Evolve Series Box Set (109 page)

I leave a despondent, tongue-tied Sawyer on the opposite side of the door as I slam it in his face, propping a chair under the knob before throwing myself on my bed. “Sorry,” I apologize to my stomach for the crash landing and roll on my side, tucking a pillow under my cheek.

The door’s rattling against the chair as he attempts to get in. That’ll only hold him out for so long, he is a practiced burglar after all. I figure I’ve got about ten minutes, tops, before he’s lording over me.

My phone dings, incoming message, and like a glutton, I pull it up. It’s a video, so I push the play icon, despite knowing better. “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” our Elvis song, fills my empty room with its melodic plea.

Where was this heartfelt attempt weeks ago when I quickly sucked back my tears every night when he snuck into bed? My life is not my own anymore and I can’t allow it to be toyed with! More angry now than hurt, I march to the front door, tossing the chair to the side and flinging it open. There he stands in worn out jeans, a plain gray tee and a hopeful, desperate smile.

“I can’t lose you, Shorty. I just can’t.”

His eyes, his honest, tender, blue eyes, resign me to at least listen, so I step back, letting the fully open door invite him in for me. I turn and go sit on the couch as he shuts it and follows me.

“Emmett,” he drops to his knees in front of me and takes both my hands in his, “I swear to God, on my life, I didn’t touch her, and I didn’t know she’d be there. I felt like a low life, so I went to the trashiest place I knew, and low and behold she was there…you tend to find rats when you hang in trash cans. And the davra? I promise you, Em, it’s just a coincidence. I didn’t know you meant you didn’t ever want it. But now that I do, it’s gone, babe.”

“I like the nipple ones,” I mumble, looking around and not at him.

“Then they stay.” His chuckle is fleeting, immediately followed by a loud sigh. “Em, I got lost. All I wanted to do was step up and be the man who deserves you, who can take care of our family. Baby, I got so busy, then tired, and worried, that I forgot the girl I was doing it all for needed to be loved first. I don’t want you in a bar full of assholes who think they can touch you. I don’t want our family dependent on Dane. I want you to be able to finish school. God, Emmett,” one hand leaves mine to try and fist his hair that’s still not long enough, “I got so obsessed, so hell bent on making everything perfect, that I ruined the only thing that was already perfect—me and you, together.”

“How do I know you won’t get scared again and shut us out? Are you going to run back to the dump every time things get hard? Why couldn’t you talk to me about it? One day we’re in love, the next we’re strangers. I can’t set myself up to be hurt like that again.” I drop my head and inhale the scent of him, not a great idea when trying to resist, but exactly what I need to calm myself, every emotion in me firing off at the same time. “I can’t take it, and a child certainly couldn’t. We’re not your job, your burden, or your responsibility. We’re either your choice, your have to have, your die without…or we’re not.”

“You are,” one hand brushes my cheek, “you always were. I need to be able to control our future, be sure, like Dane. He could buy Laney anything she wanted, private schools, vacations, backyards and fucking ponies. You name it. Our baby, our family, deserves no less.”

I cover his hand with my own, sliding my fingers in between his. “You know what’s wrong with that theory? Dane always loves Laney first and foremost. Neither one of them care about his money. I have no doubt he’d give away everything he has and live on a deserted island with her if she asked.”

“No way,” he shakes his head emphatically, “without the empire he couldn’t be so controlling and possessive. He’d lose his power and be miserable, using all his time and energy to get it back.”

My sweet Sawyer. He grew up poor, with no worldly possessions, unloved and unhappy, so he equates all that as one big meshed cluster. He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Sawyer, first of all, there is a big difference between being controlling and possessive and making your woman want to be controlled and possessed. You had that part mastered, and if you have that on point, it doesn’t matter if you’re a pauper. And what about those military papers? Are you doing that?”

“No. I went and saw the recruiter on Thanksgiving. I thought it’d be the best way to make sure I had a job, housing for you, insurance. But I’ve have to leave you for six weeks of basic.” He shakes his head and looks to me. “I’m not sure what the right plan is after I’m done with school, what degree is best, where we’ll need to live for whatever jobs we’ll have…but it’s not that plan. I told them no.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, glad that’s settled. He’s right, I have no idea exactly where we’ll be in a year, or ten years, but I’m relieved it won’t be with him in the military, possibly at war, perhaps never coming home. I don’t have what it takes to be a military wife—they’re way stronger than me—I’m just not made that way.

His head nods slowly up and down, his processing of all that’s been said close to visible. Lost in thought, his thumb strokes my cheek as gradually, he drops his head until it rests on my stomach. “Emmett,” he whispers.

“Hmm?”

“Do you still love me?”

“Sawyer, even if I live to be a hundred, I’ll love you ‘til the day I die. But I don’t plan to spend that time convincing you to love me back. I want to be loved by a man that I have to spend my time convincing myself he’s real. I had it once, although briefly, and I won’t ever be happy again with anything less.”

His arms wrap around my waist, holding onto me in tight insecurity. “Em,” still a whisper, “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. Tell me you love me. Please, Shorty, tell me we can be good again.”

I bend my head down and place a soft kiss on top of his. “I love you, Sawyer. I never stopped, and I never will.”

“But?” He knows me too well, hearing words I don’t say.

“But I need you to take some time, all the time you need, and make sure you’re sure. There will be no next time like this. You hurt me. You scared me too,” I admit, my voice cracking. “You left me. Maybe you were here physically, but my Sawyer left.”

“I promise—”

“No, not today. You take that time to be sure.”

“But I don’t need it.” He lifts his head, watery blue eyes boring into mine, touching his forehead to my own. “I may not know exactly what I’m doing all the time. You’re my first and only go at love, Emmett, I’ve had no practice on how not to screw up. The only way I know how to give all I am to one person is the way I am with you. So, babe,” he draws back his head to beg with his baby blues and words, “I’m kinda a work in progress, but I’m your work in progress. Only yours, ever, forever.” He rubs his nose along mine, his long eyelashes tickling my cheeks as I sigh upon his skin. “I don’t want to be away from you, Em. I don’t want to miss another thing.”

“I didn’t say you had to leave. We’ll start over, see how it goes. Even if I only ever get my friend back for sure, I want you around, ‘cause God, I missed you.” The dam breaks and there’s a full facial flood. “I missed you so much, Sawyer. Some days I could hardly breathe, and every day was an endless blur of lonely.”

“Never ever again, Emmy, I swear. We’ll eat macaroni and live in the fucking box, as long as we’re together and you’re smiling. I love you.” He kisses my nose, chin, cheeks, before hovering over my lips. “I’ll show you, Mama,” he whispers. “I promise. I love you.”

I meet him in the middle, placing my lips to his. “I hope you do.

CHAPTER 30

Our Christmas Story

***Sawyer***

Christmas’ appeal for me has always been the break from school, nothing more. I have never bought a woman a present and avoided mistletoe at parties like it was a sport. So to convince my Shorty I’m in it to win it, this year I’ve gone all out.

I cut my hours at work way back, thus I’m in bed every night before she falls asleep. In the mornings, I don’t so much as leave the bed to piss before she’s awake beside me. And she’s only shaken me awake from one nightmare, where I dreamt the Christmas tree caught on fire. Which is really quite possible, since I took her to a live tree farm and got the granddaddy of all spruces, so big we had to trim the sides with scissors and take a five inch chunk off the top. It’s topped with a big ass bow instead of a star, covering the large dent.

All afternoon I lifted her up so she could decorate the top half of said tree, with ornaments and decorations we also had to go buy since neither of us owned a single one. Someday, though, we’ll hold our grandkids up to the branches and point out fifty-year-old keepsakes.

Yeah, I went there.

Exhausted from fighting the Christmas Eve crowds, tonight I drive through and get her favorite takeout and some new release chick flick to watch. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking before, or how one disappears so far into their own head, but I live again for my evenings with Emmy. When I think of all I missed, off in douchebag-trapped-in-his-own-fears land, I want to severely kick my own ass.

When I get home, the front of the house is dark and still, but light shines from under the bathroom door. I set down our dinner in the kitchen and decide to make my move. Since we’re still on “trial period,” Em hasn’t done anything more than give me a few kisses, so to say my libido is in homicidal range and my dick is massively depressed would be a gross understatement. So the chance to sneak in and catch a glimpse of naked, wet Em in the bath? No brainer.

With the steady hands of a thief, I ease open the door enough to watch her in the mirror, undetected. Goddamn but she’s lovely, her head back against the tub, her eyes closed, a hum on her lips. The bubbles taunt me, clinging to her breasts, showing me only the rounded crests and a hint of one baby pink nipple. Her legs are stretched out, feet on the ledge, tiny toes begging to be sucked. And that sweet little pregnant belly? It turns me on, so fucking sexy, and thoughts of keeping her like that as often as possible cause me to grin.

I can’t take it another second, lowering a hand to the buttons on the fly of my jeans. It takes too long to get all five undone, my left hand bracing me against the wall. Zoning in on the perky nipple totally revealed to me now (God bless gravity and the inconsistency of bubbles), I maneuver my right hand into my briefs. Pushing them down some and grasping firmly around my groveling, lonely cock, I thrust into my own hand.

Unaware of her admirer, she shifts in the water, displacing the remaining bubbles perfectly. Now I can see both full, glorious breasts resting just above the water. I imagine them in my mouth, stiff nipples scraping along my tongue, as I pump my cock faster. Fuck, I miss the feel of her warm, tight pussy around me, contracting and relaxing in devilish tandem with the orgasms I give her. Without knowing, she puts on the most seductive show, letting her legs fall more open, and I barely catch the growl that’d give me away.

Eyes now glued to the somewhat underwater, distorted V between her luscious thighs, I swipe my thumb through the bead of cum on my head and spread it up and down my shaft. Yearning for release, consumed by the sight of her, I grope up and down with the fierce grip and speed of all twelve pistons firing. I know it won’t take long, it’s been forever since I’ve touched her, so I force my eyes to stay open despite the urge to let them fall closed and get lost in my grossly overdue undoing. 

She moans lightly as she succumbs to the hot water, slumping further down and brushing her wet hair back from her face. I clamp down on my lip, painfully so, as to not groan with her and alert her to my pervy presence. The second her little tongue comes out and glides achingly slowly along her bottom lip, I’m done, hot ropes of semen shooting from me, saturating my hand. I relish in it, continuing to jack myself off leisurely now until every ounce is unloaded and my breathing evens back out.

Awkwardly, I back out of the room with my cum-covered hand and open fly, praying I don’t bump into anything. When I know I’ve cleared the bedroom door, I turn and race to the kitchen, putting myself back together and washing my hands.

I begin plating the food and pouring our drinks, whistling as innocently as possible. It definitely eased the threat of backed up spunk-induced insanity, but enflamed the longing to be inside her again. I want to feel her soft, sweaty skin under me, on top of me, to hear the moans and whimpers that only I can pull from her. I miss our tongues entangled, fighting for control as I surge into her and she screams my name and digs her nails into my back. Even more so, I miss holding her afterward, her head on my shoulder, her hand petting my chest as her contented sighs tickle my skin. I miss knowing she’s in love with me and that I can have her anytime I want, her wanting it just as badly.

She lets me put an arm over her waist when we sleep, but she doesn’t scoot further back against me. I’m allowed to rest a hand on her tummy, but she doesn’t cover it with her own. She smiles when I read to the baby, but she doesn’t rub my head methodically while I do. I know she’s afraid that I’ll get scared again and bolt, but I don’t know what the ultimate grand gesture, the one that knocks down the whole wall all at once.

“Hey,” she smiles as she steps around the corner, hair damp and dressed in a short white robe, “when did you get home?”

“Not too long ago. You hungry? I got your favorite. And,” I hold up the box, “some ovaryfest for your viewing pleasure.”

“Sounds like the perfect night to me!” She beams, stretching up to give me a kiss on the cheek. “Let’s eat on the couch and watch the movie. And thank you.”

***Emmett***

“Sawyer?” I whisper in his ear. “It’s morning. Merry Christmas.”

“Mhmm,” he grumbles as he rouses himself, firming his arm around my waist to pull me against his chest. “Merry Christmas.” He kisses my forehead blindly, eyes still closed. “What time is it?”