“No. Ican’t.” The tears start and fall freely. “I’m—I’m barren, Malcom. I’m broken. A waste of a woman. We tried, me and Trevor, for years. I thought—well, I asked him, begged him, to see a doctor. There’s so much science and technology now, to help women like me. But he never…we never did. He didn’t want anyone to know that we were struggling. So we tried in silence, for months and months, and I—I failed him, Malcom.” I bury my face in my hands, shoulders shaking. “I should have told you. I wanted to spite you. To punish you. But I can’t anymore. It feels so wrong. You need this. You need a child. And as angry as I am with you, I can’t lie anymore.”
He’s utterly silent. I can’t bear to look at him. To witness his rage, his disappointment—the same way I witnessed Trevor’s for so long.
“I’m worthless,” I choke out, tears spilling down my cheeks. “I’m sorry, Malcom. I can’t be what you need. I’m not a woman.”
“Don’t you dare,” he growls, and I look up in fear. “Don’t you ever say that again.”
Malcom’s face is murder, his jaw clenched and eyes full of fire. He paces away from me, back taut with barely-controlled rage, hands in fists. My heart pounds. I don’t know what to make of it.
“Did he say that?” Malcom asks me. “Did that bastard tell you you’re worthless?”
My heart clenches. “Yes,” I admit. Something I’ve never admitted to anyone. “That’s—it’s why he left me.” My legs are weak again. I back up and sit on the bed, trembling. Cold.
“I’ll kill him.”
I jolt. “Malcom…”
He faces me in the firelight. “You are no less of a woman. You’re…” He shakes his head. “We’ll find a way.”
“But you need a child,” I say, not understanding. “I can’t give you that. All I could ever offer you is…me.” The tears burn in my eyes. I’m reliving every inch of the shame I experienced while Trevor and I tried. “You deserve someone who can give you everything.”
Malcom crosses the room in three long, powerful strides, pulling me to my feet and into his arms. His mouth catches mine, and the hunger and gratitude that swell within me are enough to knock me down. But he holds me, my face cradled in his hands as he bends me to him and kisses me with unbridled passion.
I clutch him to me, wrap my arms around his broad, powerful shoulders. His skin is burning, vital, hot. He’s so alive, and when he touches me like this, I feel alive too.
He scoops me into his arms and delivers me to the bed, his body angled above me.He wants me still? Knowing the truth?
He doesn’t want me just for a child.
He wants me even at the cost of a child.
I recognize that the gratitude in me isn’t just gratitude. That my want isn’t just want. Beneath years of separation, beneath my anger and grief, I still feel something for Malcom Walker. Impossibly, improbably—some part of me is still in love with him. And clearly, some part of him is still in love with me.
His hands are deft and urgent as he strips my nightgown, pulling it over my head. I’m already fumbling with the fastening on his pants. His rough hands unhook my bra and toss it aside, and I gasp as he lays me back, hungry mouth seeking my jaw, my neck, my breasts. I arch my back as his lips find my nipple, sucking softly.
I moan, desperately exploring his powerful body. I slide my hand beneath his boxers, wrapping it around his already hot and stiff cock. His hands strip my underwear, fingers sliding between my thighs, finding me already soaked for him. I cry out as he plunges a finger inside of me.
I’m liquid, every nerve ending electric as his tongue circles my nipple. The pleasure is shocking. Overwhelming. I feel super-human, aware of everything around me. I plant my palms on his chest and force him back, climbing on top of him. His hands are rough on my hips. He looks up at me in wonder, with hunger, eyes lit from within.
I bend and kiss him hard, trailing my mouth to his rough jaw, his neck, his chest. Electrified, suddenly a more courageous, daring woman, I drag my tongue down the ridges of his abs, not stopping until I find the hot length of his cock. He grunts as I take him into my mouth, his hands threading through my hair. I savor the taste of him, the delicious steel of his desire. He tightens his fists in my hair, controlling my head as I take him in and out, swirling my tongue around the tip of his cock.
“Fuck, Emma,” he groans, body tensing. He sits up, pulling me into his arms and laying me flat on the bed. “You’re driving me crazy,” he growls.
“Good,” I say back. I can’t think straight. I can’t think past how badly I want him, how badly I need him. I grip his hips, guiding his cock between my thighs.
His voice is rough and low. “You’re sure?”
“Fuck me,” I say, mine ragged with want. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him down to me, running my hands through his curls as his mouth meets mine. His tongue slides deep past my lips, and I savor the way his body fits with mine.
His cock slides into me slowly, sending a flood of electricity through my body. I take him in deep, arching my back. He bites my lip, kissing my chin, my jaw, as he begins a smooth, slow rhythm. His mouth traces my collarbone, seeks my breasts again. I moan, my pleasure unchecked, as he sucks my nipple. His thrusts are smooth and deft, but I want harder. I want control.
I flip him so I’m on top, his eyes wondering as they take me in. I brace myself against his shoulders and begin to ride him. Trevor never liked it this way. And when I was young, I didn’t know how to do it. I’ve only dreamed of this, imagined taking control, moving only to the rhythm of my own pleasure.
And God, does it feel good. He roughly strokes my breasts, pinching my nipples softly as I lift and drop my hips, taking his cock fully. My moans rise, uncontrollable. I arch my back, my movements becoming desperate, almost frantic. He hits me just right, his wet abs rubbing me deliriously.
“Fuck,” I gasp, clutching him as I bounce my body, his rough hands electric on my breasts. My cries are arching higher, his cock penetrating me so deep, so delicious—
I come so hard I see white. I hear myself as if from a distance, my screams ricocheting off the walls. He groans, big hands gripping my hips, holding me in place as he thrusts his cock harder, harder, his own climax coming in the same instant as mine. Our tandem pleasure echoes through Rosehill, unchecked, careless, passionate.
