by Whitley Cox
He wasn’t sure if that was worse or not. The fact that she was being so sweet and understanding, not bombarding him with questions or I told you so. Or maybe she was quiet because she was upset and getting ready to quit. He’d been a complete ass before he left the house, and she had every right to up and leave with no notice. Nothing but a middle finger over her shoulder as she went on to change and enrich the life of another family.
They stepped outside into the pouring Seattle rain. The fog had settled in as well and lent the early morning an eerie and ominous feel. A rather poetic thought for his current mood, which was dreary, muddled and all around fucked up.
Where had she parked? He didn’t want to drive home without her. He didn’t want to be without her.
“I’m parked over here,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction of where his truck was. “I’ll see you at the house?”
The house.
Not home.
The house.
Fuck.
He nodded. “Yeah, see you.” Then, like the dumb fuck that he was, he carried Sophie to the truck, clicked her seat in, then walked to the fence that separated the hospital property from that of a commercial building next door. He punched a wet panel as hard as he could, sending damp splinters flying and causing the board to snap in two.
He climbed into the truck behind the steering wheel and lifted his bloody hand in front of him. The pain was a welcome distraction from the agony in his chest. The storm inside him that just would not pass.
Would it ever get easier?
He turned on the ignition, tossed it into first gear and peeled out of the parking lot, only to see Isobel standing there on the sidewalk watching him.
She’d seen the whole damn thing.
Fuck him.
24
“Here,” Isobel said, handing Aaron a bag of ice cubes wrapped in a kitchen towel. “For your hand.” She placed it over his knuckles as he sat in his La-Z-Boy recliner and stared at the empty hearth. “When you’re ready, let me bandage it up for you, please.” She didn’t wait for his answer and instead took off back into the kitchen.
They’d arrived home at roughly the same time.
Isobel had taken charge once again with Sophie, getting her out of her car seat without managing to wake her up and putting her back to bed in her bassinet.
It was still dark out, and the clock in the living room said three in the morning. They should both really try to get some sleep.
Aaron wouldn’t be able to fucking sleep if he tried.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there staring blankly ahead, but when a lowball of amber liquid over ice entered his line of vision, he jumped.
Had he been sleeping with his eyes open?
Wouldn’t be the first time.
Normally he had better senses than that. Tuned into his surroundings and the people around him. He hadn’t heard her in the kitchen getting ice, hadn’t heard her sneak up on him.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Figured you could use one,” she said, her voice gentle. “That hand of yours has really taken a beating over the last while. First beating up those creeps from the bar, and now that poor defenseless fence.” She snickered. “Defenseless fence … ha ha.”
He took the glass and drained it, letting the liquor slide down his throat into his gut and numb his rage. The afterburn was a pleasant reminder that contrary to how he often felt most days, he was in fact still alive and kicking.
“Everything okay?” she asked, having sobered from her corny joke. When she sat down on the coffee table across from him, he felt a calmness surround them. She was open to hearing whatever he had to say. Unlike him, who constantly had his walls up, she had let all of hers down and was willing to listen. Her smile was small but warm, and her soft eyes encouraged him to confide in her.
He couldn’t.
Some shit he couldn’t talk about.
The rest he didn’t want to talk about.
He didn’t want to talk about Colombia or the Velasquez family.
He didn’t want to talk about Dina and how he was fucking up everything with Sophie.
For fuck’s sake, he should have known better than to take a preemie baby into an ER unless she was coding or had a temperature over one hundred and three. Now, if Sophie did contract something and got sick, he’d never forgive himself.
Child protective services should just come and take her now before he really fucked up.
Isobel’s gaze bounced down to where their knees were touching, and she casually moved hers to the right so that they were no longer against his. She set a bowl down next to her, then took his hand from beneath the bag of ice and ran her fingers over the cuts and bruises.
Aaron winced. He refused to look at her. “It’s fine.”
“I can clean it up for you, bandage it if you’d like. Just like you did for my finger.” She held up the finger she’d cut from trying to open the beer bottle with a knife a few weeks ago and wiggled it. “See, good as new.”
Her hands were so soft, so delicate and feminine.
He fought the urge to thread his fingers through hers and instead grunted and pulled his hand away. “I’m fine.”
Why was she being so nice to him when he’d done nothing but treat her badly?
He didn’t deserve her kindness, didn’t deserve her patience.
He didn’t deserve her.
Nodding, pursing her lips and exhaling a clear huff of frustration, she stood up. Her hands fell to her sides and her shoulders slumped, fatigue noticeable in every move she made. “Okay then, if you don’t need help with your hand, then I’m going to go to bed. Let me know if you need anything.” She made to walk past him, but Aaron’s arm shot out and his hand landed on her belly before she could retreat. He splayed his fingers out, his pinky wedging beneath the elastic of her pants.
He knew he shouldn’t.
He wasn’t in the right headspace. Wasn’t thinking clearly, wasn’t in a good mood. But fuck, he needed to be in a better mood. He needed to feel something besides the rage and grief that were threatening to consume him.
She must have understood, because she didn’t step away. He could feel her pulse beneath her skin, her breath in her abdomen. Slowly, he trailed his hand down her stomach, pushed it beneath the waistband of her yoga pants and panties and past the small patch of hair.
Her whimper and slight parting of her legs had his cock surging in his jeans.
Two fingers explored her folds. She was slick in no time. He flicked her clit, and her knees wobbled.
“Aaron … ” she breathed, clenching around his fingers when he pushed two inside her channel.
“Sit on my face,” he murmured, removing his hands from her and sliding down to the floor into a sitting position. He helped her out of her hoodie and pants until she was in nothing but a light pink tank top—no bra—and nothing else.
Her nipples were diamond-hard, and a slight shiver ran through her as he took her hand and guided her over him. He reclined down and waited for her to position her cleft over him. She did. Warm drips of honey fell on his lips as she seated herself on his waiting mouth. He lapped them up, grabbed her ass cheeks, brought her pussy down to his tongue and demanded more.
“Oh God.” Her fingers threaded their way into his hair, and she tugged. “Yes.”
Yes, this was what he needed in order to forget the rest of the world. This was what he needed to clear his head. He needed to get lost in a good woman, in an incredible woman. She would exorcise the demons from his mind, banish the fury, replace his bloodlust with a lust of a different kind.
Her hips bucked, and the globes of her killer ass rocked and flexed in his palms. Fuck, she had a great ass. And it wasn’t just a great ass to fuck. The way it filled out jeans, yoga pants, shorts, it was like two halves of a fucking cantaloupe tucked into lacy panties just waiting for his fingers to squeeze. His hand to mark.
Once she filled his mouth with her sweet nectar, he was going t
o flip her over the couch, bend her nearly in half and fuck her until his balls were empty. Maybe then he could finally get some fucking sleep.
He twiddled his tongue relentlessly over her clit, back and forth, back and forth. She liked that. Made her gush even more, made her hips go all crazy-like and her fingers tighten in his hair, tugging until a snap of pain sprinted down his neck.
She was close.
His fingers crept along the round globe of her ass and one pushed her cheeks apart. He pressed against her anus. She didn’t flinch or pull away. Dipping his digit down lower to gather some of her wetness, he trailed it back up between her crease before finally pushing in, breaching her rosette and feeling her tighten around him.
She moaned above him, the movement of her hips growing more and more erratic.
“Gonna come,” she mewled, swirling her cleft over his mouth and causing his nose to knock her clit. “Gonna come so hard.”
He pushed another finger into her ass, went ape-shit on her clit with his tongue, and she combusted. A gush like never before poured into his mouth from her pussy, drenching his face. He swallowed as much as he could, loving her flavor and how easily she came.
Once she released his hair and swung her body off his, he rolled over and stood up. Her eyes were out of focus and her cheeks flushed as she watched him unfasten his jeans just enough to get his dick out. He grabbed her by the arm, hauled her to her feet, bent her over the couch and drove home.
No pleasantries, no wasting time. He needed to fuck, and he needed to fuck now.
Aaron let out a grunt as he sank balls-deep into her slick heat, her body instantly contracting around his.
“Condom,” she breathed, turning around to face him, her eyes no longer out of focus and instead filled with panic.
Fuck.
Fuck!
FUCK!
He pulled back out.
“Shit. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
Was it okay to continue? Is that what she meant? Could they raw-dog it?
No, you fucker. You need to get tested. It’s been a while. She needs to get tested, and you have no clue if she’s even on any birth control.
Had they talked at all?
Nope, they hadn’t. They’d just fucked. Not talking, just fucking.
Wow, he was a real class act.
She was still bent over the couch, ass in the air, glancing back at him, waiting patiently.
“Be right back.” He took off down the hall to his bedroom, grabbed a condom from the dresser and was back in the living room in a flash.
She hadn’t moved.
Well, she had, but it was only to move one hand between her legs.
Aaron groaned as he watched her touch herself. He ripped the condom packet open, slid it on, grabbed her hips and sank in balls-deep once again.
Fuck, it’d been so much better without the condom. Even that brief second where there was nothing between them had been pure fucking heaven.
He began to move, hard, really hard, slamming into her, taking all of her. The sound of flesh slapping flesh filled the dark, quiet living room. Her fingers still worked her clit, and every so often, she’d reach back and scrape her nails over his swinging nut sac, making his knees turn to jelly.
He palmed her ass cheeks, then slipped two fingers back into her tight hole.
Nothing was fucking hotter than the full visual of watching either fingers or a cock slide in and out of a gorgeous ass. Nothing.
“That’s right, baby. Fucking take it,” he ground out, baring his teeth. “So fucking hot. So fucking sexy, Iz.”
She clenched her muscles around him, her pussy quivering on every plunge, squeezing on every draw. She was already fucking close.
Jesus Christ, how many times could this woman come a day?
He pumped his hips harder and faster into her, wanting to empty his nuts, needing to feel a release.
“Oh God, Aaron,” she whispered, turning back around to face him, her eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.
With his free hand, he reached forward and pulled out her messy bun, snapping the hair elastic in the process. Her hair fell wild and free around her shoulders, hiding her face in a veil of dark silk.
He gathered up as much of her hair as he could into a tight ponytail, tugging hard until her neck arched back.
“That’s right, baby. Just like that.”
“Gonna come.” Her voice broke with a sharp cry as her body went rigid and her pussy began to tremble around him. Wetness dripped down onto his balls as she continued to come, her body convulsing and spasming from the climax.
Aaron’s sac tightened up, his belly did a flip-flop, and he let go. Leaning over, he sank his teeth into her shoulder at the same time he came. Warmth flooded his abdomen and bright stars shot behind his closed eyelids as wave after wave crashed through him until he was beaten and bruised and utterly spent.
He collapsed against her back, kissed the spot he’d bitten, then continued to kiss down her spine until he was forced to pull his fingers from her and tie off the condom. He kissed both cheeks of her ass a few times too, because he really couldn’t get enough of them, before he helped her up.
He took off toward the bathroom to dispose of the condom and wash his face. He wasn’t sure what to expect when he returned to the living room. He wasn’t sure if Isobel was going to want to talk or what, but what he hadn’t expected was to find the living room empty.
Had she gone to bed?
Was she in her room or Sophie’s?
Could he open up Sophie’s door to check?
Should he?
If she was in there, what would he say? Hey, thanks for the fuck, but I’d rather not talk right now. I’m pretty fucked in the head.
Oh yeah, that would go over so well.
He glanced at the bowl she’d brought over. It held a damp washcloth, dry cloth, antibiotic ointment, gauze and bandages. He grabbed it all and stalked to the bathroom to go and patch himself up.
It wouldn’t be easy, as he was right-handed and it was his right hand that was all cut up. He really should have just let her do it for him. She offered, after all.
She offered a lot.
And she asked for so little in return.
All she asked for was respect, and he struggled to even show her that.
Even though he really did respect the hell out of her.
Why was it so hard to give her what she wanted?
He stared at himself in the bathroom mirror. What looked back was a scarred, angry man. A confused man. A fuck-up. A failure.
He had nothing to offer anybody. Least of all an incredible person like Isobel.
He did a half-assed job cleaning up his hand, and before frustration got the better of him, he flicked off the light and went out to the living room again.
He wouldn’t be able to sleep in his bed knowing Isobel was just across the hall, all warm and soft, smelling of the sex they’d just had.
He needed space.
He needed help.
25
It was Friday evening.
Dina’s service was Saturday.
All day, Aaron had been a fucking wreck.
Thankfully, Colton understood, as did all the men at the job site, and they gave Aaron a wide berth. He was a shaken-up bottle of Coke, and his cap was half screwed off. It wouldn’t take much to set him off.
So when he pulled into his driveway and saw an unknown car parked behind Isobel’s car, anger and confusion raced through him.
Who the fuck was here?
He grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge in the garage, slammed it back in two sips, shut his eyes for sixty seconds and grounded himself.
He couldn’t be this enraged when he walked in the door.
It wasn’t fair to Sophie.
It wasn’t fair to Isobel.
It wasn’t fair to anybody.
He opened one more beer, finished it in one and a half guzzles, grabbed another, then headed into the house.
Laughter and baby noises filled the air, along with the smell of Italian spices and soft rock.
The house was warm, cozy almost.
Had she turned on the heat?
He never turned on the heat.
Put a fucking sweater on and an extra pair of socks if you’re cold. Heat costs money.
At least that’s how he’d been brought up in the foster care system, and then how he and Dina continued to live once they were on their own and with barely two pennies to rub together.
He made his way into the living room, where Isobel was sitting on the floor next to a woman probably in her late fifties, both of them staring lovingly at Sophie, who was doing some tummy time on her play mat.
A low, burning fire crackled in the fireplace with one of those fire logs.
He’d cleaned the chimney when he first moved in but hadn’t had it in him to light a fire yet. He’d avoided fire altogether—besides the barbecue—since that night in Medellin. Since the house.
Where had she gotten the fire log? What gave her the right?
Isobel looked up, her blue eyes sparkling and full of joy. “Hey! You’re home. How was work?”
Why did a question like that pull so hard at his heartstrings?
Because nobody since Dina has given two shits about your day, and it’s nice to know somebody cares.
It also instantly dissolved a good chunk of his ire. He’d been ready to fight—who? He didn’t know. But he’d entered the house with his hackles up, and then when he saw the fire, his anger had doubled, and he instantly needed to tear a strip off someone. But her words, her eyes, her smile and her kindness soothed the uncontrolled inferno inside him.
He was still angry, but he was no longer out for blood.
She stood up and wandered toward him. “My parents came to visit. They wanted to meet Sophie, as I can’t stop talking about her.”
Parents.
The sound of a toilet flushing, faucet running and door opening drew his attention down the hall. A big shadow appeared from the bathroom door. A very big shadow.
“These are my parents, Calvin and Harriet Jones.”
