  I smile and shrug. “It’d be nice, so I don’t worry about you.”

  “We just care,” Donovan says, walking toward him. “We can talk about rules later, but I also understand you’re sixteen and you’ve essentially been living on your own and taking care of yourself for a long time now. I don’t want to make you feel forced to be here, but yeah…letting us know when you’re leaving and when you’ll be home, so Talia isn’t worried you’re drowning in a ditch somewhere, would be nice.”

  I scowl at him throwing me under the bus, but in reality I don’t mind. Much.

  “I just want to go for a drive. Clear my head a bit, I guess. I’ll be back…”

  “Around four?” Donovan supplies. It’s only eleven in the morning now. Four seems generous. “I’d like for us to be together for dinner tonight.”

  “Okay,” he says, shuffling on his feet. His hair blows a bit with the cold breeze, and I wrap my arms around my stomach, warming myself. He turns toward his truck, and when he gets to the front of it, he slams a hand down on the hood and spins on his heels to face us. “Thanks. For everything.”

  “Welcome,” I murmur, although he can’t hear me.

  Donovan and I watch as he peels out of the driveway much too quickly and I scrunch my nose.

  “Come on,” Donovan says, and wraps his arm around my waist. “We’ve got four hours before Jeremiah is home from school and we have to fill him in.”

  “What do you want to do?” I ask, raising a brow and feeling the stress of the day evaporate into the chilly air. “Anything in mind?”

  He nods seriously. “I want to do you. In the kitchen. The living room. The game room…maybe in our bed, too.”

  “That sounds like you have your work cut out for you.”

  He smirks and opens the door to the house. “I think I can manage. And I think I have the rest of our lives to prove it to you.”

  A lump forms in my throat and my jaw drops. It’s not the first mention of a permanent future for the two of us, but for the first time, there is the absence of any fear or nerves.

  This is Donovan.

  I’ve been his for eight years…I’ll be his for eighty more.

  “We have to get up,” I whisper, nudging Donovan on the shoulder.

  The sun hasn’t risen, but that’s common in late December in Michigan.

  What isn’t common is the fact that in just a few hours we’ll have a house full of guests celebrating Christmas with us. There’s still so much to do, and I want to get started before Jeremiah and Ben wake up.

  “Hmm.” Donovan rolls to his side, pulling me to him as he wraps an arm over my waist. “I can get up.”

  His erection pressing to my backside is proof of his words.

  He nuzzles into the crook of my shoulder, tickling my skin with his scruffy jaw. I push on his chest as he rolls on top of me. “I’m serious,” I say, fighting a smile.

  My thighs separate, letting him fall in between my legs, and I feel the truth of the fact that he can definitely get it up resting along my bare skin.

  “Do you know what I want for Christmas?” he asks, his lips brushing against mine.

  “What?” I arch into him, feeling his hardness slide along my wet, sensitive flesh.

  In the months we’ve lived together and in the many more to come, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how much Donovan wants me.

  I want him just as much, if not more.

  “I want to taste you.” His fingers trail down my stomach until they’re sliding through my sex, dipping in and pulling out. My lower stomach flips and heats at his teasing. “I want you to come on my mouth and around my fingers. And then I want you coming around my cock.”

  My hips arch into him and a heavy breath falls from my lips. “I think that sounds like a lot of work.”

  He licks his lips before he claims mine with a kiss. It’s slow and sleepy, but full of passion as his fingers return to teasing me. It takes moments before he’s sliding into me, his thumb brushing against my clit. My fingers dig into his hair as our tongues tangle together and I’m left breathless, my chest heaving when he pulls away, sliding down the bed.

  He pauses, cupping my breast with his free hand while his other continues to drive me crazy. Wrapping his lips around my nipple, he sucks and licks on one, then the other, pulling both into hardened, needy peaks. His thumb on my clit sends sparks through my body and I gasp, lifting into him.

  “Donovan,” I gasp, pulling on his hair when he slides lower. His tongue trails lazily through my folds, licking my moisture and driving me crazy. “I love you.”

  His soft green eyes meet my half-lidded ones and he presses a kiss to my clit, sucking it into his mouth.

  “I love you too,” he whispers against my skin.

  With his fingers and his tongue he brings me quickly to the cliff, and as I tumble over, gasping for breath and muffling my cries into my pillow, turning my head and biting down, I can’t help but feel overwhelmed by not only his love, but everything he’s given me in the last two months.

  I have more than I could ever possibly imagine, but it’s not because of his bank account.

  It’s because of his generosity.

  It’s because my dad will be joining us today—in a wheelchair and brought by a nurse from Rolling Oaks, but it’s that he’s going to be here that’s important.

  It’s because Ben is still with us, flourishing in his new school, where Jeremiah also attends. The two boys have become friends, and both are happy, doing well in school. Both have their times where they pull back into themselves as if they’re afraid of the goodness they’ve been given, but for the most part they’re both showing signs of healing.

  Ben rarely mentions his dad, and even though he was convicted of child abuse, where Ben managed to testify at his trial, he will also only serve six months in prison for his crimes. He never speaks to or of his mother, as if she never existed. We’re becoming one big merry band of misfits.

  And finally, it’s because my new teen center is set to open after the first of the year. It’s finally finished and it’s incredible. And while I’ve given up my therapist’s license, I’m still the business manger—but Marisa handles most of the daily operations, overseeing the kids who come through our doors and managing the four therapists who are now working for us.

  Life is good. I have absolutely nothing to complain about, nothing I could possibly want.

  Which is why, once I come down from my climax, I’m shocked as hell when Donovan slides back up my body. He kneels back onto his heels, pulling me so my thighs drape over his.

  With one hand wrapped around his erection, he teases my slit, sliding it through my wetness.

  I gasp at the sensation, my core still throbbing for more.

  “I have a question for you,” he says, his voice deep and husky.

  Leaning over me, he reaches into his bedside table and comes back out with something wrapped in his tight fist.

  I blink rapidly, my brow furrowed, when he lifts my left hand to his lips and presses kisses along my knuckles. “There’s something I want to give you.”

  I look down at our bodies, at his cock resting against the top of my core, and smirk. “There’s something I want you to give me.”

  “Woman,” he growls playfully, “your wish is my command.”

  He adjusts us, his one hand still wrapped around something I can’t see, but I forget all about it as he lifts and pulls me to him, sliding himself to the h
ilt in one slow but powerful thrust.

  Rolling his hips, he asks, “This what you want?”

  Always. “Yes.”

  He rocks himself inside me, never once breaking the connection with our eyes that grows more heated with every thrust until my breath is coming in quick pants, his own pulse pumping in his neck.

  He lifts his hand, grabs onto my left one, and before I know it, he’s sliding a ring onto my finger.

  The finger.

  My eyes burst wide in shock, and then I whimper from his quickening movements.

  “What the hell?” I ask, grabbing his hips and forcing him to stop his wicked, mind-bending ministrations.

  “Marry me.”

  “Are you asking or telling?” I ask, surprise evident in my voice. I wasn’t expecting this.

  “Do you love me?” He rolls his hips.

  My eyes almost roll back into my head.

  “Of course I love you,” I whisper, gasping for breath. From the sex or the ring, I’m not certain.

  He leans forward, presses himself further into me, and I can only groan from the tightness, how full he makes me feel. Everywhere.

  My heart is bursting as he rocks into me, pulling out slowly and pushing in with determination.

  “Then marry me.”

  I lick my lips and lift my head up, seeking his mouth. His lips fall to mine and he devours me. Soon the question is unanswerable because our groans and moans fill each other’s mouths as we swallow the pleasured cries.

  He’s too much.

  This is too much.

  “Donovan!” I shout as he slams into me, his thumb moves to my clit and it takes one…then two more thrusts as my orgasm coils at the tops of my thighs and spreads out throughout my body. Everything explodes, my skin heated, and I cling to him, crying in ecstasy while I chant “Yes! Yes, I’ll marry you!”

  He slams into me, seating himself one last time, and I feel him pulsing inside of me, his own climax barreling down on him just as quickly as mine did.

  “I’ll marry you,” I say, panting, still clinging to him.

  He wraps his arms around me and pulls me up so I’m sitting on his lap, his cock still inside me, my flesh still clenching around him. “I’ll make you the happiest wife in the world,” he whispers against my lips.