Hearts So Big (Timeless Love Series Book 3)

by Mj Fields

  I cover my mouth and cry into my hands.

  He glares at me as he turns and grabs the garden hose. Turning it on, he sprays himself off.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He lets out a deep breath, his back muscles tightening.

  I watch him turn around, my greedy eyes taking in the way his muscles move together with just a simple non-sexual move that makes my insides clench.

  He’s stunning.

  “You remember how much you wanna fuck me when I do this.” He turns the hose on me and sprays me in the chest.

  “Oh my God!” I cry out as the cold water hits my body that moments ago was on fire.

  “Turn the fuck around.”

  I do as he asks.

  “Shirt, Stella. Lose that and the shorts. You’re a fucking mess,” he snaps.

  I take off my clothes, and then stand nearly naked as I cry while he hoses me off.

  “Turn around and bend over. It’s all in your hair.” His voice is softer now, but no less severe.

  I turn around, one hand in front of my crotch, the other arm across my bra.

  “I should be so fucking pissed at you right now, you know.”

  My face scrunches up as I try to hold back my tears.

  “Bend over, Stella, now.”

  I see his bare feet move closer. I hate feet, but even his feet are beautiful.

  He sprays my hair as he slides his fingers through my strands. “This isn’t coming out.”

  He tosses the hose, and I look up at him as I blow the water off my face. My eyes stall on his erection then quickly move up to his eyes.

  “Don’t look so fucking shocked. You’ve been causing this shit since puberty,” he snaps.

  I hear a horn and look toward the driveway, seeing headlights on the garage.

  He holds his hand out, and I take it. Then, tucking me behind him, he keeps my hand in his and places it on his warm, hard abs as he walks toward the corner of the house.

  “Who is it?” I stop, and so does he.

  “It’s not your fucking boyfriend, Stella. That’s not my style. You’ll make the decision to tell him to fuck off when you get your head out of your ass. It’s Ox’s kid and my Jag.”

  “But your, um, penis.”

  “Like I give a damn.” He begins walking again.

  At the corner of the house, he lets go of my hand then holds it against his hard, smooth skin and whistles. “Thanks, man. Just leave the keys in it. Take a twenty out of the console for a cab.”

  “Sweet. Cool, man. Thanks.”

  He reaches back and grabs my other wrist, pulling me against him. A moan escapes me when he lays my hand flat against his body, and I feel his tense body relax.

  After a few minutes, he walks us to the door and releases my hands. “Go inside.”

  “Are you leaving?”

  He looks back at me and shakes his head. “But I damn sure should.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He turns toward me, body on full display under the motion light.

  I snap my eyes shut. “For hurting you.”

  “You hurt yourself. Be sorry for that.”

  I turn and try to open the door but realize the code is in my phone’s notes, so I turn back around and run into him.

  He grabs my biceps and steadies me. “This is your fucking house, Stella. You want me out, tell me, but don’t take off running again.”

  “My phone.”

  He throws his head back and laughs in agitation. “Oh, right, in case he summons you again.” He looks at me, eyes narrowed. “I’ve seen that thing. Trust me; I’m twice the man he is in that capacity, too.”

  I shake from the cold night breeze and from the sob I’m holding in.

  His eyes fall to my lips.

  I’m self-conscious about the pout occurring, and the fact that my bottom lip is sticking out even more, due to the fact I have unusually large lips, so I suck it in.

  “Still need that phone?” he snarls.

  I nod. “The door code.”

  His eyes widen, regret staining his face. “Fuck.”

  I look down, and he sighs. Then he reaches around me.

  “Seven,” he sighs out. “Three.” He grabs the back of my head and pulls it against his chest as the sob I was holding in escapes. “One, one, and nine.” He kisses the top of my head, and I lean into him. “Your birthdays.”

  My body shakes as he opens the door. He wraps his arm around me and lifts me as he walks us into the house. Then he turns toward the door, using my body to shut it, still not setting me on my feet. I pull my arms from between us and grip his shoulders. His free hand grips my ass as he lifts me higher. I wrap my legs around him, and he pushes against me. A sharp intake of air bites my lungs as he grips my ass harder. I hear the door beep when he locks it. Then he walks quickly through the house and doesn’t stop as he hurries up the stairs.

  My heart is racing. His breaths are shallow. I’m so fucking confused that this almost makes sense.

  When my ass hits something cold, I whimper. He turns on the light, and I open my eyes and lean back. He reaches over and turns on the sink before stepping away from me, grabbing my toothbrush and the toothpaste and squirting five times as much as is needed on it.

  “Open.”

  “You’re going to—”

  “Open your damn mouth, Stella.” He hooks his thumb in my mouth and opens it wider. Then he brushes my teeth.

  I feel like shit, like a terrible friend, a cheat, a—

  “Spit.”

  I lean over toward the sink, and he pulls my hair back as I spit.

  Wiping my chin with the back of my hand, I look back at him.

  “Open.”

  Four … four times he brushes my teeth, and it would have been five had I not turned away from him.

  He grips my chin and turns me to face him.

  I close my eyes, unable to see the hurt in his eyes, knowing I caused it.

  “You need to stop seeing him.”

  I squeeze my eyes tighter.

  “Open your eyes and look at me, Stella.”

  I shake my head.

  “We care about each other. We’ve always cared about each other.”

  He lets go of me and, when I hear the water running, I open my eyes.

  “I can do this myself,” I whisper.

  I’m not sure if he heard me or not, but he takes my hand and pulls me against him. Then he lifts my chin with one finger and leans in. His mouth hovers less than a hairsbreadth above mine. I feel his hot, sweet breath against my skin and close my eyes. I lift my mouth to his, our lips grazing, but then he pulls back. I open my eyes to see his are wild and feral as he looks me over.

  Unexpectedly, he turns me around so that I am facing the mirror, splaying his hands across my belly as he barely touches my ear with his lips.

  “I’ve dreamed of kissing those lips, Stella McCarty, but tonight is not the night.”

  I feel his other hand run up my back, and then I feel my bra unclasp.

  His eyes never leave mine in our reflection as he pushes the strap down one shoulder and then the other as I pull my arms free. Now I stand nearly naked in front of him, feeling his cock against my back through his boxers as he kisses across my shoulders, left to right.

  “You are so fucking beautiful. Christ, your nipples are the color of your lips.”

  I put my hand over his and run it up my body, intent on letting him touch them, wanting so badly for him to do so. But he stops me and takes my hand, turning me like a ballerina until I face him.

  “Bathe, Stella.”

  I let go of his hand, my eyes never leaving his, and then I hook my thumbs through the sides of my waistband and start to pull them down my hips.

  He covers my hands. “Not a good idea.”

  Shit … Right. I have my—

  “If those lips match these”—he rubs the pad of his thumb over my lower lip—“I’m going to lick you until you’ve come so much that you’re fucking dehydrated.” At that, he s
teps back, taking my hand as I step into the water.

  I sit down in the warm water and groan at the heat against my extremely sensitive skin.

  He detaches the showerhead from the top then kneels. He pulls the lever so the bath stops running from the tap and now from the showerhead. He begins spraying my hair. When he’s rinsed it, he turns the sprayer off then fills his hand with shampoo and uses both hands to massage it into my scalp. I close my eyes and listen to his heavy, slow breaths as he rubs my scalp.

  After he rinses my hair, he applies conditioner. While it sits, he uses the sponge to wash my body. Even though he avoids all the spots that I want him to touch the most, I have never been so turned on. And it’s not just in a heightened sexual way. It’s almost spiritual.

  When he takes the sprayer and turns it back on, I turn my head forward, expecting him to rinse my hair. However, with his other hand, he grips my inner thigh, causing me to gasp before he moves the sprayer between my legs. I cry out in pleasure.

  “Shh …” he whispers in my ear.

  “Aaron,” I whimper as the force of the jets intensify.

  “Look at me,” he says.

  I lean my head back, and he pulls my leg farther away from the other. The intensity of the water causes me to arch my back, my head falling to his shoulder.

  “Kiss me,” I plead.

  He pushes down my waistband, his finger sliding down until it’s almost there, his eyes boring into mine. “We were fourteen when I last spent the night at your house. I watched you do this.”

  Embarrassed, I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “Tell me what got you so fucking worked up that you had to sneak out of your room and shower in the middle of the night so you could get off.”

  When I don’t say anything, the jets hit my clit.

  “Oh God.”

  “Tell me, Stella,” he demands as he moves the jets away.

  “You, dammit!” I cry out desires hidden for years. “You!”

  “What about me?”

  “Please,” I nearly beg as I reach to redirect the stream of water.

  “What. About. Me?”

  “Everything!” I yell at him as I pull the showerhead from his hand and hold it so I can make myself come.

  “Look at me, goddamn you!” He wraps his hand around mine but doesn’t pull the showerhead away. He moves it closer.

  I open my eyes.

  “You may have just realized how much you’ve always wanted me, but I fucking jerked off damn near every time I stayed over as I watched you sleep.”

  “Aaron!” I cry out as my body jerks, and then I feel the electrical pulsing in my core and try to pull the showerhead away, but he holds it still as my orgasm takes over and I thrash beneath his control, spilling water over the edge of the bathtub.

  “It’s always been you. It’s always been me. It’s always been us.”

  13

  Stella

  Whore, slut, infidel, fraud, cheat …

  In one day, I have become something I’ve always despised; judged others for even. It makes me sick to my stomach … like alcohol as of late.

  I lie on my side, my back to his chest, as I silently cry, mourning my morals and cursing my heart that is now splitting into two pieces. One side that had loved Elijah and one that loved Aaron.

  He tightens his arms around me as if to comfort me, even in his sleep.

  He’s always been magnetic. You couldn’t be in his presence without wanting to get closer, just needing to feel the energy he gives off. He had a way of blanketing you with his warmth … if you allowed it.

  I didn’t allow it when I realized how much it hurt Elijah.

  Elijah.

  The way Aaron made him feel was evident. He wished he could be aloof, carefree, or in Elijah’s words, “Not give a damn about losing a company, all the employees losing their livelihood, his family, or even his own mother.”

  Elijah grew to despise everything about Aaron that drew everyone else closer to him. He grew from a quiet presence into a hidden storm. A storm that I was the only one he said could quiet the pain.

  He needed me. And then, I needed him.

  All through high school, he had been beside me. When Aaron was out fucking half the student body and acted like he didn’t even know us, Elijah was beside me.

  Elijah became agitated and angry whenever Aaron would try to talk to me, and he’d quietly remind me that Aaron didn’t care about me any more than he did his dead mother or murderous father.

  When Aaron came back into our circle by way of his attraction to my best friend Natasha, Elijah seemed to accept it. When my father became ill, Elijah and Aaron seemed to mend fences. With years between then and now, an ocean between us for the majority of that time, clearly something has changed.

  I just don’t know what it is.

  I need to know what it is.

  Tomorrow, I silently think as I yawn and finally find sleep.

  I wake to the sound of the old window unit air conditioner and an air purifier Aaron had put in my room, saying it was to take away the smell of the paint fumes.

  His arms aren’t around me. I should be happy about that. Happy that he left, leaving me to wallow in my self-pity.

  “Stupid girl,” I sputter as I push myself up in the darkened room.

  When I walk out of the bedroom, I hear saws, hammers, and laughter.

  Aaron.

  I quickly make my way to the bathroom to make sense of my hair, which is no doubt a mess. Curly hair girl problems are real. After wetting and combing my mess of hair, I braid it before jumping in the shower. I nearly die when I see the showerhead on the shower floor. Returning it to its rightful place, I start the water.

  When I finish, I peek out the crack in the bathroom door, thankful that whatever the hell is going on downstairs is still going on. Especially since I forgot my clothes and only have the tee-shirt that I slept in to dry off with.

  Standing in my room, I step into a pair of khaki shorts, throw on a bra, and then pull a tank top over my head. Then I turn, look in the mirror, and sigh. “Definitely not de la Porte.”

  I see the door open in the mirror’s reflection and yank the tank top down quickly.

  His smile creeps up slowly then the shine resonates in his eyes, too.

  “Do you never knock?” I try not to sound annoyed or offended, but I fail miserably.

  Tapping on the doorjamb with his knuckle, he says, “Knock, knock.”

  I shake my head, roll my eyes, and try not to think it’s adorable, but it is. “Who’s there?”

  “Honey bee.”

  “Honey bee who?”

  “Honey be a dear and come with me. I have something to show you.”

  Damn him and his smile. His magnetic energy.

  He holds up a scrap of fabric, pushes himself off the doorjamb, and then slowly walks toward me. “I’m going to have to blindfold you first.”

  “Um, hell no.” I step back, but he steps forward. “For all I know, you could be taking me down there to saw me apart.”

  “Now, why would I do that when I’m hell-bent on making you see how good it feels to be happy with one Stella?” He grabs my hand and twirls me, pulling my back to his chest. My breath escapes as he splays his hand across my belly to hold me in place.

  When I regain the ability to breathe, I ask, “What makes you think I’m more than one Stella? Just one person here.”

  “I know who you are, where you belong, what you deserve and, right now”—he covers my eyes with the fabric and ties it behind my head—“you’re blinded by questions.”

  I muster up enough courage to say, “Then answer this one.”

  He turns me around and pulls me tight against him. I feel his sweet breath against my face when he says, “You can ask me anything you want.”

  “Did you love Natasha?”

  “I adore Natasha. She reminded me of someone. But love her? In love with her? No.”

  “You spent a lot of time with her and asked her
out, like, a million times.”

  “True, but it was at someone’s diligent prodding and pushing.” He turns me back around. “And, at the time, the only thing that kept me close to someone else.”

  “That’s shit, you know,” I huff as he begins guiding me forward.

  “Never said I didn’t fuck up, but I won’t again.”

  “Aaron, I don’t think you understand—”

  “One step at a time.” As he says the words, he sweeps me up and starts walking down the stairs.

  “Yet you won’t let me walk.”

  “Let’s get through this first.” I feel his breath closer to my face. How does he smell so … edible all the time? “Then it’s all about you figuring out what you want.”

  My feet hit the ground, and then he takes the blindfold off.

  “What the …? What?” I gasp as I look around the kitchen, at the floors that are laid, at the sink and light fixtures that have been installed, and at the new granite countertop. Then I turn and face him. “How on earth did you do all this?”

  “Don’t give him all the credit.”

  I look toward the old toy room. “Hey, Ox.” I smile, but my emotions get the best of me. I look back at Aaron. “I don’t understand.”

  Ox laughs. “Your old man was owed a lot of favors. The pretty boy here wasn’t gonna let us forget it.” He winks as he pats my back, and I turn around to look at him. “You come from good people.”

  Aaron walks behind me as we walk around the downstairs. Every floor has been replaced, and the kickboards are all nearly installed by a handful of guys. Three I recognized from the ferry.

  As Ox introduces me, I pretend not to know them. I mean, Moana?

  Each of them has a story about a ticket Dad helped them get reduced, a night they called him for a ride, and two had family members he helped find after the towers went down.

  They are adamant that I don’t need to pay them, which is good, because I’m broke, but I would have given them an IOU.

  Aaron disappears for a bit while I’m talking to this crew of people, who clearly have respect for my father. When he reappears, he hands me a cup of hot tea.