One to Hold

by Tia Louise

  “I love that,” I sighed against his neck, savoring the sensation of him, hot and full, hitting me in all the right places. “I’ve missed you so much,” I gasped.

  He groaned and lifted me faster, pounding me harder. I sat up and rocked my hips, rotating the angle so my clit got the full force of his thrusting. In seconds I was moaning and bucking. “Oh, god Derek, oh,” I cried.

  He rolled us over again so he was back on top, and I reached above my head, gripping the headboard. His mouth dropped to my breasts, and he gently kissed then bit my nipples, pulling another desperate cry from my throat as I shot over the edge, shuddering as I came. He kept pushing through my spasming muscles until in two sharp thrusts he slammed a hand against the wall behind my bed. “Fuck,” he ground out as he went incredibly deep, coming hard and hot inside me.

  He let out a few more ragged breaths, thrusting with each, and then he slowed, rolling us onto our sides, still buried between my legs. Little spasms continued pulsing through me, holding us together, and Derek hugged me tightly against his chest. My heart melted at the warmth of being surrounded in his arms, back in this wonderful place with him. With each gentle kiss to my forehead, my brow, my closed eyes, my love for him grew stronger.

  We lay panting, holding each other for several long moments. It had been months since our last time, but nothing had changed. It was still as hot and breathtaking and beautiful as always. At last he slid out, holding me close in his arms and kissing my lips, gently parting them so our tongues could curl together. I smiled against his mouth, holding onto him, loving all of these pleasing sensations, basking in the afterglow of us together, reunited.

  He rolled onto his back, pulling me against his chest and sliding his fingers down my back, tracing the lines in the way I loved.

  “I missed you so much,” I whispered. “It was terrible to be apart for so long.”

  He bent his elbow to place his hand under his head. “I felt the same way,” he said with an exhale. “Every day, I would stare out the windows for the longest time wondering where you were, what you were doing. If you were happy, if you had made up with him. If you even thought about me.”

  My eyes grew damp, and I reached up to trace a finger down his perfect nose. “I did something very similar.”

  He lifted his chin to kiss my fingertip. “You did?”

  I nodded. “Only I took it a step further. I would to go your company website and gaze at your picture. You’re so handsome in that suit.”

  He smiled and changed our position, rolling us over and looking deep into my eyes. “I was afraid I’d become obsessed,” he said softly. “Your blue eyes haunted me, and the way your voice cracks when you say my name when I’m inside you.”

  A wave of pleasure rushed through me at his words. He kissed the little hollow where my collarbones came together. “I still have your necklace,” he said, lifting his head to look at my face again. “I hope you’ll take it back.”

  “Do you have it with you? I’ll put it on right now.”

  “Yes, but stay here with me.”

  He moved to his side, and I snuggled close against his chest. His arms tightened around me as a deep sigh of satisfaction left his lips. Then he kissed the top of my shoulder.

  “Melissa,” he said, and the note of concern in his voice caused me to lean back and check his expression.

  A line pierced my forehead. “What?”

  He cleared his throat and looked down, then he pressed his lips against mine briefly. “I want to say this. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, but I need you to know—”

  “What is it?” Concern tightened my chest. I had no idea what he needed me to know. I was afraid it might have something to do with the time we were apart. Maybe something he’d done?

  He smiled at my expression. “I’m glad you look so worried, I guess.”

  I pushed back on his shoulder, sitting up in the bed. “If you don’t finish that sentence…”

  He rose to a sitting position beside me, catching my hand and pulling the back of it to his lips. “I want more than a week this time,” he said, his voice turning gentle. “Much more.” He paused and then held my gaze. “One day soon, when you’re feeling whole again, I’m going to ask you to marry me.”

  My heart turned to liquid. “What?” My voice was a high whisper.

  “I know,” he quickly added. “You’re just out of a bad marriage. You were married to a major league asshole. The ink isn’t dry on your divorce papers. I’m not asking you for anything right now… But I will.”

  Tears clouded my vision. “And I’ll say yes.”

  A smile broke across his face, brightening his beautiful blue eyes. He kissed me again, and I caught his cheeks, holding his lips against mine, opening my mouth and finding his tongue.

  He kissed me again, longer, and I pushed him to his back, straddling him as I kissed his lips again and again. The heat was growing between my legs, and his palms scratched against the skin of my thighs, gently rising to my butt. My mouth broke from his and I let out a groan. “I want you again,” I laughed, breathless.

  He caught my hips and guided me down as he slid inside, filling me completely. We were off, and I couldn’t stop smiling at the prospect of a lifetime together. Him with me, surrounding me, in me. Sharing everything.

  And instead of pulling each other down, we’d be setting each other free.

  “One request,” I said, placing my palms flat on his chest.

  “Oh, god, anything,” he groaned, thrusting deeply.

  His ravenous desire sent a wave of electricity through me. “I want to honeymoon in the desert.”

  “Done,” he breathed, threading his fingers into my hair and pulling my mouth back to his.

  I turned. “And at least once, we have to visit the family restroom together.”

  He growled a yes, making me laugh before he caught me in a deep, passionate kiss. My back arched and I moaned against his mouth. Wrapping my arms around his neck I rocked my hips, dreaming of that place of warm sunsets and gorgeous, fireside memories. We’d toast to happy surprises, and we’d share many (after)glowing thank yous.

  ~ The End ~

  Epilogue

  Derek

  Her dark hair fans out over the white pillow in perfect curls. Lifting one, I gently twist a shining spiral around my finger, sliding my thumb across the silky strand. The only thing more beautiful is her face, smooth and blissful in sleep.

  I rest my head on my hand as I watch her breasts gently rise and fall, thinking of our last two months together. Early in December, I’d won her back by having that bastard Sloan arrested. I’d wanted to do more. Standing over his unconscious body in her living room, after he’d tried to hurt her again…

  It had been years since I’d fought the urge to kill someone. If she hadn’t been there, I might’ve.

  Of course, he posted bail and was back hiding in his mansion a day later. He called in his team of lawyers, and Melissa backed down. I wasn’t ready to let it go, but she begged me to drop it. She didn’t want to be front-page news or dragged through a long ordeal. Reluctantly, I gave in to her. But every time I see that tiny silver scar near her hairline, it takes all my strength to keep from driving to Baltimore and beating him to a bloody pulp.

  Only her bright eyes and happy smile calm those thoughts. And now she’s having my baby. Our pre-Christmas slip up had been one too many, but I couldn’t be happier. When Alison died, I thought my chances at being a father were over. That day, I’d walked away from everything having to do with love and family. I’d shut down, not even interested in trying again. Then six years later, my twisted mentor brought this gorgeous creature into my life.

  The night I saw her in Scottsdale, I’d never seen such intense sadness in another person before. She was so beautiful, and yet she was visibly suffering. I knew how that felt. I’d struggled with intense sorrow, but somehow as the time had passed, my mourning period had ended, and I wanted her. I wanted to take all her unhappiness away w
ith my love if she’d let me. And she did.

  My hand moved from the curl around my finger to the top of her forehead, right where her dark hair met her ivory skin. Barely touching her, I remembered how incredible that first night had been—that whole week. It was a second chance. Until we’d had to part.

  She stirs, dipping her chin the way she always does before opening her eyes. No use thinking about the days we were apart because now we’re together, and I’m going to make her my wife.

  Her gorgeous blue eyes blink open, and I can’t help but smile. “Good morning.”

  “Were you watching me sleep?” Her soft voice is thick with sleep, and she turns her face into the pillow. Her slim bare shoulder lifts to her cheek, and just like that I have a hard-on. I want to pull her under me and kiss that shoulder, those lips, every part of her, but I control myself. She’s just opened her eyes after all.

  “You’re beautiful when you sleep.” I state the obvious, which always makes her blush. The fact this woman can’t see how gorgeous she is drives me nuts. At the same time, it’s part of the reason I love her so much. She’s so focused on her work and her plans and us. She’s completely unself-conscious.

  “How are you feeling?” My hand travels down the length of her smooth back. Her body hasn’t started showing she’s pregnant yet. Well, her breasts are slightly larger, but they’ve always been the right size for me. Perfect handfuls.

  She scoots into my chest, and immediately my arms go around her small frame. I love being able to lift her against me when we make love or surround her with protection. But, she’s tough as nails. She lived through a year of hell and without anyone’s help, she survived and made a new life for herself. That old urge to kill Sloan flickers again in my chest, but she banishes it by lifting her chin and kissing my throat.

  “Hungry,” she says, answering the question I’d left hanging. And with that she pushes above me, smiling. “I know I’m not really eating for two, but I swear, I don’t remember ever craving breakfast like this. I want eggs with cheese and tomatoes and peppers…”

  I laugh, lifting a clutch of dark curls off her shoulder and planting a kiss there. Her skin smells like roses and the ocean.

  “And bacon!” she cries. “I want applewood-smoked bacon so bad right now. Doesn’t that sound delicious?”

  “You don’t have to sell bacon to me.” I pull her to me and kiss her nose.

  Last night, her body had been wrapped around me in the most amazing way. As always, she’d cried out my name, shaking and moaning as she came hard and full over me. It was all I could do to hold out as she finished, she was so fucking gorgeous. I would do anything to keep this woman happy.

  “I’m at a little disadvantage here,” I say, sitting up with her in my arms. “You’re a local now, but I’m still in Princeton. I don’t know the best place to satisfy these new cravings.”

  Her arms go around my neck and she kisses my lips briefly. “Then let me show you!”

  I smile, reaching for her, but she’s gone—headed to the bathroom, leaving me to admire her perfect ass and tame this erection she’s left me with. My sexual urges have to wait, it seems. Clearly, the mother of my child needs bacon.

  “There’s this historic little place in town,” she calls from the hallway. I step into the boxer-briefs I tossed across the room last night after we returned home from dinner with Elaine and Patrick. Our clothes are a messy trail leading into the kitchen where we started.

  Patrick relocated his base of operations to Wilmington last month. It was his early Christmas gift to Elaine, and it looked like he might beat me to the marriage punch. But I have a plan for today. And well, I already laid the ground work for it the night we made junior. Since then idea of us getting married has been theoretical, but today, I’d make it official.

  “What’s the name?” I call back, studying the picture of her and her mother in a weathered-wooden frame on her dresser. The two smile exactly alike, but her mother doesn’t have Melissa’s gorgeous blue eyes.

  “The Sawmill. It’s supposed to be really good,” she says, returning to the room. I smile as she goes into her closet, completely unaware of how the sight of her naked, wearing only a thong and my floating-heart necklace affects me. “Did I say it’s historic?”

  She steps into a black skirt and I watch as she pulls a long-sleeved, faded red tee over her head. The vintage fabric hugs her braless torso in a way I want to. I can’t help myself anymore. I go to her and pull her against my chest.

  “I love you,” I say, covering her mouth with mine. As always, she seems to melt.

  She is such an amazing combination to me. This tiny firecracker, strong as a flint, able to survive the shit her asshole ex-husband had put her through. Yet when I kiss her, her entire body becomes fluid in my hands. It’s very distracting.

  I make sure she’s standing before I completely release her to put on my shirt. Her nipples are erect as she grabs my fleece jacket off a chair and pulls it around her body. It’s enormous on her, but she tucks her nose inside and inhales deeply.

  “I’m keeping this when you go back,” she says. “I might sleep in it.”

  Stepping into my jeans, her bedroom eyes have me fighting the return of that erection. “So you want to go to the Sawmill or not?”

  “Yes,” she laughs. “Bacon.”

  “There is no applewood-smoked bacon,” I say as we study the menu.

  The Sawmill restaurant is a traditional dive. Its exposed-wood interior is covered in tools of the logging trade, and the pages of our menus are covered in plastic. Still, I’m no snob. All the breakfast options look great to me, but I know how Mel’s pregnancy has her craving specific things. I’d already been sent in search of Manhattan Key Lime pie the day after Christmas, and we have someone known as “Aunt Bea” on our speed-dial in case of emergencies.

  She sighs. “It’s okay. Regular bacon will do.”

  Our eyes meet, and the small, black-velvet box in my pocket feels hot as a coal waiting to be taken out and presented to her. I want to propose now, to claim her as mine, like nothing I’d ever wanted before, but I also want it to be special. So I wait.

  “All bacon is wood-smoked, right?” I say as the waiter returns. “And Sawmill benedict? They’ve substituted gravy for hollandaise.”

  A little laugh escapes her throat. “Let’s get that gravy on the side,” she says. “And an omelet and a scrambler. And a juice and keep that coffee coming.”

  The waiter nods and leaves, and with a chuckle, I gesture for her to come around to my side of the table. As always, she’s quick to comply. Sliding in next to me, she slips her arms around my neck and kisses my lips.

  “I love you,” she whispers. “Last night was…”

  “Screaming Os, I’m the king and all that?”

  I love the sound of her laughter. “I have never—” Our eyes meet and her tone drops. She pretend-coughs, adjusting her story in an amusing fashion. “You are always all of those things,” she purrs.

  My elbow is bent on the top of the bench behind her. I study her face a moment. “So this is where you want to stay. In this little town.”

  Our permanent residence is the one roadblock to our union we keep stumbling over.

  “How can you even ask me that?” She turns, putting both elbows on the table as she lifts her coffee cup to her lips. “Living at the beach is a dream come true for most people.”

  “We don’t have to sell your house,” I repeat my argument, smiling at her cute stubbornness, as if adjusting her position can keep my words out. I move my hand to her waist and then under her shirt, spreading my palm over her bare stomach, thinking about what’s growing there. “We can keep it, and you can come here as often as you like for vacations or whatever.”

  She lowers her cup and leans back, placing her hand on top of mine still covering her flat stomach. Our physical familiarity is another thing I love about her. She’s unfazed by my hand against her skin. It’s as if every one of my touches is not only
welcome, but expected.

  “We might as well quit now,” she exhales. “If we can’t even get through this impasse, I have no idea what makes us think we can handle more serious issues.”

  I can’t help a laugh, and my hand goes from her stomach to her chin. I lift her delicate face and cover her small mouth with mine, tasting the bitter almost-chocolate flavor of the coffee as I part her lips, our tongues lightly touching. I want nothing more than to carry her back to that pretty, miniscule condo of hers and fuck her twenty ways from Sunday. Show her just how strong our love is.

  Releasing her face, I look into her now-darkened eyes. “Choosing a home base is actually a pretty big decision,” I say. “I think if we can decide on a place where we’ll both be happy, it’s proof we can handle anything.”

  She’s ready to relent. I know by her expression my kiss has left her willing to do anything I ask. God, I love her so much.

  “Derek.” When she says my name that way, I can’t tell if she’s aware I’ll do anything she asks. “Sloan asked me to leave here. And it was the most unhappy decision I’ve ever made in my life. I never want to make that mistake again.”

  Her words sting, but I understand her fears. I saw what she survived. My fingers trace a light path down her cheek as I exhale. “For one, I’m not Sloan,” I say, keeping my voice gentle. “And for two, we don’t have to make this decision today.”

  She blinks and her smile returns. The waiter also returns with our orders, and I kiss the side of her head. As he puts three orders of eggs—poached, scrambled, and wrapped in an omelet—in front of us, all served with sides of sausage, bacon, and ham. We spread out the plates and get ready to sample, share, and devour.

  “Delicious,” she smiles, lifting a thin slice of salty pork and taking a big bite.

  After breakfast we head down to the shore in front of Melissa’s place. My office is still closed for the New Year’s holiday, which I spent wrapped in my lady’s arms, but I’ll be heading back to Princeton in another day.