by Cara McKenna
“Something like that.”
He smiled. He’d wanted to be able to buy her something, something not too gift-y, but more meaningful than the diaper rash cream or hair elastics she might ask him to pick up at the drugstore. Was she thinking of the plain old cross kind, or a hard-core crucifix with the tiny suffering Jesus and all that . . . ?
“I’d better go relieve Miah,” she said, pushing herself up to sitting.
“Okay.” Casey rose to follow her. She was probably exhausted from all the stress, but he was wired. Maybe Miah felt like a movie or a game of cards.
Abilene turned with her hand on the doorknob, looking him up and down. “You don’t need to go.”
“I figured you must be wiped and that I’d give you some space.”
She turned fully, leaning back against the door. “I feel better with you than I do just by myself.” Her tone was shy, maybe nervous. “I mean, if you felt like hanging out, that is.”
Hanging out? What did that mean, exactly? A heart-to-heart, or another collision, like yesterday afternoon? He swallowed. “Whatever you need.”
What the girl needed, of course, was more than he had to give—a future, for one, and security. Not security like he was offering, playing bodyguard this week, but the real stuff. That C-word he’d been running from his entire life—commitment. And yet . . .
Maybe it was the possessive caveman in him not wanting to imagine her with anybody else, but some selfish part of Casey refused to think there was anyone better for her. He knew what she deserved. A man who’d do anything, risk everything, to keep her safe and to make her smile.
He could do that much. But all the rest? The long-haul stuff? To commit not just to one woman, but to a child as well. If he even had a future to look forward to, was he really capable of offering all that? If he had any doubts, the choice was obvious. There was no way in the hottest corner of hell he’d get himself in a position to let Mercy down the way his own father had done to him and Vince. Some men just weren’t built for that shit.
Make no promises, break no promises. That was the simple answer. Until those test results came back, it was the only answer. Once they did, if somehow, through some stroke of good karma he’d never earned, Casey found out he did have a future, then what? Then, he supposed, he’d have a choice to make.
Keep things simple and selfish, or finally man the fuck up.
Chapter 13
Casey used the guest bathroom while Abilene was downstairs. As he scrubbed his face with a cold washcloth, he had to wonder, did the Churches think there was something up between the two of them? Miah wasn’t naive, and Christine was a bloodhound about that stuff. He returned to the bedroom and shut the door as silently as he could, cheeks warming.
Abilene had returned and was leaning over the crib. As she turned, she pressed a finger to her lips.
He nodded. They might talk all night or wind up fooling around again, but either way it would be going down in whispers. He didn’t mind. And he honestly didn’t mind either way, what sort of “hanging out” this might be. If all she was after was a warm body against hers and a decent night’s sleep, he could be that.
He’d dedicated so many years to taking, he’d forgotten that it could feel this good, providing. Maybe he’d never even known it, before her.
I turned into my old man after all. The one vow he’d ever made to himself, he’d broken. He’d run off when things turned grim at home and called it freedom. In reality, it had been cowardice.
Well, fuck all that.
“How you feeling?” he asked softly.
Abilene shed her jacket and rooted through the dresser, pulling out pajama pants and a T-shirt. “Good, I think. Dazed, and still a little scared, but good. Could you turn around a sec?”
He went to stand over the crib, studying Mercy’s peaceful, fat little face while Abilene changed.
Her shyness didn’t bother him. He’d had lovers who liked to keep the lights off during sex, partly, he guessed, because he was attracted to girls who were a little bigger than average, and maybe a little more self-conscious than average. He’d been with brazen girls, too, skinny and curvy alike, but the shy ones prevailed, looking back. Opposites attracted, he supposed.
“All set,” she said.
She was climbing under the covers when he turned around. Uncertain what she might be after, he sat on the other end of the bed, content to talk. He squeezed her foot where it tented the blanket. “Anything in particular you need?”
She shook her head. “It’s just nice to have you here, with all this stuff running through my head.”
“I can stick around until you fall asleep, if you want. Maybe talk about something super boring, to help you get there quicker . . . ?”
“You could maybe stick around for the night. If you want to.”
Casey swallowed, his ever-hopeful dick growing curious about the invitation. “I could.”
She sat up, hugging her knees. “If this drama with James calms down after the meeting, I guess everything might go back to normal. You can sleep in your own bed again. I can start looking for a place.”
“You know the Churches don’t mind if you stay on for a few more weeks.”
“Yeah, Christine said so. It’s awful nice of them.”
“And I’m happy to help you move again.” If you could even call it moving. They’d gotten everything, including the baby’s stuff, from her old place to Three C in just one carload each. It had taken all of three hours from the time he’d showed up to help pack to when she’d folded the last of her clothes into the borrowed dresser.
“You get a place of your own,” he said, “and we’re going to need to hook you up with some things. Furniture, microwave, TV . . . Not that I’m one to talk. My apartment looks like a squat.”
“We can go Dumpster diving together,” she said.
“Deal.”
Neither spoke for a long moment, though both gazes lingered until Abilene bit her lip, looking away.
“What?” he asked, and gave her toes another squeeze.
“Are we . . . Did you want to do more than hang out, maybe?”
“I told myself yesterday was a one-off,” he said, but when her face fell, he hurried to take it back. “Only so I wouldn’t get my hopes up about it ever happening again. I mean, I don’t see the harm in it. But if you thought it was a bad idea . . .”
“Not if we both know where we stand. What do you . . . What does it mean to you?” she asked. “Be honest.”
“I like you,” he told her, point-blank. “I’ve liked you from the second I saw you. I liked you when the hormones made you a psycho, and I like you at three a.m. with baby puke in your hair. I think you deserve better than me, and more than I can promise anybody, but I won’t pretend like I don’t want to be with you, in whatever way’s on offer. What about you? What does us fooling around mean to you?”
“I’ve just missed feeling all those things, I guess. And in a selfish way, with everything as scary as it has been, I want it even more, if only to feel something nice for a change. Mercy’s small now,” she said, gaze drifting to the crib. “She won’t remember any of what’s been happening—not the moving around, not any of this business with James, not anything that’s changed between you and me. In a couple years I’m going to have to be careful of how close I let men get, so it’s not just me who’d be in danger of getting attached.” She looked back to Casey. “But for right now, I think it’s okay.” She sounded different, since that phone call. Even tired and rattled, her voice was as strong as he’d ever heard it. “Right now,” she said, “I think it’s what I need. I don’t need promises of forever; I’m up to my eyeballs in commitment already. But to feel like more than just a mom for a few nights, for however long it might last . . . ?”
He felt his pulse spike.
“Can we be that way?” she asked softly. “Just make each other feel good?” Her gaze moved down his body, lighting a fire in his belly.
“We can be whatever
way you like.”
“Come over here, then. Remind me what I’ve been missing out on.”
Casey stood from the bed, peeled off his socks, ditched his hoodie. He kept his jeans on and climbed under the covers.
“Can I hold you?” he whispered.
Her reply had an edge to it that he’d never caught before. Mischief. “You can do anything you want.”
Casey swallowed, blood pumping quicker. “I want to kiss you, then.”
She shifted to lie on her side and he did the same. As his mouth met hers, he eased his knee between her legs and drew her close by the waist. He wouldn’t rush her, wouldn’t get pushy, but it felt nice, taking even these small liberties. Made it feel like she was his. His to touch as he desired, his to cater to. He cradled her head, thumb tracing her ear, and kissed her deeper. A surprised huff of a breath from her nose tickled his cheek, and he gave her more of his tongue. Let her feel his hunger. Let her know she stirred more than gentle feelings in him, more than affection and deference. Deeply, darkly primal urges.
She wanted him back. He felt it in the way her fingers gripped his shirt, and he could hear it in her breaths—tiny mewling noises now, helpless little notes of wonder. He slid his hand to her butt and tugged her closer as his hips began to move.
She broke their mouths apart, already panting.
“All right?”
“I can’t believe how . . . how much you make me feel.” She swallowed audibly. “Up until yesterday, I’d forgotten what it was even like, wanting somebody this way.”
Casey felt something similar, something he couldn’t quite articulate. He’d never set his entire sex drive aside, but this . . . This, he hadn’t felt in ages. He’d wanted women, and badly, but not the way he wanted Abilene. This felt big. Felt huge to a man who’d gotten in the habit of settling for the best offer available.
There had been no yearning in his life in recent years. No wanting, aching, waiting, and finally tasting. Only stumbling into beds and lives. Until now.
“I know what you mean,” he whispered, and kissed her lower lip. “You’ve gone a long time not wanting like this. I’ve gone a long time not feeling this.”
“Feeling what?”
“Everything,” he said, the answer meaning nothing, yet so much. He climbed on top of her. Her thighs hugged his waist, urging him to move, and with two short strokes, his jeans were a straitjacket.
He’d never pressure her to do anything she wasn’t ready for, but he couldn’t hide what he desired, either. “I want you,” he whispered. “So bad.”
“I want you, too.”
“Tell me,” he said, rubbing against her, slow and light, “that someday, we’ll go there together. That I can touch you there. Or use my mouth. Or be inside you.”
She softened beneath him, legs going slack. Those blue eyes were bright even in the near dark, and her stare stilled his hips. “Why not tonight?” she asked.
In a breath, Casey was overheated. “Tonight?”
“If you have condoms, that is.” She looked shy at that, and he had to smile. He’d seen her give birth, yet she was still embarrassed to say condom in front of him.
“I think I do. Can you hang on a minute?”
She nodded.
Casey prayed the den would be empty as he slipped out the door. As he stepped onto the landing, he found he wasn’t in luck—the TV was on, volume low, and Christine and Don were sitting together on the couch. He wondered how flushed his face must be as he started down the steps.
Christine looked over as he neared. “Needing the couch? Our show’s nearly over.”
“No, no. Just my shaving bag.”
“Shaving bag?” Don asked, chuckling. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten what a razor was.”
“Don’t get excited—I just need my toothbrush.” He crouched before his duffel and dug for the nylon pouch, thinking he might just escape without interrogation until—
“How’s Abilene doing?” Christine asked.
He got to his feet. “Pretty good. Relieved, I think.” And let them assume he was sequestered in her room for moral support, please and thanks. “The baby’s taking it easy on her tonight, at least.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Yeah. Anyhow, see you tomorrow.” And with that, he hurried to the steps. He stopped in the guest bathroom, thinking he might as well brush his teeth, swerve and avoid the lie. As he did, he poked through the inside pockets of his shaving bag and found precisely one condom. He couldn’t even remember whom he might’ve been seeing when he’d bothered to pack it, but it wasn’t expired so he beamed a little thank-you to that forgotten woman. He spat and rinsed and stole back into Abilene’s room with the plastic square clinging to his sweaty palm.
She sat up as he entered, expression expectant.
He flipped the condom up between two fingers like a playing card, a little sleight-of-hand trick he’d taught himself when he was ten.
“We don’t have to use this,” he said firmly, setting it on the side table, “if you think you’re not ready. It’ll just be here, in case you decide you are.” He undid his belt and pushed his jeans down.
“I’m ready.” She welcomed him back under the covers. “Just nervous.”
He edged close, locking their legs together. “What about?”
“My body just doesn’t feel the way it used to, before the baby.”
“Ah. Well, I made you come yesterday, right?”
She nodded.
Casey got back on top, bracing his arms at her sides and his knees astride hers, hovering. Smiling. “You hadn’t expected you would,” he prompted.
“No.”
“Did it make you feel like you got your body back, just a little?”
She thought about it. “Yeah, I guess it did.”
“And maybe whatever happens tonight will get a little more of it back.”
“Maybe.”
“Abilene,” he said, his face so close to hers, their noses touched. “There’s nothing I want more right now than to make you feel good. Whatever that looks like, I want to do that. Be that for you. You willing to let me try?”
Another nod.
“Can I touch you?”
“Okay.”
He kissed her, lightly at first, deeper, then pulled away to settle between her legs on his knees. She let him undo the bow of her drawstring and ease her pajamas away. His breath grew shallow at a moment’s peek between her legs. No panties, just her, obscured by the shadows. He could smell her, as well, if faintly. Christ, he’d forgotten that scent. His cock went from pulsing to pounding in a single heartbeat. He stroked her from her calves to her thighs, loving the feel of her. Soft skin, soft flesh, everything perfect, right down to the little Band-Aid on her knee. When she twitched, he made the touch firmer.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so—”
“Don’t apologize to me again.”
She bit her lip, as though she’d nearly apologized for apologizing. “Or else what?”
“Or else something mean,” he said softly, still stroking her legs. “I dunno what yet, but something awful. Maybe I’ll sing to you.”
She smiled. “I like your singing.”
“When have— Oh, to the baby.”
“And in the car. You sang along to ‘My Sharona’ last time you drove me to town. You didn’t know half the words, but I like your voice.”
“Well, I’ll cook for you, then. I cook the worst eggs you’ve ever tasted,” he promised, squeezing her ankles, calves, thighs, hips. “You want them burned and rubbery, or all snotty in the middle?”
“Gross.” The word was barely a breath, as his thumbs ran along the creases of her uppermost thighs, close enough for him to feel the soft tease of her pubic hair. She sucked an inhalation as though shocked or tickled, and Casey made the touch firmer. He planted his knees wider, opening her legs in turn. Her calves were cool at his hips, telling him precisely how hot he was burnin
g for her. His mouth felt dry, cock already hurting from neglect. He let his hand inch closer, closer, until his thumbs found the plump swells of her outer lips. Their collective breath came up short.
He laid the length of his thumb along one edge of her sex and slowly drew the other down the seam, then up. As he brushed her clit, she jolted, grasping his upper arms.
He went still. “You want me to stop?”
“No. It just . . . zapped me.”
“Okay.” He curled forward to kiss her belly through her shirt, hands still frozen. “If anything’s too much, just say.”
“I will.”
He traced both thumbs along her outer folds this time, down and back up. A softer buck answered when he glanced her clit, chased by a sigh.
He smiled to himself. He knew there were men—men like his brother, he bet—who’d find all this waters testing too much work to bother with. Guys who didn’t want to pick the lock, preferring to just go charging through like a battering ram. Casey, however, enjoyed picking locks, both figuratively and literally. Loved a challenge. He loved figuring a woman out, discovering what could melt her nerves away, what could leave her begging for more.
He bet most anybody who hadn’t slept with him would assume he was the battering-ram type, which was fair—he was pretty blunt in most aspects of his life. But in his old line of work, and in bed, he was a perfectionist. An artist, as Emily had called him. He wasn’t jacked like Vince, or freakishly good-looking like Duncan, or any kind of small-town royalty like Miah. He wasn’t even a great person, he suspected, but he was a damn good lover. And he’d stay on his knees all night, taking it stroke by stroke like a painter, if that’s what it would take to figure Abilene out.
“That feels nice,” she whispered. Her eyes were shut, her lips parted.
He took the touch deeper, finding her wet. His breath hitched; his face warmed. His cock ached, dying to get inside her.
“Feels nice to me, too.” Deeper still, until his thumb was slick from her. He rubbed her clit—small circles at first, then lighter flicks. He got his other thumb wet and touched her with both, in tiny symmetrical strokes like parentheses. Her legs tensed and squeezed and a soft moan hummed in her throat.
