Sweet Tooth: A Second Chance Romance

by Aria Ford

I trailed off, covering my face with my hands. It was as if all the sadness, all the misery, all the self-doubt and blame that sixteen-year-old girl had felt then was welling up inside me, condensed and concentrated and fueled with an adult rage.

  “Macy, I…”

  I looked up at him from over my fingers. He was sitting there uncomfortably, hands outspread, face a picture of confusion. My anger bubbled over then.

  “Don’t you try and calm me,” I said icily. “I am so, so angry with you. I can’t believe that, after all these years, you tell me that you did what you did then because you didn’t want to hurt me! How could you not realize how much you did hurt me? How is it that you still, after all these years, miss that?”

  He was looking at me helplessly. “Macy,” he said softly. “I’m sorry.”

  I wanted to say something like, “that sure helps,” but strangely enough, it actually did. The rage that had built and grown in me evaporated. I leaned back.

  “Thank you.” I said in a small voice. “Now. Do you mind explaining the logic behind that?” I asked after a moment as my mind settled and started to think more clearly. “I would love to know how you thought that wasn’t going to hurt me.”

  He sighed. “I thought…Macy, let’s be honest. You’re a millionaire’s daughter. I’m a boy from the backstreets of Vermont Hill, son of a convenience-store owner.”

  “So?” I asked angrily. “I didn’t care about that. Did you? You saying that you didn’t want to be with me because my parents are wealthy?” I heard my voice crack on the last word, incredulity weaving through it like fire in grass. I couldn’t believe this.

  He looked at me, helpless. “It isn’t that I was…that I judged you, Macy,” he said sadly. “I never judged you. Or them. Truly.”

  “Well, that’s what that sounded like,” I said testily. My coffee was going cold and I drank another mouthful, holding it between my hands for warmth. In spite of the mild weather, I felt cold, a deep coldness inside me that didn’t seem to shift.

  “It isn’t,” he said. “When I…” he paused. “My mom is from a very different background. She came from a well-educated family. Her dad’s a professor. She…I think she always resented being married to my dad. She never said that. But it was in every line of her. In the things she didn’t say. I didn’t want to do that to you.”

  I stared at him. Put the cup down and leaned forward, looking into his eyes.

  “Maddox Jefferson,” I said very softly. “You mean you broke up with me because you didn’t want to see me suffer?”

  He was looking at his hands. “Yeah,” he said tightly. I could hear the emotion in his voice and it spoke to my heart, making it beat loudly.

  “Well,” I said in the same soft voice. “I can tell you that I suffered every day after you left. I can tell you that I cried each night and wondered what it was that I’d done wrong. I wondered how it was that you could love me and then walk away. I thought I’d done something wrong. I thought there was something wrong with me. Something you couldn’t love.”

  I was crying now, tears running silently down my face. I couldn’t believe how much sadness was still in me. I had thought this was all long forgotten about, all in the distant past. That I’d moved on. But it seemed I’d only become numb to it. The wound was still inside, still fresh. Still raw.

  I heard him stand up. He walked across the floor and I thought he’d gone to look out of the window. My hands were over my eyes as I wept, loudly, and my shoulders heaved. Then, suddenly, I felt the couch dip a little and I felt a hand, soft and warm and tender, touch my shoulder.

  “Macy,” he whispered, very gently, like he was taming a wild creature. “Macy.”

  I sighed and let him hold me. I was sniffing, my face was wet with tears. I shook. “I must look charming,” I said with a shaky laugh as I wiped my nose on a napkin.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “You do. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Macy Trent. I can’t believe you thought I didn’t love you.”

  I drew in a deep shuddering breath. “You can’t believe I thought…you mean…” It was all too much to take in. Did he mean that?

  “I mean it. I do love you, Macy. I think until I saw you again I never realized how much I do love you. But my world hasn’t been the same without you in it. I thought I could walk away. I can’t. Would you have me now?”

  I stared at him. His eyes were looking into mine, brown and warm and gentle.

  “Yes,” I said softly.

  “Yes?”

  “Yes!” I said. I was laughing and I wrapped my arms around him and dragged him back onto the couch and he was laughing too. He tickled me and I yelled and tickled him back and he laughed helplessly. It was like when we were sixteen again, only better. Because now all the barriers were gone. There was only honesty and truth.

  “Maddox Jefferson,” I said, when we sat together, our breath steady now. My head was resting on his shoulder and his hand covered mine. We sat side-by-side, reveling in each other’s closeness.

  “Yes?”

  “I love you.”

  He stared at me in disbelief. I laughed. I said it again.

  “I love you, Maddox Jefferson. I always have. I love you exactly how you are. If you weren’t exactly who you are, in fact, you wouldn’t be you and then I wouldn’t love you.” I giggled, knowing it made perfect sense. “I love you, Maddox. Now and always.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Maddox

  I couldn’t quite believe what Macy was saying. I sat next to her on the couch, my arms around her, and let the words seep through me. It felt like deserts must feel, after years and years without the rain. A deluge of feeling, restoring life.

  “Macy?” I said gently. “You’re sure about this, hey?”

  She gave me a look. “Perfectly sure, Maddox. Do you want a signed affidavit?”

  I laughed. “Not necessary.”

  “Thank you.” Her voice was thin and I chuckled.

  “Oh, Macy,” I sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m going to be asking you about everything now, just to make sure I never make the same mistake again. That I never make assumptions again.”

  “Good,” she said. She nestled closer, and her lips traced my neck, making me shiver with rising desire. “At least, sounds good.”

  I chuckled. “You might not think so when I start questioning you about everything.”

  “Try me.” She was leaning on my chest, her hands on my back, seeking out the back of my neck as her lips nuzzled me. I was catching fire under her touch, so I forced myself to concentrate on her words.

  “You really do know there isn’t anyone in my life but you?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I believe you,” she said simply. “I’m sorry for being suspicious. I think that all those years ago I just stopped trusting you.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry,” I said guiltily. “I hope you can trust me a bit now?”

  “I do trust you,” she said. The words made my heart twist. Not only was that a great affirmation; it was also a great responsibility. I took it that way, anyway.

  “I will try and be worthy of that,” I breathed.

  She chuckled. “Well, good. But for now,” she added, purring, “you can do something about your past wrongs.”

  “Like what?” I asked. I gasped as her body pushed against me, pushing me back onto the couch. I could feel her small, soft breasts against me and I wanted her more than I’d wanted anything before.

  “Like taking me to bed,” she said succinctly. “We have a decade to offset here.”

  I laughed. “My dearest Macy,” I said huskily. “You couldn’t ask for a better thing.”

  “Good,” she purred.

  Then, without warning her, I lifted her up of the couch. She yelled and then giggled as I held her to my chest. My lips came down onto hers and I slid my tongue in between those soft, tender lips. My whole body was vibrating with longing now and I walked carefully toward her bedroom, moving her gently through the door so I could
lay her on the bed.

  She looked up at me as I carefully closed the door behind us. Then I came over to join her.

  I lay beside her and held her in my arms. My tongue explored her mouth, pushing back and twining with her tongue as I explored and licked that sweet place. I leaned back, gasping.

  “I think we need to do something about this,” I said huskily. I ran a hand down her body. She was wearing a blouse and slacks, and I could feel her breasts through the fabric of shirt and bra. I wanted her so badly. I was shivering and gritting my teeth. But I wasn’t going to rush this. I was going to take it slowly. This was a night that I wanted to be special. As special as she was to me. I wouldn’t rush.

  ***

  I leaned back as Maddox pushed me onto the pillows. His body leaned against me, lean and firm and I could feel his heart beating in his chest as he held me tight to him.

  “Macy,” he whispered. His hands were in my hair. He had always played with my hair: running his hands through it, pulling it, kissing my locks. He did that now, then lowered his lips to mine again. “Macy.”

  His hands stroked my throat and then he moved lower, kissing the bare skin he’d just touched as he fumbled with the buttons of my shirt. I reached to help him but he gently nudged my hand away and L let it lie on the coverlet as he slowly, painstakingly, unfastened my blouse.

  When he’d peeled it back, he leaned down and, so gently, moved my bra aside. I felt his lips nuzzle the soft skin of my breast and tensed as they sought my nipple, sucking it into his mouth with a soft sound. I moaned as he reached round to my other breast, then unfastened my bra, taking it off first one shoulder and then the other, all the while plying me with his eager, hungering lips.

  His mouth moved lower and I tensed, feeling my stomach flutter as he moved down to the top of my trousers. I held my breath as he unbuttoned them slowly, and then exhaled in a rising tide of anticipation as he moved them down my body and slid them off my legs. I heard them fall onto the carpet, but my senses were already focused elsewhere.

  He peeled back my panties and slid his hand inside. His fingers stroked downward, playing over my folds. I heard his indrawn breath as he felt how wet I already was and I bit back a smile. Of course I was. He aroused me faster than anyone ever had before.

  His hands moved lower and he gently reached between my thighs, a long finger probing for my clit. Then, as he fingered it and made me sob with pleasure, he lowered his face so that he sucked my folds.

  I was crying out, my whole body lifting off the bed as he worked me with such easy expertise. I let his name escape my lips.

  He shifted and smiled down at me. He started undressing himself and I shivered in eagerness, knowing what was coming next. I sat up and helped him, unfastening his shirt buttons with quick ease and then helping with the fastening of his pants as he let it fall off his shoulders. I reached inside, feeling with some joy the rigid rod that pressed against his abdomen.

  I saw him see my smile and I felt a naughty pleasure. He knew I wanted him and it made him happy. That made me happy,

  He knelt over me and I obediently lay back. Then, my thighs parted by his reaching hand, he slid into me.

  I cried out. There was nothing that felt quite like having him inside me. That hard, bone-hard cock, skewering me with its full, turgid length. It wasn’t painful, though, just hugely satisfying as it pressed on every place of pleasure. He withdrew and thrust, withdrew and thrust again.

  I could feel my orgasm building and building, and I knew he was feeling his own because I could hear the intense restraint as he groaned and gasped.

  I was shivering and shuddering in my own climax when he too cried out. We moved together once, twice, and collapsed.

  He lay on top of me, and I held him to my chest. I could feel his slow, steady heartbeat and feel his intense warmth. He lay there on me for perhaps ten minutes as we both came slowly back from the realms where we had been transported.

  Then he rolled off me and lay beside me, and I rested my head on his shoulder.

  ***

  I lay with her in my arms and knew that I had never felt so happy in all my life. With Macy’s face pressed into my neck and her warm, curvy body pressed against my side, I felt as if I had died and ended up, probably unlawfully, in paradise.

  I stroked my hand down her body and marveled at how soft a person’s skin could be. Her belly, small and hard, was under my hand and I stroked there and she moaned and then I stroked her neck with my other hand. I bent to kiss her.

  “My dearest,” I whispered into her hair. It felt so good to say that. So right.

  She stretched, snuggling closer. Her hand lay on my chest and it felt right there too. So right. I closed my own eyes.

  “Macy?” I whispered.

  I wasn’t sure if she was sleeping or not. I waited, thinking she hadn’t heard. Then she replied.

  “Yes?”

  “I still can’t believe it,” I said.

  “Believe it.”

  I laughed. “I’ll do my best,” I promised. “But it seems so impossible. How can I deserve this?”

  I heard the bed shift under her weight as she rolled over. Two stone-gray eyes inspected mine, flint-hard. “Maddox,” she said succinctly. “If we start on that racket, then I’ll have to wonder how I possibly deserved you, and then we’ll both never stop until the end of our days.”

  I chuckled. “Yes, madam.”

  “That’s your highness, if you don’t mind.”

  I laughed again, stroking her hair gently.

  “Yes, your highness.”

  She kissed my shoulder. “Indeed.”

  We lay still. I must have fallen asleep, for I woke with her in my arms and the soft gray light pouring through the window that announced Saturday morning and it felt right. So right.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Macy

  I woke to the strange scent of toast, burning. I blinked and sniffed. The smell wove with my dreams, distantly, and I wondered if the house was on fire. Then I sat up.

  Memory flooded back to me and, with it, a slow joy. I was in bed, where Maddox had been with me. I could see his clothes, dotted about on my bedroom carpet. He had left the sheets piled up on the one side, and had recently showered—I could smell the clean, fresh scent of soap drifting from the bathroom indistinctly.

  “Maddox?” I called. I slid my legs to the edge of the bed, about to go and investigate, when he appeared in the doorway with a big grin on his face.

  “Breakfast is almost ready,” he said with a smile.

  I stared at him. He was wearing his shirt and underwear, his long, strong legs bare below the waist. His hair was fresh washed and just drying on the top of his head and his brown eyes shone. There was a smell of coffee and toast around him and he looked inordinately pleased with himself.

  “Maddox!” I giggled. “Thank you, my dear.”

  He blushed. “Of course I want to spoil you. Will you have it in bed or in the kitchen?”

  I smiled, pretending to consider my options. “Well, if you’re joining me, I can think of one strong reason to have it right where I am.”

  He chuckled. “I see where you’re going with that line of thinking, Ms. Trent. I like the way you think.”

  I giggled, feeling so happy. Everything seemed so beautiful to me. I nodded. “Indeed.”

  He went back to the kitchen and a moment later appeared with a tray I barely remembered I owned. On it he had arranged two coffee cups, two plates of egg and toast, and two sets of knives and forks. He smiled.

  “Breakfast is here.”

  “Mm,” I nodded. “Well, put it on the side table and come and join me.”

  “I take that as an order.”

  “I should hope so.”

  He slid into bed beside me and we kissed. He took of the shirt and held me against him, and I twisted round so I could look into his eyes.

  “Maddox,” I said softly. “I don’t know what to say.”

  He smiled. He kissed me
, holding me close. Then he leaned back and passed me a cup.

  “Coffee?”

  I giggled and took it. He had made it just the way I liked it, though I didn’t remember telling him it was one sugar and no milk. I guess he must have seen me drink it and noticed it. He was like that—thoughtful in ways no one else I’d ever met was thoughtful.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “A pleasure.”

  He said the word pleasure in a way that lit my body up and I tried to focus on the present moment, not letting my imagination go wild on me.

  He set his own coffee aside on the table and passed me the tray with its plate of breakfast. He settled his own carefully on his knee. I smiled.

  “This looks good.” I was impressed. I wasn’t particularly good at cooking things. His fried eggs looked considerably better than mine did.

  “Thank you,” he said. He took an experimental taste and I did the same. I closed my eyes, chewing happily.

  “These are good,” I said when I had swallowed. The yolk was well cooked, but not hard, the toast neither too pale nor burned.

  He grinned and we ate in companionable silence for a while.

  As I felt my blood sugar rising again—we had forgotten about dinner the night before, and I was amazed by how ravenous I was feeling by now—I found I wanted to talk.