"Take everything off." My voice is more gravelly than I've ever heard it, the need for him inside me like a tidal wave of longing, and it scares me to feel so deeply so quickly. Struggling out of my clothes, I'm breathless, and watching John remove his jeans and underwear steals the last air from my lungs. He's stunning, in a way that a Viking would be. Strong from his bones outward, a force to be reckoned with. A contradiction of a man, with the frame of a warrior and the heart and mind of a protector.
He lifts a handful of my curls, letting them slide through his fingers like sand on a volcanic beach. He trails his hand down my neck, mapping the bones and tendons beneath my skin, cupping my flesh as though he's weighing my soul. The air crackles with intensity, and I'm trembling with it. When he's looked his fill, he asks me to turn over, helping me until I'm resting my head on my arms. Again, he strokes over my body, lingering on my ass, the roughness of his palm grazing the tender skin there. Everything about the way he touches me feels reverent. "You're beautiful," he says. "I don't get it."
"Get what?" I push my hair out of my eyes and strain to look at him.
"Why the father of your child isn't holding you tight and never letting go."
"He's not like you," I say, a lump building in my throat. "He's not like any of you."
The slide of his hand up my spine seems aimed at soothing me. "It's his loss." John leans in to kiss the base of my spine. "And my gain."
Nudging my legs open, he reaches down, fingers parting me until he finds my clit, stroking it slowly as he continues to press hot kisses over my back. I want to wiggle from the pleasure, but something about me being in this position makes me feel the need to be still. It's like I'm an instrument, and he's playing me, rubbing, and strumming until he hears the required sound. Oh, God. I moan a quiet whimper that causes John to huff out a breath. "You're wet," he says. "So wet."
"I'm ready," I say because I am. So ready, I'm certain he's going to be slipping and sliding to get inside me.
I don't know what I expect from John, but I'm shivering with anticipation by the time he kneels between my thighs. When he lowers himself over me, it's like being covered by a warm weighted blanket, and when his cock nudges my entrance, I'm practically begging him to do it. Fuck me. Hold me. Make me feel it.
And oh, he does. The stretch of his big cock is exquisite, and the way he holds me against him, gripping my hair in that perfect way that adds a little bite of control, makes me close my eyes with pleasure. I'm so lost, drifting in the space between hope and reality, and it's beautiful. He tells me everything I need to hear; how good I make him feel, how amazing I am, how if we believe it can work, everything will be perfect, and for a while, I believe him. All we have to do is try. Open our hearts and hope that nothing but love and affection is returned.
There's a purity in John, an almost innocence that contrasts with the fierce grip of his hands and unbelievable strength that vibrates through every muscle and bone in his body. Maybe he could hold me tight enough that I could trust him. Maybe John and his brothers could be my anchor.
And as I come, my mind slides over that hope, drifting and drifting.
It's only when I come back down to earth that all the flickers of doubt in myself and everyone around me start to return.
20
It’s the day before Hunter and Harley’s big birthday bash. They’re going to be twenty-two. Reggie and Gordon approach me in the morning, asking if I’ll help them organize the party. It’s the first time they’ll be following the family tradition since Dad died, and I think they’re finding the prospect daunting. Not the organization, as such, but more the idea of celebrating without the man who brought them all together and taught them how to be the family that they are.
We head to Main Street to pick up the large foil number balloons they always get and some shiny silver banners. In the food store, they find the ingredients to make a big chocolate fudge cake, and pancakes too. Apparently, birthday buttermilk pancakes are a big tradition, served with maple syrup, bacon, and blueberries. Even in my slightly nauseated state, they sound delicious. Dinner will be pizza, ordered in from their favorite pizzeria, but we need chips and dip and other small party food and a keg of beer.