“I’ll understand whatever decision you make. All I ask is two things. You stay until Leland is taken care of. And Judge doesn’t agree with me telling you all this, because he’s worried you’ll report us. I get it if it’s something you can’t live with, but for my brother’s sake and the sake of everyone who’s been hurt by these monsters or the ones who will be hurt in the future if they aren’t stopped, please forget this conversation ever happened.”
I’m not sure what will happen if she notifies the authorities. We’ve gained a lot of contacts over the years who we’ve used on several occasions to get us out of close calls, but if the right information gets in the wrong hands, things could end very badly for us. I just hope I’m putting my trust in the right person.
“I’ll stay. And you don’t need to worry. I won’t say anything.”
I release the breath I’d been holding on a painful exhale and sag back against the couch. I tighten my arm around her.
“Thank you.”
“How long ago did you find the last person from Sweet Haven?”
I stiffen slightly with her question, and it’s my turn to break my gaze away.
“Trouble?”
Clearing my throat, I slide my eyes back.
“Four weeks ago. That was why I went away that weekend.”
“When I had Elijah,” she deduces correctly.
“Yes. We were actually due back that Saturday, but Judge sent us to…” I stop and consider my words, but then decide to just give it to her plainly. “Take care of another problem. We were on our way back from there when I got the phone call from Susan.”
She shifts on my lap, resting one arm around my shoulders. I can practically see the wheels turning in her head as she contemplates something.
“What…” she pauses and purses her lips before. “What did they do?”
“Broke into a woman’s house and left her barely alive. He got off on a technicality.”
She frowns and nods sedately.
“Are you hungry?” I ask.
As if on cue, her stomach rumbles. She laughs lightly, but it’s not her usual light-hearted one.
“I guess I am.”
I chuckle, ready for the heaviness in the room to be gone.
Slipping my arm underneath her legs, I hoist myself up from the couch. Her feet touch the floor and her arms falls from my shoulders. Even though I instantly miss the contact, I grab her hand. “Come on. I’ll fix us some dinner.”
IT’S BEEN FOUR WEEKS since Remi had Elijah, and while most common practices dictate women should wait six weeks before having sex again, I say fuck that shit. If a woman’s body is healed and she’s ready, then four weeks will suffice.
I lay on the couch with her wedged between me and the back cushions.
Two of those four weeks, Remi’s been in my space. While that isn’t long overall, it’s been hell on my body and senses. Her scent is everywhere, and she and Elijah have things all over the house. Not is a messy way. A tooth brush and hair ties in my bathroom. Her shoes by the door. Her purse on the kitchen counter. Her paperback on the coffee table. Just little things. Things that I enjoy seeing.
Her and Elijah have been staying in one of my guest rooms, and every single night, I wish she was in mine. Sleeping under my covers, lying her head on my pillow, and snuggling her warm body against mine.
Instead, I spend thirty minutes in the shower when I normally only spend fifteen. I’ve jacked off more in the last two weeks than I did as a hormonal teenager.
The most we’ve done is heavy kissing and light petting, but I want more. So damn much more. It’s slowly driving me insane with how much more I want from her. I won’t push, of course. Her body may be physically ready, but her mind may not. Which is fine. I can wait. I just hope she stays around long enough for our relationship to get to that stage.
Regardless of how much I want to touch, taste, and devour her delectable body, that’s not the only thing I want from her. I want her mind as well. I want to know all there is to know about Remi. Her likes and dislikes, what her favorite foods are, what she was like as a child, her hobbies and pet peeves. Anything and everything.
She currently has her head resting on my shoulder, one of her legs bent and lying on one of mine, and her hand on my stomach. Every few minutes, her hand will move, and it’s torture. I want to shove her hand down my sweats until she meets my aching cock. I’m as solid as stone, and I know she has to notice it, since it’s in her direct line of sight.
Her shirt is pushed up a few inches, exposing a bit of her back, and I rub the flesh with my fingers. She lets out little breaths when I touch a sensitive spot. The TV’s on, and as far as I can tell, her attention is fixated on the screen. I don’t have a chance in hell in guessing what’s on, because all I can focus on is how close her hand is to my dick.