Cease (Bayonet Scars Book 7) (15 page)

I bend down so our faces are level, my lips trail kisses up from the base of Jim's throat to his chin and up to the corner of his eye. Jim isn't Mike, and he isn't Ian's dad. He's not any of the awful men who came before him. He gave me a job, a place my boy can settle in, and friends. Jesus, Jim's given us both so much. I can't repay him. No matter how hard I try, I won't ever be able to. So instead of trying, I let my touch tell him everything I can't.

"My kid's mom was some whore I'd see when the club would make it down to Oakland. She was pretty, but the kind of pretty that has to try too hard to be pretty." I don't know why he's telling me this, much less choosing now to say it. I like him sharing, though, so I just listen and watch as he strips me of my shoes and then my jeans and finally my socks. "There were girls in school I liked. Usually the mouthy ones who got in trouble. I can't remember any of their names."

Jim kisses his way up my foot to my leg and up to the inside of my knee. He lets his eyes fall, so focused on what he's doing, moving so slowly. Every single touch is like a lightning bolt to my heart.

Gripping me around the back of my thighs and pulling me closer, Jim's breath is hot against the fabric of my old, worn panties. They're not special or attractive. I didn't plan on this, or I would have put more thought into what I'm wearing.

"There were others." His breath is like a whisper to my core--a promise of what's to come. Gently, he places a kiss right there. It's just over the material, but the heat bypasses it and ghosts across my skin. With every word he speaks, my core heats and dampens even more. I didn't think I could want him more than I already did.

"I don't remember anything about the girls in school. I couldn't even remember Ryan's mom's name until the social worker showed up with him."

The conversation is decidedly not sexy, but the way his fingers grip the waistband of my panties, the way his hot breath warms my skin, and the roughness of his voice is the sexiest thing I've ever experienced.

Jim slips my panties down my legs, leaving me exposed. I've never reveled in being so vulnerable to anyone before. But this is Jim, and I love him. I want to show him all of me--even the ugly parts.

"You were wearing tight jeans that hugged your ass perfectly and a black tank top that still gets me hard every time I see you wear it," he says. My head swims, but he doesn't explain. Instead, he grips my thighs again, holding them tight. He dips his face to the apex of my thighs, his nose skimming my soft curls.

I suck in a deep breath as his tongue jets out and slides along my folds. My head falls back, my eyes close, and I do my best to stay in the moment. Jim's tongue laps at my folds and skims through to my bud. I reach out and thread my fingers through his hair, holding it tight as he works me over. My arms and legs tingle, my core beats dramatically in rhythm to Jim's licks. His other hand reaches around and kneads my ass. A single finger traces the center line of my ass and dips between my cheeks. I don't want ass play, but I can't bring myself to say it. My lungs are already straining to suck in enough breath to keep me from passing out, but my fear turns out to be for nothing. His finger skims past my ass and beneath my cheek, then around my outer thigh and to my curls. His finger and tongue work together to create the most beautiful buzz that spreads throughout my entire body. His tongue and lips at my bud, sucking and lapping. His finger circles my pussy and then slowly slides inside. I gasp and try to catch my breath, but it's no use. Jim slides another finger into my wet pussy, teasing me relentlessly. In and out. Again and again. The throbbing builds, becoming more demanding, needing a release. My limbs burn hot, desperate to just let go already, but I can't. I want to, but it's not happening. Jim's ministrations falter just a moment before he changes positions and moans into my folds, creating a blissful sensation that quickly spreads to my legs and torso and even to the tips of my toes. Everything disappears for a moment as I lose myself to my release.

"Your hair was down. You were tired and nervous, but so fucking gorgeous," he says. I try to let his word sink in, but he's pulling me in his arms and carrying me to the bed. My legs are still shaking from the power of my orgasm, and my head is still swimming. I pry my eyes open in time to watch Jim as he sheds his clothes. For a man who drinks as much as he does, his body is incredible. All taut muscles, accented by tanned skin and tattoos. He has surprisingly muscular legs and a six pack I don't expect. Jim is, of course, stupidly handsome with a great body, but it's his eyes that have me biting my bottom lip in anticipation. Gray eyes that he gifted to his son stare down at me as he grabs a condom from the bedside table and then lowers himself to the bed. The tearing sound from the opened wrapper draws my attention to the apex of his thighs. I gulp at the sight of his hard dick. He's long and thick and pretty much everything a woman could ask for. It juts out from his body at the perfect angle. I don't even realize I'm rubbing my tender thighs together until Jim licks his lips and offers me a soft smile. It's almost shy even. Something that is so not the Jim I know and is endearing enough to somehow make me want him even more.

"You asked me why," Jim says. He rolls on the condom and parts my legs. He runs his hands over my thighs. His eyes darken as he guides himself to my entrance, but he pauses before even touching me. He has his free arm holding his torso off my body. The cords of his arm muscles are so close that I take the opportunity to place a kiss to them. His strong arms that lift our boys up, that keep him upright on his bike, and carry my groceries from the car to my kitchen are so important to who he is--to what he does--hold him above me. And I love these arms for what they do.

"Because I love Ian the same way I love Ryan. Maybe that's fucked. I don't know, but I do. I love that kid, and I want to give him better. I want to give him a family."

I don't have time to absorb what he's just said because he's sliding into me, inch by glorious, tight inch. All I can think is that we're a perfect fit, he and I. And he wants to give my boy something he's never had before. Beyond a family, he wants to give him a dad. It's so big and epic that I might cry from the feeling of him filling me up both physically and emotionally.

Once he's buried himself inside me, he stills and looks directly into my eyes.

"I barely remember my son's mother. Spent almost a year hooking up with her. One look at you and every single detail is etched into my brain. That's why. Because even if you didn't want me, you're it for us."

He starts moving, slowly at first, before picking up the pace. He feels incredible inside me, even with the barrier between us.
Us
. He said,
You're it for us
. He's not just thinking of himself but of Ryan as well. Of course he thinks of Ryan, but the confirmation is enough to accelerate my heart rate. Noticing my reaction to what he's said, Jim slides a hand between us and finds my clit. He puts the faintest amount of pressure on my swollen nub and makes a circular motion. It's slow and glorious, but he's sure to pick up the speed little by little. My toes curl and legs spasm. I grab hold of his ass and squeeze, encouraging him to pick up the pace. What was once smooth, calculated movements becomes frantic and desperate with need. I'm making noises that should embarrass me, loudly and without apprehension. He's slamming into me with a force that might hurt if he wasn't hitting all the right spots. My nails dig into his flesh, leaving more marks, signs that we were together.

"That good for you, baby?" Jim's gasping for breath, his words broken.

Yes.

"I love you."

Once I've said the words, I want to take them back. More than anything, I'd like a do-over. Jim doesn't say anything. He just keeps going, but harder now, more furious. His free hand twists at my clit, sending me over the edge. I'm gasping for breath, desperate for the coming euphoria. My body is so tight I think I might snap in two, and then, just like that, the dizziness settles in and I'm floating on cloud nine. It's even better than the first one, because now Jim's following suit and falling apart above me. And when we're done, we lie like that, with him inside me, and no desire to clean up. I do my best to relax and enjoy the moment, but like an idiot, I told him I love him.

Just when I think he's fallen asleep, he slides out of me, kisses me, practically devouring my mouth, and then pushes off the bed. Pulling the condom off, he tosses it into the trash can near the bed and stands in the doorway to the en suite bathroom.

"Gotta shower and then get home, babe." With that, he disappears into the bathroom and turn on the shower. I wait for a moment, unsure of what to do. Moments drag into minutes, and my anxiety spikes. I don't know what Jim meant when he said I'm "it" for him and Ryan, but he sure as hell didn't return the sentiment when I told him I love him. He just continued to fuck me. He might like me, might like fucking me, and might sure as hell like how I take care of his boy, but he doesn't love me. And that's now painfully obvious.

So I run. Like an embarrassed fool, I run out of the room half-dressed and looking for my boy. I'm careful to be quiet as I scoop him up from the chair he's fallen asleep in in the chapel and even quieter as I sneak us out of the clubhouse. Thankfully, it's a short walk to the apartment, because he's nine now and that means he's not really a little boy anymore.

Even though Jim says he wants to give Ian a family, he just broke me in the worst way. It should be a dull sort of agony, but it's not. It's a sharp pain that burns and grows from my heart out through the rest of me. This was a difficult but necessary reminder that I can't count on anyone else and I'm the only one Ian can rely on.

CHAPTER 14

Somewhere in my subconscious, I recognize the sound of a lock clicking and the squeak of an opening door. I can't bring myself to move, though. I should, but I don't sense any danger--at least that's my excuse--so I try to drift back to sleep. It's Ian with the bathroom door, I'm sure. He's gotten better about waking up in the middle of the night if he has to pee. Moments later, hot breath ghosts against the back of my neck, which doesn't help me in the whole getting back to sleep thing. My kid has this thing about going pee and then being wide awake and chatty as fuck. It sucks, but it's just part of the glamorous life of a parent. I settle into the mattress, ignoring the way it dips behind me, and fight to keep my eyes closed. If Ian knows I'm awake, he's going to start talking to me.

As it is, he's probably staring at the back of my head right now, just hoping I'll give myself away. I love my boy, but holy crap do I not want to try to carry on a conversation first thing in the morning. It was hard enough to get him to sleep tonight. He couldn't stop talking about his birthday party and everybody who was there, but most of all, he wouldn't stop talking about Jim. He asked me twice if I thought Jim was nice and if I thought he would stay. Both questions broke me. I don't have an answer to either. Instead of lying to my boy, I just kept giving him candy and random snacks we have around the house. I didn't score any points for mom of the year today, that's for sure. The kid pokes me in my back, and when I don't respond, he does it again. And again. It's a good thing I love this kid, because he's one persistent little jerk sometimes.

"What time is it?" I mumble when I realize that the kid isn't going to go back to sleep. Knowing my luck, he's thought up some kind of new theory about how the Power Rangers came to be, or some other nonsensical shit like that, and he just
has
to discuss it.

"Almost two." The voice is deep, much too deep for my just barely nine-year-old son. I tense up for a moment before the voice speaks again, telling me to relax. It's like a shot to my soul.

Jim
.

Everything I felt earlier, from the pure ecstasy of our lovemaking to the embarrassment of being rejected so soon after, rushes forward, and I want to just bury myself in the blankets and hide. He pulls me against his body, making it impossible for me to get away. I don't fight him. Instead, I just lie there and stew. I'm still half-asleep and trying to figure out what's going on here. Ian's birthday party--that Jim threw. Really hot, sensual sex--with Jim. Saying I love you and being rejected--to and then by Jim.

Motherfucker.

And now I'm awake.

"Jim," I say slowly as my brain finally wakes up. Jim Stone is in my bed. He's spooning me. In my bed. In my apartment. My apartment that I didn't invite him into.

"Babe." It's a statement, not an answer.

"You're in my apartment. At two in the morning."

"Yeah, I know. Listen, we gotta go. I already grabbed some of your and Ian's shit."

My brain is awake now and going a million miles a minute. What the hell does he mean by that?

"Don't ask me any questions. I can't answer them, okay? But we have to go. Do you trust me?"

God help me, but I do. He might have broken my heart, but that doesn't mean I don't trust him. I'm probably an idiot. Slowly, I nod. I can't bring myself to freak out even though I probably should. Maybe freaking out is something normal women do in this situation, so maybe this makes me not normal, but I trust that Jim wouldn't drag me and my boy out of bed in the middle of the night for nothing.

Pulling myself out of the bed, I'm conscious of how I move, careful not to kick my kid. Wait, where is my kid? I'm so tired and half a step from whining, but my mom-gene kicks in, and none of that matters if I don't know where my boy is. When I put him to sleep, he was right beside me. Jim would be worried about Ian, though, wouldn't he? He wouldn't just open the door and let him walk out? I shake my head, dismissing my own crazy. He's nine, and he doesn't sleepwalk. He's fine. I hate being woken up. It's bad enough being woken up by a kid who's way too peppy for his own good every morning, but at two a.m.? No and fuck that. Clearly, my inner drama queen is on high alert when I'm woken up at inappropriate times.