Relent (Sydney Storm MC 1)

It was me.

“I know what’s holding me back.”

“What?”

“Me.”

“Huh?”

I sighed. It was so stupid I didn’t even want to tell her. “After my mother slept with Kick’s father and the shit hit the fan, everyone in the neighbourhood called her a slut and then they called me a slut. They said I was just like her. I was sixteen and had never even had sex, and yet they were spreading all these nasty rumours about me. The girls at school bullied me and I lost pretty much all my self-esteem. I never felt good enough. I never felt like anyone would want or choose to be my friend after that. So, when Kick chose not to introduce me to his friends when we were dating, all the insecurities I thought I’d put behind me flared up, and I felt like I wasn’t good enough.” I paused and ran my hand through my hair. “Shit, Maree, it was me all along. My stupid negative self talk that I didn’t even realise. And I’m supposed to be a fucking counsellor.”

“Oh, babe, don’t beat yourself up about it. We all have hang-ups and blind spots. At least you’ve figured it out now,” she reassured me.

“Yeah,’ I murmured, and then said, “Shit, sorry, I hijacked the conversation. What did you ring for?”

“No worries, babe, I was just calling to see if you wanted to go out for a drink tonight?”

“I might pass. I’ve gotta sort some stuff out with my dad, and now I think I want to talk to Kick.”

“Sounds like that might be a good idea.”

“I’ll call you and let you know how it goes,” I promised, and we hung up.

A noise came from behind me and I spun around to find Kick standing there, his intense gaze on me.

“You still love me?” he asked gruffly. His shoulders were rigid and his breathing shallow while he waited for my answer.

My heart beat faster in my chest and my tummy fluttered. “You heard all that?” I whispered.

He nodded. “Yeah, baby, but answer me. Do you still love me?” The fierceness in his voice turned me on and made me want to crawl into his arms and beg him to be mine forever.

“Yes,” I said, finally admitting out loud what I had been denying for so long.

He took that in but didn’t say anything else for what felt like ages, and then he shoved his fingers through his hair, messing it up more than it already was. The energy between us vibrated with want and the frustration we’d both been feeling for too long. And then he stepped into my space. One arm slid around my waist and his other reached up to cup my cheek. He brushed his thumb over my lips in the way he’d always liked to do, and he murmured, “I’ve always loved you and you’ve always been good enough. Fuck, I’m the one who’s not good enough.” He stopped talking for a minute and his eyes left mine to look down at my lips. When he returned his gaze to mine, he said, “I wish you’d told me how it made you feel. I didn’t keep you out of that part of my life because you weren’t good enough. I did it because I didn’t want to drag you into that shit.” He bent his face closer to mine so our lips were almost touching, and my core clenched at the closeness. “You’re too good for it, baby,” he whispered.

I pressed myself into him and wrapped my arms

around his body, loving that my hands were on him again, after having denied myself his touch for so long. A growl rumbled up from his chest and heat flashed in his eyes. And then we both moved at the same time.

Our lips met and it was like everything was right in my world again. This was exactly where I was meant to be in this moment.

With Kick.

The man I’d loved as a boy when he used to let me ride his bike because I didn’t have one.

The man I’d loved as a teenager when he took on the mean girls for me, and wiped my tears away when I didn’t feel good enough.

The man I’d loved at eighteen when I gave him my virginity and he treasured that for what it was.

The man I still loved for so many reasons, but mostly because he got me. He knew all my hopes, fears and flaws, and loved me regardless.

My mouth parted and his tongue slid in.

Possessive.

Demanding.

Loving.