by Ivy Fox
Three months ago, I would have jumped at the chance to go down south. I mean, Florida in the summer, what’s not to like? Gorgeous skimpy-dressed women, with a twang in their accent and a sass on their hips, looking for a good time and a bad boy to give it to them. I’d have been all over this trip three months ago, even if my dick wasn’t making the decision. Seeing my folks and getting pampered by Ma while shooting the shit with Pa is as good as it gets. Good food, good company, and so much sun, I’d get a year’s worth of vitamin D. A run like this would have made me do cartwheels if it landed on our laps.
But that was before.
Before Hope.
Now, just the thought of leaving her hurts something awful. And it’s not just because I don’t want her to think we’re abandoning her or something. It hurts because I won’t be able to see her every day. I won’t be able to touch her or make any excuse I can think of to make her smile. I won’t be here to see her body continue to change in little ways as it has been doing lately. A new curve here, a light freckle there, getting rounder and more womanly with each passing day and looking all the more gorgeous for it. I’ll miss it all. And she’s come so far from the girl we found on our doorstep, too. It’s as if they are two different people now. She’s no longer quick to give a snarky remark to anything I say, and her laughter comes easier now. There’s a light in her now that was missing when we found her. So fucking bright that it almost blinds you, still you can’t help but stare and marvel in it. I should feel pride in knowing that I had a hand in pulling that glow out of her, but a dread tightens my chest instead. What if because of me not being here, making her smile every day, she regresses somehow? Or worse, what if she finds someone else to light her up from the inside? Someone else to make her laugh like I do? To take her out on a Friday night and take her breath away with just one kiss? What if we go to Florida and when we come back, our Hope is gone?
“FUCK!” I yell into my pillow. These fucking thoughts are going to drive me insane.
Snap the fuck out of it, Cam!
Who the hell are you? A teenage girl on her period or something?! The fuck?!
I need a drink. If sleep is hauling its ass, then I guess I just need to give it a little push. Drinking into oblivion ought to do it, instead of torturing myself with thoughts of a faceless man messing around with my girl and stealing her away from me. No, that shit will just guarantee that I stay awake all fucking night and be dead on my feet in the morning. I’d rather be hungover, thank you very much.
I get out of bed and walk over to the dresser to at least put on a pair of boxers, since going commando into the kitchen isn’t a good plan. It’ll probably piss Michael off if he’s greeted with my bare ass, that is if he’s even able to come back home tonight. I step into the corridor, but before I even take a step, I hear a small whimper coming from two doors down the long hallway. I freeze in place, trying hard to decipher the sound, and then I hear it again, only the low weep is replaced with an agonizing cry coming from Hope’s room. I run like the wind and kick her door in, ready to decimate whoever is hurting her, when I see my girl lashing from side to side on her bed, drenched in sweat, with a pained expression so gutting that I feel it ripping my skin off my very bones. I lay beside her and take her in my arms, holding her in a vise grip, swearing at whatever demon that has its claws in her to let her go. I rock her back and forth, and her arms wrap themselves around my waist, her nails piercing my skin, drawing blood out of me. I continue to soothe her, not minding one bit any ounce of blood shed since I’d probably cut myself limb from limb if it would ease her suffering.
“Shh, darling. It’s only a bad dream,” I coo into her hair, stroking her back lovingly. Her eyes, filled with tears, start to open slowly, and I try to clear the watery traces from her stricken face.
“I’m not there. I’m not,” she hushes, still shaking madly in my arms, stuck between reality and the nightmare which torments her.
“It’s okay, love. I’m here,” I breathe out, hoping my presence can cast out the devils at her side.
“I’m here.” I kiss her forehead, wondering if I have ever felt this helpless before. In a fight, I can cut any man down. You can be as big as a house, have twice my brawn, but I got speed and wit. Everyone knows I’m a cocky fucker, but that’s just because I have good reason to be. Since before I took my first steps, my pa taught me everything he knew about how to cut a man down to size and have fun doing it. I’m the unexpected threat no one sees coming. I joke, and I play around, making you believe I’m the last man in the room you’d think would put a bullet through your skull. The look of surprise on those fuckers’ faces is priceless. Never judge a book by its cover, I always say. Fighting off a living, breathing enemy is easy. Fighting off whatever has got Hope strangled into a fearful mess, well this shit is eating my insides out.
Her long lashes start to open more, and there is recognition in her teary gaze. Her arms travel to my neck and her hold on me tightens, as her whole body presses on mine, awakening parts of me that have no business being up at this hour.
“Make me forget, Cam. Just make me forget,” she says, and the tortured look in her deep brown eyes slices me into tiny pieces.
I do the only thing I know how to do, to make what she’s feeling go away. I lower my head to hers, and I kiss her. And the moment my lips touch hers, I know I’m in way over my head with this woman. She takes my mouth eagerly against hers, pulling my lower lip into her mouth, her wanton moan provoking my own, taking the air out of my lungs and replenishing it with a fevered breath. She holds onto my shoulders, her nails biting into my skin, clawing away at my outsides as much as she’s stripping my insides bare with one little kiss. She gives me a few seconds of air but quickly robs me of oxygen when she pulls my hand and places it on one of her breasts.
“Jesus Christ!” I murmur in her ear, and my lips attach themselves to the crook of her neck. My tongue is loving the taste of her skin, and my hand greedily massages her plump, soft breast. I must be dreaming, in my bed after all, since this is a fucking wet dream to have her in my arms, melting into me, her clothed pussy rubbing against my imprisoned cock, teasing him for his release.
“Make it all go away, Cam. Please.”
Hope doesn’t beg. Hope is anything but a beggar, so to hear her pleading, I ignite. Wanting to be the kind of man who would battle all her demons away from her with a fiery sword and cut them down, one by one. I’d rip them open with my own hands and slice them into confetti so she can pick up her worries and blow them in the wind. She clings to my neck with one hand, playing with the short hairs on my nape, while the other leads my own to acquaint itself with every valley and curve of her body. When she stops at her still-flat belly, filled with the innocent life I know she will protect to her death, I vow to do the same. No nightmare, imaginary or real, will get in the way of this baby’s happiness. She must sense my unspoken promise as she continues to guide my hand down further and take me to her swollen lips once again.
“Hope,” I whisper, frantic with lust and this feeling of adoration. This woman has been able to get inside my skin so fast and so suddenly, that I feel like I no longer control the wheel of my own fate. I should stop. I need to stop and not do something that we will both regret in the morning, even though every fiber of my being says there will never be anything to regret with Hope.
“Please, Cam,” she continues, adding to my inner struggle to do the right thing.
I can make her forget whatever ghost haunted her for a little while longer, without having to give myself up. At least, not until I can make sense of all of this.
“Shh, darling. I’ll make it go away, love,” I tell her as I run my fingers over her soft cotton panties, while plunging my tongue, yet again, in the softness of her mouth. One little touch to her center and I can tell straight away how damp she is, even over the fabric. We’ve only just kissed, and already she’s wet enough for me. God, that only amps up my own cock to go hard as a rock. I pull her panties to the sid
e and strum her plump clit with soft, gentle strokes. She lets out a small cry into my mouth, and I eat it up, craving every sound she sings.
“Oh, God!”
“Oh, God!” she sings, and its music to my ears.
“Does that feel good, darling?” I ask, keeping my tempo on her quivering clit and adding two fingers into her aching core. I’m met with warm, wet, tight bliss, and my dick curses me every name in the book that I’m making him take a knee on this one.
“Yes!”
“Tell me how good it feels to have me inside you?”
She rolls her eyes to the back of her head, and I take this small opening to lower my own to her breast. She’s still dressed in her white tank top, and I could easily have both breasts bare and in my face if I wanted, but instead, I bite one pointed nipple over the fabric and suck my way through it, as I manage to add another finger to her opening. Immediately, I feel her clamp down hard on my fingers, and her whole body does a quick, trembling shiver.
“Cam, I’m going to cum!” she whisper-yells at the same time her orgasm rips her in two. Fuck me if it isn’t the most beautiful thing I’ve seen. Her cheeks a beautiful hue, her forehead damp, her eyes focused on the fireworks around her. Nothing has ever looked this stunning to me before. It steals the thunder from under me, and without her even touching me and with my fingers still inside her, I cum with this sight alone.
Jesus Christ!
Her forehead falls on my chest, and I brush her hair away from her face, cherishing this new sated smile on her lips.
Her best smile yet.
“Thank you,” she whispers and cradles next to me, holding me tightly, fearing I might disappear if she doesn’t. Within seconds, her breathing is even, and I can tell the night has stolen her from me into its dark embrace once again. I wish I could follow her into her slumber, but I know if I fall asleep with her in my arms, I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to leave in the morning.
I pry myself away from her, and look at my broken angel, sleeping blissfully now. I should feel good that I was able to erase her pain, even if only for a few minutes. I should feel rewarded that she let me do this for her. Yet, what I feel is cheated, since I think I just gave her a part of me I wasn’t ready to give.
When I place both feet on the ground and stand up to leave, a shadow looms in Hope’s doorway. A shadow that must have heard Hope’s cries and came to comfort her just as I had. I’m not foolish enough to think he didn’t see everything that went on, but Gabriel’s reasoning for staying probably means I’m not the only one who has given Hope more than they bargained for. His eyes are still glued to her when I walk past him by the door. I’m not known for being speechless or out of things to say, but what can a man say in this type of situation?
It’s clear as day we’re all falling for her, and that does not bode well for our sanity. I start to make my way to my room, forgoing my previous notion of getting myself drunk, since no amount of alcohol will wipe away the image of Hope in my arms reaching her own personal nirvana, but I take a quick look back, just in time to see Gabriel cover her with a blanket. I stay locked in place looking at my mountain of a friend as he gently sweeps Hope’s hair to the side, away from her face, and leans in to place a gentle kiss to her forehead. My chest tightens as if it’s being held by an iron grip, squeezing my heart out of its place. I was able to free Hope from her worries this night, giving her the tranquil rest she deserved, but in doing so, I now know two things.
I think I might be falling in love with her, but I’m certain Gabriel already is.
Chapter 20
Hope
“So this is what you’ve been up to?” Aurora asks as she steps foot into the kitchen. I give her a wide berth so she can take in all the changes I’ve made. Butterflies swim in my belly at the thought of what the boys will think when they come home and see what I was able to accomplish. I took some of the pay George had given me under the table and went all out in modernizing our home. I mean their home. Whatever. It doesn’t matter.
The house needed some love and attention, and with all the spare time I had on my hands with the guys being on their trip, I put my hands to good use and went at it. First, I pulled out the old-lady wallpaper in the kitchen and in the living room, as well as the ugly brown carpeting. I was happy to discover that beautiful hardwood floors lived under it. With some sanding and varnish, I was able to create a flooring masterpiece. Moving the furniture to one of the extra rooms wasn’t so hard since the living room only had one small couch and round center table. I think Cam’s mom took most of the furniture down with her, thinking Cam would buy his own stuff, never imagining he would keep the house so bare after all these years.
I painted the walls white and hung three portraits I had found in a flea market in town one Saturday morning, that reminded me so much of the men of the house. It was a set of domineering angel wings, painted in such vibrant colors that it demanded everyone’s attention. And the fact that it was divided in a set of three large rectangular frames made it even more perfect for me.
I was able to also purchase a whole new living room set, with large grey chaise lounge and another loveseat carefully positioned to the side. But this little purchase wasn’t as inexpensive as my flea market bargain. When I stepped into the furniture store one afternoon after my shift at George’s, my initial intent was to look at cribs. Although I might not look to be in my second trimester, the reality is that I am, which means baby furniture is on my list of must-have items. But when I saw the sleek living room set on sale, I found myself bargaining with the manager to give me a three-month plan so I could take it off his hands that same day. I even got a bookcase out of the deal, which fits nicely to include Cam’s books, since a TV cabinet was out of the question. I did look to see if I could add some baby furniture while I was at it, but nothing the store held called to me since most of it screamed girl’s room—and I know deep in my bones, this little guy is definitely a male.
The kitchen was harder to update. I couldn’t touch the plumbing, of course, although every time I turned on the faucet the pipes would screech out. But the real eyesore was the dull brownish cabinets that stared back at me every morning when I came in to eat my breakfast, and every evening at dinner. Then a miracle happened, and it came from the most unexpected source. I got a whole new remodeled kitchen, and I have Mabel to thank for it. After complaining about not knowing what to do to spruce the kitchen up, one Sunday morning she just showed up, with George and five other men behind her; later, I found out they were their sons who owned their own construction company. Before I could even get a word in, they began to tear down the kitchen and built it back up from scratch, putting in marble countertops, smooth white and black tiles on the walls with egg-white shelves and doors to match. The dark grey floor in contrast to the white just made everything pop. It was a thing of beauty. Modern yet homey, if that’s even possible. I was so overwhelmed, I think I actually had tears in my eyes. Mabel told me to consider it an early baby shower present, even though George warned me that if I complained to her that I needed something else, he’d probably be back here again with his boys on his only day off. I promised I’d keep my mouth shut as my own thank you to him.
“You think the guys will like it?” I ask, nervously wondering if maybe I’ve overstepped. If anyone can give me a clue and put me in my place, Aurora will definitely be up for the job.
“I think they’ll love it. This dump needed a woman’s touch, although this is definitely more their style. But why all the fuss with how the boys’ home looks? Thought you were looking at apartments in town for you and the little youngling? Change your mind?” she asks, her sculpted brow almost reaching her raven hair.
“No, I didn’t change my mind. I’m still looking. Just haven’t found anything that I like or that’s in my price range,” I reply, going to the fridge and getting the pitcher of fresh lemonade I’d made this morning.
“Well, nothing is going to be in your price range if you keep spendi
ng your money here instead of saving it for a down payment, as you should be,” she responds, but I don’t hear the scolding in her voice, just the concern.
“I just wanted to do something nice for them, Aurora. Show them how much I appreciate them, that’s all,” I tell her, placing two cups of lemonade on the kitchen table and taking a seat.
“Oh, I can tell you a much better way to show them your appreciation, and it wouldn’t cost you a dime,” she singsongs, taking her seat next to mine.
“Stop that, Aurora.” I scowl, taking a sip of my drink, but her words have already soured my mood.
“What? Struck a nerve, did I? I see how you look at them. And everyone who has eyes in the front of their faces sees how they look at you. The sexual tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife,” she goes on, slashing the air away in front of her like she’s some sort of karate expert.
“Rory,” I warn again, using her family nickname, which seems to do the trick as she starts to shift in her seat from side to side.
“Damn Joe and his big mouth. I’ll shut up. Still, the house does look good,” she adds, this time I see the prideful look shining through.
“I just woke up one morning and felt the need to do something, you know. Spruce things up. I read in the baby books that it’s called nesting. The word kind of makes me feel like I’m some sort of bird or something,” I joke, but my cheeks warm, thinking about how Gabriel called me his little bird once.
“I’m happy for you, Hope, but I see a lot of hard work done on your own. I don’t want you to exert yourself. You have been taking those pills I gave you, haven’t you? High blood pressure isn’t a laughing matter, especially for a woman who’s pregnant,” her worry heightening every word accompanied by her disapproving frown.
“I’m fine, Aurora. The baby’s fine. We are both fine,” I say rolling my eyes at her overprotectiveness. Always the mother hen.
“Fine,” she mocks me.