Page 44 of Fractured Destiny

“The stress.” I look at him through tears. “Thank you for being so great. I didn’t mean to pull you out of your recording session. When it happened, I didn’t think about it. You were who I wanted to call.”

His face doesn’t change much, but something behind his eyes shifts. “It’s good, baby, isn’t it?”.

“Yes.”

He called me baby.

The first time was at 4 a.m. in his bed in Belltown while my mouth was still wet from him. Today, he said it at the hospital when he thought I was losing my mind. Now, it probably slipped out.

I look at him.

His curls are flat from the rain and there’s a stripe of blood on the shoulder of his hoodie from Levi’s forehead. His green eyes are tired and filled with an expression I recognize.

He wants me as much as I want him.

Instinctively, I’ve known it, but organized it into small compartments to convince myself his affection is only directed at Levi.

Not tonight.

I lean into his shoulder. There’s no plan, my body naturally finds its way closer to his. His arm comes around me and I look up. He breathes in, holds it and releases.

I lift my face and my mouth is on his and I know before I make contact this is the wrong door but I open it anyway. His mouth is soft. His hand comes up to my jaw. Not to stop me.

To hold me in place.

God, he kisses me back. Once. Slow. Again. Then a third time, longer, and somewhere behind his ribs he makes a sound and my body answers with a moan.

Years disappear.

My mouth remembers his mouth. My hands remember his shoulders. His hand slides into my hair ,he falls onto the couch beside me and pulls me across his lap without breaking the kiss until I’m straddling him with my knees on either side of his hips.

Lake’s hands splay across my lower back. His mouth is on my neck.

I forget I’m a sober twenty-five-year-old with a son in the next room. I forget this man is my son’s father and his hoodie has our son’s blood on it and I sink into being with a man I’ve spent years starving for.

His hands are under my shirt. Something in me flips.

It’s not a decision. More like a train switching tracks under me and I don’t comprehend what’s happening until I’m on the other rail.

I slide off his lap onto the floor between his knees. It’s a whole practiced choreography and my body knows every step. Kneeling on the rug between his feet, hands on his thighs, thumbs sliding up the seam of his jeans, eyes up at him under my lashes.

I’ve done this a thousand times in penthouses and villas and on yachts and have made an art of it. My hands are already on Lake’s belt. Once it’s unbuckled and the zipper is down, my hand hovers at the waistband of his boxers. He’s hard and I have his cock out and in my mouth, swirling my tongue around the salty pre-come leaking from the crown.

Suddenly, his hands are under my arms. Not rough. Firm.

He lifts me off him back onto the couch beside him. He does this in one clean motion, tucks himself back in and zips his jeans and buckles his belt while I’m still trying to figure out what happened.

His breath is ragged. His eyes are wet. “No, baby.”

The word cracks something in me. I realize he’s not saying it as no. He’s saying it as not this.

I stare at him, shocked. Embarrassed. Humiliated.

“Come here.” Lake pulls me into his chest. My cheek against his hoodie. His hand at the back of my head.

I try to say something. My mouth doesn’t work.

“Listen to me.” Lake’s voice is rough. “I want you. I’ve wanted you for years. I want you tonight. Tomorrow. In a bed. Against a wall. In this pool house and anywhere you’ll let me have you, but I’m not gonna have you on your knees for me when you’re not fully present in the moment.”