by Cecy Robson
“Did anyone help you?” I manage. “Anyone at all try to offer you comfort?”
Becca pushes her hair behind her shoulder. It’s the first time since she arrived that she’s let me go. “Matthew followed me out to my car. His wife, Lynda, too. They seemed sad.” She sniffs. “Horrified, even. But they didn’t say anything.”
I shake my head. Becca could have been a stranger on the street. But if I’d seen what happened, I would have done or said something. Here, her own kin can’t offer her so much as a sympathetic embrace.
“I-I told them that I wouldn’t be at the funeral. That I was done.” She reaches for a tissue and dabs her eyes. “They nodded, like they understood, even though they didn’t make a sound.”
“You should have called me.” I lift her hands and kiss them. “You should have let me know. I would have gone with you. You didn’t have to be alone.”
Gratitude spreads across her pretty face upon hearing my words. Becca was alone. She recognizes I understand that’s how she felt.
“You were a lamb,” I tell her. “Walking into an arena filled with lions who cared more about pleasing their king than you.”
“A lamb,” she says, closing her eyes briefly. “Here I always thought I was the black sheep.”
She’s trying to lighten the mood and make us feel better. I do, in a way, but not because of what she says, but because of how she handled everything flung her way.
“The black sheep, the odd balls, the fuckups, they don’t go out and accomplish everything you did. They don’t stand up to the lions and win. They cower and willingly obey to save themselves. Your family are those lions, Becks. They wanted and expected to you to fail without your daddy’s money and influence. Instead, you prospered and surpassed them all, proving you never needed them.”
She smiles softly as another tear leaks down her face.
“You’re a lamb, because of the gentleness you demonstrate to those blessed enough to call you a friend. That soft side you show to those who’ve captured your heart reflect in your beauty. You showed your family you’re not afraid, Becca. No matter how bad they treated you or how hard things were, you didn’t fear them. Never once did you crawl back, begging for help.”
“No, I didn’t,” she agrees, that sense of pride I know so well rebuilding.
“What happened today was total shit,” I say. “There’s no shame in what you did or in the tears that fell in their presence. But there is shame in everything that man said to you and they know it.”
“I don’t think my momma would agree,” she says. Anger and disappointment barely glaze her comment, but I still sense it.
“Your momma needs to believe what she believes to justify her life and why she stayed with a man who was not only brutal to her, but to her only child.”
Becca watches me, listening closely. “From the start, your momma wanted what her friends had. What her momma had. The grand estate, the pretty clothes, and the handsome husband with money, so all she had to do is play the part of a traditional southern lady. An elegant woman, who belongs to all the right clubs and who is seen in the proper circles. The difference is the man she chose wasn’t a real gentleman, not like your granddaddy was. He was one of the richest, best looking men in his day, but he was also a monster, Becca.” I kiss her lips. “A monster my lamb defeated when she showed her teeth.”
“Thank you,” she whimpers.
Her head falls against my shoulder, right where it belongs. My knuckles glide against her arm, trying to soothe the pain that remains. But that pain should never have come.
“You should have told me, baby,” I say. “We would have faced those fucking lions together.”
“I didn’t feel right pulling you away from your brothers,” she says. “I know what it must have taken for you to see them. I couldn’t rob you of that moment.”
She looks at me, her expression carrying everything she experienced today, except all that hate doesn’t stand a chance against the strength that remains. “I also couldn’t risk anything happening to you.”
“I could have handled it. I would’ve taken it all if it meant sparing you. I love you, Becca.”
“I love you, too, Hale.”
Slowly, her hands unravel from my waist and she rises. “Will you do something for me?”
I’m already on my feet, my heart thudding madly as I look at the woman I want to marry and grow old and weary with. “I would do anything for you.”
She backs away, pressing her palm against my chest to keep me in place when I follow.
Becca leads the dogs out of the bedroom and shuts the door. With an exhausted sigh, her gaze melds with mine. “I don’t want to think about all the bad things I lived through today. I only want to know you and how good I feel when I’m with you. Will you make love to me, Hale? Will you make me forget everything except for you?”
I tug off my shirt and let it fall on the floor. The rest of my clothes follow. Her large breasts lift and lower as her breathing increases. The lingering sadness shadowing her irises dissipated, replaced by wanton desire and the sex she begs me to give her.
She wants to forget what happened today.
And I know exactly how to distract her.
I surge forward, spreading my arms wide and pinning her to the door. The tip of my tongue glides between her lips until she opens wide, permitting me to kiss her deeply. She sways her hips as I rock back and forth, her hands clamping my ass, enjoying the feel of my body against hers.
My lips ghost over her throat, passing lazy kisses across her jaw. I nibble on her ear, her chin, and down her neck, as my hands slip behind her back to unzip her dress and pull it down until it pools at her feet.
I leave her shoes on and her lacey white thong in place. The bra I unsnap with two fingers, allowing her breasts to spill over my chest. I should be used to their weight and feel by now, but like the rest of Becca, I can’t get enough of them. I knead her breasts and suck on the tips until most of the large pink areolas disappear into my mouth.
My tongue and teeth tease and stimulate. Becca shivers, her soft moans increasing as she clutches me tighter. “More,” she pleads.
It’s her favorite thing to ask when we make love and my favorite thing to give her.
I pull her off the door when she tries to kneel and take me in. “Not yet,” I tell her, leading her toward the French doors that lead to the second-floor terrace. “Soon. For now, I want to play.”
I lower her into the wide cushioned chair placed near the doors and just in front of our bed. She smiles impishly. “What are you up to?” she asks.
My grin and tone sizzles with lust. I spread my arms, giving her a very nice view of my naked form. “I’m already up and ready to go, darlin’. I’m just waiting on you to get going.”
I sit at the edge of our bed, watching her, taking in every sweep and curve of her light golden skin. My eyelids grow heavy as I grip my erection, relishing the delighted surprise in Becca’s features as I stroke.
My body shudders, inciting the raw hunger flashing in Becca’s gaze. One leg lifts, the heel of her shoe digging into the push white fabric. The other leg follows, her attention never leaving mine as she parts her legs wide. I try to concentrate on keeping my strokes smooth and even. Becca tugs the crotch of her panties aside and exposes her supple pink flesh, interrupting my focus and making me harder.
“Damn,” I rasp.
She passes her hand leisurely. “What’s wrong?” she purrs. “I thought you wanted me to get ready for you?”
“I’m not complaining,” I say, my voice hitching as we increase our speed. “Just looking forward to how hard we’re going to go at it.”
Becca’s eyes roll and her lashes flutter. “Hale . . .” she whimpers.
From one breath to the next, I’m lifting her hips and lowering them down to my face. The back of my head rests on the cushy seat and I keep her close against me. Becca uses the rear of the chair to keep her ba
lance as she pitches back and forth, struggling to keep her thong from getting in the way.
I end up tearing the thing off, not wanting anything to keep me from devouring her. She can’t take all the sucks and swirls. She comes undone, falling forward. I hang on to her, circling her waist and continuing my eager taste.
My deep moans vibrate against her skin, making her gasp and whimper and beg for more. Her hair fans across my lap, tickling my legs. I almost laugh. But when she adjusts her position and sucks me deep, I’m no longer laughing, I’m two pulls shy of roaring her name.
Both of us lose our damn selves in what we’re doing, each of us fighting to outdo and out-lust the other. This is a new position for us. But it won’t be the last time we use it. I flip her up and over, bending her forward and taking her from behind.
Becca grips the arm rests, my thrusts so delicious, wicked, and forceful, her hair bounces in tangled waves. Becca swears, over and over, the dirty and sexy talk spewing from her lush mouth exciting me and encouraging me to pound faster.
Her orgasms peak and crash, one after the other. But I’m nowhere near done. I turn her around, falling into the seat and planting my feet on the floor. I position her so her soles rest on my knees. Becca bounces and turns her hips as I thrust, each slide in and out accelerating our frantic efforts.
I expect to last longer. But between this position, her cries of pleasure, and the way the sounds of our lovemaking echo in the expanse of the large suite, I don’t. Not this time.
Becca wanted to forget about this day. I wanted her to only know the good we have and passion we’re just barely touching upon.
I spend the night showing her that I only want her to know love and kindness, now, and forever.
Chapter Twenty-One
Becca
Hale is on top of me, gripping the headboard to pound harder.
“More,” I beg. “Please don’t stop.”
I fasten my ankles around his lower back and drive him deeper. He doesn’t need my help; he’s doing well enough. Three orgasms in and another one building, I can barely speak, my body swimming with raw desire.
His speed quickens, giving me more, and more, and more.
We smile wickedly. This sex is hot! I should be pulling away from him to taste his rigid staff. But I take the passion he’s giving me and bask in it, enjoying the much-needed distraction and the unending bouts of pleasure.
He flips me onto my knees, positioning me so my hands grip the frame to keep me situated. His feet land on either side of my thighs as he crouches and increases the speed of his thrusts.
I unravel, allowing the tears of bliss to replace the ones that burned permanent scars yesterday.
I won’t attend the funeral. That’s what I told my cousin, Matthew, and his wife when they chased me out to the car. As much as Matthew wasn’t there for me throughout my life, he seemed to care enough about what Daddy said and what it did to me. For the briefest second, I thought he’d try to talk me out of it or maybe even insult me.
Bitch move, right? Not going to your own father’s funeral?
No, sometimes the bitch is the one dying bitter and alone.
They nodded. I drove away, wishing I didn’t sob the entire ride back here.
I drove along the wooded road, with the emergency brake still engaged. I wish I cared enough to release it, but nothing mattered then, except reaching Hale. Like I hoped, he was exactly everything I needed.
He clutched me in his arms, kissed my face, and allowed me to spill every bit of my misery. As much as I cried, those tears I shed for him, when he told me about his time with his brothers, were more important.
No. Hale is more important. He always was.
My core clenches around him, the spasms quivering my thighs painfully delightful.
“Fuck,” Hale curses, filling me.
The warmth and release he delivers makes me moan louder. “Fuck,” he says, again.
He slows his pace gradually. I wait for him to harden again as he strokes in and out. As wonderfully tender as I am from all our love-making these past few hours, I’m not quite sated.
Trin once told me sex can be healing. I never quite understood her until now. And, my, couldn’t I benefit from more healing?
I don’t expect my arms to be as weak as they are. Hale catches me when he pulls out and my grip on the frame loosens abruptly.
He draws me to him, kissing my neck. “You okay?”
I watch the way his large hands cup my breasts, my skin slippery from the perspiration gathered beneath them.
“You’re just what I needed,” I admit quietly.
My head is heavy from stress and maybe from more than I care to admit.
“You’re always what I need,” he whispers.
“Don’t make me cry,” I whisper, biting down on my lip. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”
The tears Hale causes are the good kind of tears, those I need so I don’t feel so vacant and alone. Maybe I should let them fall. But good and bad tears . . . I’ve cried them enough these past few hours. My well should have run dry by now. But there’s that misery, blurring my vision and threatening to split me apart in all those painful ways I don’t want it to.
Hale drags his tongue along my neck. He doesn’t tease my delicate spots, those still tingling and begging for his attention. That’s okay. The kiss that follows is enough and so is the way he touches me.
He lowers us to the mattress, straightening my legs when I can’t seem to find the will or strength.
My fatigue isn’t simply related to the past few hours, but perhaps to all those times with my family that aren’t worth remembering.
Hale props himself up, arranging my hair to the side when I don’t bother pushing it away from my face. Concern furrows his brow. He wraps us in a cool sheet and settles against me. It’s only then he speaks.
“I’m worried about you,” he admits.
“I don’t want you to be.” It’s true. Worrying about me and what my family said isn’t worth it. In time, with therapy and, possibly, medication, I’ll move on. I have to. This dysfunctional relationship with my family has gone on long enough.
He slides his hand down, ensuring that the sheet completely covers my back. “Doesn’t mean I’ll stop,” he replies.
“I know,” I whisper, smiling. “Which is why I never want to know life without you.”
Moonlight trickles in through the blinds, but dawn doesn’t feel too far away. I’m not sure what wakes me. I’m not cold. All I feel is warm and safe.
Hale’s arms cocoon me against him. His skin feels like silk, all the while possessing the strength of granite. I dip my head to press a kiss against his skin.
That’s when I hear it. Footsteps.
I gently shake Hale, a little harder when he doesn’t move. “Hale. Hale,” I whisper harshly.
He rolls on top of me and immediately positions himself between my legs. “Hi, baby,” he murmurs, kissing my ear.
I ignore pangs of need and the shivers his affections cause. “Hale, there’s someone in the house.”
His head lifts. “What?”
Something crashes downstairs. He leaps out of bed, yanking on his jeans. I gather the sheets against my breasts as he pulls out the gun he keeps in his nightstand.
“Stay here,” he orders.
I scoot to the edge of the bed, bunching the bed linens closer.
The door bursts open and Sean steps in, munching on a bowl of cereal. “Hey y’all,” he says.
“What the hell, Sean?” Hale hollers over the last bits of my screams.
Sean is clearly confused. “What?” he asks. “It’s not like we don’t know you’re fucking.”
Hale and I exchange glances as Rosie and Sam swarm in. Their tails wag and they’re panting, evidently excited to see us.
“Dem nice dogs you got here. They didn’t even bark when we came in.” Sean sits on the edge of the bed and takes another
spoonful of what might or might not be shredded wheat.
“We?” Hale asks.
“Mason’s here, too.”
“Hey y’all,” Mason’s deep voice booms from the hallway.
“He didn’t want me to come in. Said something about it being rude or in poor taste. I don’t know. Something like that.”
Hale mutters a curse. “Are you out of your mind?” He houses the gun back in its case. “I could have blown your fucking head off.”
I love Sean. I truly do. Those people you would give a kidney to if they needed one? Sean is one of those. But eloquence is not his forte, and there’re just not enough chickens left in that henhouse. Once more, he blinks back at Hale, confused.
“That’s not true,” he insists. “You’re a way better shot than that, Hale. Don’t you ever let anyone tell you different.”
What sounds like a little girl giggling in the hallway has me turning in that direction. Mason. Only Sean can make the big guy laugh like that.
Satisfied that his comments explained away his intrusiveness, Sean resumes his cereal eating duties. “I was real hungry, even after I ate that rotisserie chicken you had in there.” He lifts his bowl. “I hope you don’t mind, but I ate the last bit of your shredded wheat, too. It didn’t suck, but I’m not going to lie, it wasn’t great. I’m not gonna spend the rest of the day in the bathroom, am I?” He takes another bite. “That would really blow. There’s a fight later tonight I want to catch on TV.”
“Are you seriously going to sit there while Becca is lying here naked?” Hale demands.
“What? It’s not like I’ve never seen her naked.”
Hale squares his jaw. “Oh, yeah? And when did that happen?”
“It happened all the time. The five of us used to go skinny dipping back up at the lake.”
“You boys promised you wouldn’t look,” I remind him.
Hale and Sean exchange glances, frowning. “We were young, teenagers, and boys,” Hale says. “Did you really expect us to keep that promise?”
“Yeah, did you really expect that?” Mason calls from the hallway.