by L. B. Dunbar
“Did I scare you?” He laughs a little as his mouth sucks at my neck.
“A little,” I tease.
“Do I frighten you?” he asks, and I scoff.
“You have no idea.” My breathless whisper surrounds us. The sound of the shower drowns out my fear or so I think. Jacob stills behind me.
“What are you frightened of?”
“You’ll break my heart.” I can’t look at him, but I need to be honest about this one thing.
“I know I’ve hurt you, and I’m sorry for that. You’re it for me, Lilac. Let me make it up to you.”
Jacob kisses my shoulder. Then moves back to my neck.
“There’s never going to be anyone else as real, as true to me, as good for me as you.” His hand comes to the opposite side of my neck, massaging the juncture between it and my shoulder while his mouth continues to suck at my skin. He’s so good at what he does, and within seconds, I’m melting under the steam of the shower and the heat of his touch.
“Why are you in here?” he questions.
“I just couldn’t sleep,” I admit.
Because I have something to tell you.
“You’re tense. You okay, angel?” He works at my neck a little longer and then reaches for the shampoo bottle. Without asking, he washes my hair, shampooing it with gentle fingertips. My eyes close as my head lobs under his scalp massage.
“You like that?”
I purr in response, and he chuckles.
“Turn,” he commands, and I spin to rinse my hair. His scent surrounds me. Cloves. Inhaling, I open my eyes to find Jacob looking at my lips. His curls into a crooked smile, and mine follow. Glancing down, I reach for his arm, running a finger over the intricate ink.
“What do these mean?”
“Most are symbols representing warriors, fighters, or survival.”
My eyes drop to the word on his wrist, recalling the tattoo I’m most familiar with. Nevermore.
“My father would grab my arms hard. Hard enough to leave marks. Bruising fingertips. This art covers any impression he ever made.” While the bruises would have healed, the emotional wounds run deep within Jacob.
“And what about this?” My fingertips trace over the words on his pec. Change your destiny.
It might be simple and obvious. He didn’t want to be like his father, but I sense something deeper to the words.
“Cliché for an author, right? But the words just stuck with me. I made it my motto when I got my first contract. I was changing my destiny.”
“Meaning your stories would be your life?”
“Something like that. It’s more a reminder that I’ll be who I want to be. I won’t be him.” Hope blooms in my chest as it’s the first time I’ve heard Jacob accept that he doesn’t have to be like his father. In fact, he’s nothing like him. He won’t lay a finger on a child. He won’t disown his child for making his own choices.
I spin Jacob and run a finger over his lower back, along another set of inked words.
I am not what happened to me. I choose to be something more.
“And here?” I question, keeping my voice low and soft, hoping the tenderness of my touch tells him he can trust me with these things.
“It’s the first place my father kicked me. It’s the shape of a boot heel, and the words are to remind me that I will not be what happened. I will not become them. I choose to be something greater.” His voice is pained as he explains the meaning. I bent to kiss the permanent scar. Jacob flinches, and I place a hand on his hip to steady him.
His upper left shoulder has another small mark. It looks like a sunburst, but on closer inspection, I see it’s a puckered scar. I run a finger over it, and Jacob shudders. He volunteers an answer before I ask.
“Dad burned me with a cigar. It was an accident,” he mocks. “It wasn’t deep, but it marked my skin.”
I tip up on my toes and press a lingering kiss on the spot. My eyes close, trying not to imagine the horror of a father harming his child.
Finally, I’m drawn to a larger set of words on his right side, under his arm, but closer to his hip bone.
Never give them power over you. You are not the beast. Do not let it become you.
The lines run up and down, and I have to turn my head to clearly read them. I traced each line, feeling Jacob’s eyes on my action.
“My father punched me there. It gave new meaning to sucker punch to the gut. That night, I lost my appendix.”
“Jesus,” I whisper, lowering to kiss along the lines.
The shower has turned rather serious, and my heart hurts for all his hurts. I reach for his body wash, pour a generous helping into my hand, and lather up before massaging the liquid soap over his skin. I swipe up his chest and over his shoulders, cascading down his arms to his wrists. I press a kiss to one shoulder over the soapiness and step around to his back. Rubbing in small circles, I coat the firm muscles over his shoulder blades, pressing gently over his inked scar. My hands stretch around his waist and lower for something long and hard.
“What are you doing, my little wood nymph?” He chuckles, and I do too as it’s been a while since he’s called me that.
“Remind me what that story is again,” I tease as I stroke over his thickness.
“Once upon a time, there was a tempting wood nymph named Syringa. The god Pan noticed her and chased her into the woods, lusting after her.” One of Jacob’s hands goes to the tile before him. The other lowers for my wrist while I squeeze him. “He wanted the beautiful creature more than he’d ever wanted anything.” His voice drops as I tug at him. “One myth is, she hid in the form of a lilac bush. Pan discovered where she was, or rather what she’d done, and he carved her into a flute that he would carry with him at all times.”
Continuing to stroke Jacob, I press my lips to his shoulder blade. His hand squeezes my wrist.
“If you ask me, by carving her into an instrument, he just wanted to put his lips on her and make her sing all day long.” I don’t miss the euphemism as he chuckles. I tug harder at him, slipping faster down his length with the aid of the soapy wash.
“Lilac, may I be so bold as to ask if I can make love to you again?”
His words startle me, and I still my movements.
“I’ll never have enough of you. You’ve carved yourself into my skin.” Turning to face me, he presses me back to the tile. His mouth nips and sucks at my wet skin as a hand slides down my body, taking its time to coast over my breasts and stopping to circle a nipple. I hum at the attention he pays the achy swells, arching my back as he cups one and lowers to suck at the other.
“Are you my instrument? Can I play you? I want to make you sing.”
While his tongue laves at the peaked nub, his fingers lower between my thighs. My head tips back as he strokes over me, ready and eager to go again with him.
“I’d like to keep you with me, Lilac.”
My breath catches. I want to believe him. I want to believe that as good as we are, we can stay that way.
“Careful, Jacob. That sounds like commitment. Pan was only in lust with his lilac.”
Jacob lifts his head from watching his fingers play me. His molten eyes stare into mine.
“What if it’s love?”
I swallow around the lump forming in my throat. My eyes hold his, but my body vibrates.
Can I believe this? Can it be?
“You don’t believe in love,” I remind him, my voice croaking as fingers enter me.
“Maybe you’ve made me a believer.” His mouth crashes to mine as his fingers work faster. My body responds, rocking into his palm.
Bending at the knees, he lines himself up and thrusts upward. Hands slip beneath my thighs, lifting me with the wall at my back.
“I’m too heavy,” I mumble against his mouth.
“You’re luscious.”
I’m pregnant.
“You’re beautiful,” he says around another kiss.
And pregnant.
“You’re eve
rything.”
I’m having your baby.
The words rest on my tongue, which tangles with his, and I’m lost to the sudden sensation of him filling me once again, wiping away the reality of our position. Syringa gave into the Greek god, letting him play her over and over again. I seem to be no different from the namesake he’s given me.
Despite my position—back to the tile, legs around Jacob’s hips—he takes his time to go slow until I can’t take it any longer. I break free of his mouth and demand he move faster.
“The wood nymph requests, and the god follows.” He hammers into me, jiggling me against the sweating tile at my back. My arms wrap around his neck, allowing him to move me as he wishes as the telltale signs flutter in my belly. Our skin slaps together. Our breaths gasp at the exertion. Jacob hoists me higher, and I slam down on him, forcing him deeper.
I scream his name, and he stills, pressing me into the tile. Denotating within me, we come in tandem. It’s the most incredible sensation.
“I feel so alive with you,” Jacob says, pulling back to kiss me, fierce and hungry before breaking from my lips for my neck.
“What are you doing to me?” he whimpers. Our heavy breathing mixes with the pattering of the shower. Still within me, he holds me in this position for another minute, and I wonder the same thing about him.
How am I going to tell him?
+ + +
“I’m famished,” I blurt out once we exit the shower, and I wrap in a robe he offers me while he drapes a towel around his hips.
“My assistant quit, so I don’t know if I have anything edible,” he teases.
“God, what a bitch. Who could quit you?”
He mischievously smiles while tugging me close for a quick kiss. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.” His mouth lands on mine again, and I could spend the rest of my life kissing him. It’s a dangerous thought.
“Get back in bed. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”
Returning to the bed, I fix the messed up spread of blankets and remove the robe, crawling under the covers. After tugging the blanket to my neck, I draw my knees to my chest, staring out the window while I wait for Jacob. It’s late afternoon or early evening. I’ve lost track of time.
I need to tell him.
With each passing hour, I feel more hopeful he’ll accept my circumstance. He’ll accept the baby, but I’m still not certain. Everything is so raw and fresh. It has hardly been twenty-four hours since his return. He tells me he’s staying permanently, and I want to believe him.
When he returns to the room, he carries a tray piled with an assortment of items. Crackers and cheese. Peanut butter, a cut apple, and a small bowl of raisins. A bottle of wine under his arm. He sets the tray over my legs like he did when I was sick and in this very bed. Then he holds up the wine.
“For you, not me.”
I shake my head. “I don’t need it.”
He licks his lips. “I don’t want you to stop because of me. I’m doing good. Every day, it gets better.”
Reaching for his wrist, I cover it with my hand.
“I’m doing it for me. I don’t need it. Water’s fine.”
Jacob’s brows crease, but he sets the bottle of wine on the bookcase behind the bed and heads to the bathroom. He returns with a glass of water. Jacob climbs into bed next to me and holds out a slice of apple, smothered in peanut butter with a few raisins on top.
“What are you doing?” I giggle as the piece nears my lips.
“Feeding my angel. Now open.” I take the bite he offers me, humming at the combination in my mouth. He’s sweet, and I want to believe it can last. My thoughts settle around the truth I’m holding in. He’s going to think I tricked him, like her. He’s going to think I’ve done this on purpose, like her. My advantage is, there really will be a baby. His baby.
“You’re very quiet over there.” His somber voice breaks into my thoughts.
“How does it work for you? The treatment?” I pause. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’m curious. I don’t want to trigger anything.”
Jacob chuckles, reaching for a cracker and cheese combination. “You won’t trigger me, but I think to be safe, I should remove all the alcohol from the house.”
“Your assistant can handle that,” I say, tipping a brow at him.
“I’ll get her right on that after she’s on me again.” He leans forward and kisses my shoulder. “But seriously. I fell hard after you left, but I don’t fault you. Mandi was all on me. I wanted to chase you, but I was stuck. Like I couldn’t believe her, but something held me in place. I had to face her and the situation before I could ask you to stay with me.”
Jacob pauses. “And I want you to stay.” His eyes soften, the words hesitant, sheepish even. “The biggest mindset change was accepting is that I do deserve good in my life. You’re the best part of everything, and I never want to lose you.”
I smile, but I don’t comment, allowing him to tell me more.
“Anyway, I wasn’t allowed to make phone calls once I entered. There was a family weekend toward the end, but I passed. I didn’t want anyone to see me there, see me like that.”
“But you called Theresa.” It lingers in the unsaid that he didn’t call me.
“I tried to quit Theresa, that’s what worried her. That and the fact I could hardly form the words. She crashed my place and demanded I get my shit together.”
“I’m glad she did that for you.” My voice lowers, and his hand comes to my chin.
“I did it for you,” he whispers.
Shaking my head, I retort, “You did it for you because you needed it. But I’m happy you did. You seem better already.”
“Every day, a little more.” He smiles. He’s been perched on his elbow, but he sits up, slipping his finger down the side of my face like he does. “You make me better.”
I try to stifle a yawn, and Jacob chuckles.
“Am I boring you?”
“I’m so sorry, I’m just tired. Someone wore me out.” Between the sex, the snack, and my rambling thoughts, I’m exhausted.
“You work too hard.”
I laugh. “I’m about to work harder as my boss is back.”
“Hmm. Your boss likes it hard.”
I laugh again. “You’re insatiable.”
“Only for you, Lilac. Only for you.” He leans in to kiss me, taking his time to savor my lips before his tongue sweeps along the bottom, and he pulls back.
“Okay, time for bed then, angel.” Jacob hops off the bed, moves the tray to the floor, and crawls back in next to me. We curl to our sides, my back to his front, and he nuzzles his nose into the back of my neck.
“You smell like me. I need to change that,” he teases. “But I like you in my bed. I never want to sleep without you in it again.”
My vision blurs, and I close my eyes in the dark room. A tear slips from each of them.
“I like being here,” I admit, my voice thick. Jacob presses a kiss to my nape, and I swallow again. He’s so tender, and it’s ripping me apart. With everything he does, he’s saying he loves me without the words, but it’s not safe to make assumptions. He’s not going to want to marry me, and he’s definitely going to be upset when he learns about the baby.
And because I’m a fool for him, I’m selfishly soaking up this minute before we fall apart again.
Chapter 27
Things Fall Apart
[Jacob]
From my position inside the walk-in closet, I see Pam bolt upright in my bed and twist side to side as if looking for me. I chuckle softly to myself.
“I’m back here,” I call out. Would she feel lost without me like I’ve felt the last six weeks without her? It’s been hell. A living hell.
The closet light illuminates a small portion of my room, so for the most part, Pam is only a shadow in the dark. I watch as she turns in my bed, glancing over her shoulder at me. She’s so fucking beautiful, and she’s in my bed. Not because she’s sick. Not because of a storm. She came t
o me willingly and seduced me.
Let me love you, Jacob.
Jesus, the thought alone stitched up my heart. Hearing those words from her lips, and then her kissing me like she did, it just meant everything. It was enough to make a strong man weep, and I almost did last night as I finally entered her again. And when she kissed all my tattoos and scars in the shower, if that doesn’t break a man and put him back together, nothing would. Where did this woman come from? What did I do to deserve her? In therapy, we learn to allow deserve as a word. We deserve better, we can be better, and I meant what I said to her. Every day is better, and with her, I expect life to stay that way.
Looking at her sitting in my bed, I feel my heart hammer in my chest. God, do I want her again. Unfortunately, I don’t have time this morning. I slip on the shirt in my hands and cross my room to a sleepy Pam.
“Go back to sleep, angel.” We didn’t get much sleep last night, but even before we did what we did, I noticed she looked tired. But there was also something else about her. She glowed in a way I can’t put my finger on. My eyes dip to her breasts, loosely covered by the sheet. They look bigger to me, fuller even. My mouth waters, but I can’t get distracted yet. I reach out for her hair and brush back the locks.
My phone buzzes on the bookshelf, and Pam and I both look at the screen.
Theresa.
I avoid Pam’s eyes, but hers press into my face, begging for an answer.
“What’s going on?”
I sigh, hating this already. “Theresa booked me a lecture at U of M as long as I was coming back here. She wants me to get back to work immediately. There’s a dinner with the writing department and then a presentation at seven. She booked me a room as it might be late when I finish.”
It’s almost four hours or so from here to the east side of the state, and I hate that I’m already giving up a night with Pam.
“You’ve been out of the center for two weeks. What were you doing then?” We talked only a little bit last night about the time we’ve been apart, and we have so much more that needs to be said.
“I had outpatient visits, plus I put my apartment on the market to sell.” I meant what I said the other night. I’m here to stay. I packed up my things, ordered movers for what I wanted shipped, and left the rest. I leave out how I had to get a restraining order against Mandi. I didn’t need some off the rails behavior like she already pulled. I don’t want to get into Mandi shit. It’s over.
