by Cara McKenna
“You just found out you’ve got your whole future ahead of you,” she whispered. “We should celebrate that. Celebrate life.”
“Amen.”
And she welcomed his warm weight on her, his knees between hers, his mouth when he kissed her, deep. And when the time came to welcome his cock, she reached for the lube herself, no longer intimidated.
He sank inside with a breathless shudder, looking overcome. She stroked the goose bumps that rose along his arms, marveled at him. She marveled at herself, even, at the hunger in her motions, the abandon she felt with this man. She marveled that sex could be so freeing, so intuitive and natural.
So many times, he’d asked her what she needed, here in this bed. Tonight he wouldn’t have to ask. She’d show him with her body, tell him with her words, unbidden.
She stroked his hair, his face, his arms. “You feel good.”
He moaned, hips speeding.
“I like that,” she whispered. “When you go faster.”
“Yeah?”
She smiled, nodded. “I like seeing what I do to you.” And someday she wanted to hear it, too, just like he’d said. The two of them, alone, and that voice she loved so much, unbridled.
So tell him so. “I want to know how you’d sound, if we were alone.”
“And I wish I could let you hear it.”
“Give me a taste. Just quiet, in my ear.”
He shifted lower, weight on his forearms, and put his mouth to her temple. His breath alone was enough to tighten her sex around his.
“Wouldn’t be quiet at all, if I had my way.” He was so close, she could hear his lips and tongue shaping each word.
“Just a taste.”
His hips slowed, and that voice dropped as low as she’d ever known it. A dark moan rose and peaked each time he drove deep. Her fingers curled against his back, nails digging, and she hugged her legs tight to his waist.
“You like it fast, though,” he whispered, and nipped at her ear, took her a little quicker. He gave her the sound of his breaths, raw and tight, until she was pawing, panting, squirming beneath him.
“You ever touch yourself, honey?”
“Sometimes.” She felt that familiar trickle of shame cool her body, melted in a beat by the fire raging between them.
“Do that now,” he said. “Let me see. Let me feel you come, with me inside you, just like this.”
She’d never done that—never dared to, never imagined it was an option. She’d have thought such a measure would hurt a man’s ego, though once again, she’d not counted on Casey Grossier.
“I’ll let you see, if you let me watch you,” she told him. “Lean back a little.”
He gave more than that, planting his knees wide, sitting upright, holding her hips. He let her see everything happening between them, and she feasted her eyes. When her hand slid down her belly to tease her sex, she felt no shame, no embarrassment. Watching his hips roll, his muscles clench, watching his skin, flushed and gleaming in the lamplight . . . she was too full up with lust to leave room for anything else. Too full up with lust to just lie there, in fact.
“I want to be on top.”
His parted lips curved to a smile. “Oh, do you?”
“Yeah.”
He gathered her in his arms, hauled her up so she was in his lap, then lowered himself, head at the foot of the bed. He bent his knees, seating her tight against him. His hands urged her hips, his gaze locked to her breasts, and she found that same sweet spot as the last time, that friction that made her feel like an animal. She took her pleasure with no self-consciousness, only naked aggression. When she came, she let him see it—whatever was written across her face—let him hear. Hell, let the whole damn town hear it, and the heavens above. Nothing that felt this good could possibly be wrong.
He came mere moments after she did, holding her hips still, pumping his own until his back arched and his eyes shut, his teeth clenched. She watched with wonder, drunk off him. When his pleasure finally let him go, he urged her to lie with him, pulling her tight to his panting body, back to chest.
“Jesus,” he huffed into her hair.
She grinned, giggled, clasped his wrist at her waist and sighed.
“Good?” he asked, and kissed her shoulder.
“Better than just good. Fun.” Not an adjective she was used to assigning to sex.
“Yeah. Yeah, it was. And different. Every time, you’re different.”
“You make me different,” she whispered. “I like it.”
They fell silent, and she felt his breath grow slow and steady against her nape, felt his heaving ribs settle into a lulling pulse against her back.
He’s right. That was different. Different, even, than it had felt yesterday.
A lot’s changed since yesterday. He’d shared something big with her, and his whole life was opened up wide before him.
And there was more, of course. She was falling for him, undeniably. She wanted more than he’d been prepared to offer, and more than she even knew if she was prepared to admit. Not without knowing the darker details of the past he seemed ready to leave behind.
And I have to tell him, before my heart wanders too far off to ever call back. Before Mercy, none of it would have mattered. But before Mercy, Abilene’s own best interests had never much mattered to her.
“I have something I need to say to you,” she said as their bodies cooled. Neither had spoken in ten minutes or more, and already her voice had gone a little shaky.
He must have noticed, as he moved immediately, sitting up cross-legged beside her. Abilene did the same, pulling the blanket over their laps.
“What is it?”
“I’m nervous,” she admitted.
He smiled. “So am I now, but that’s okay. You can tell me anything.”
She looked to her hands, took a final, deep breath, and leapt. “Well, I, um . . . I like you. You have to know that by now, the way things have been. But what we both decided before, about how it can’t be anything serious . . .”
She couldn’t read his face, but she knew he was hanging on her every word.
“I don’t know if that’s still what I want,” she admitted. “I think maybe I’m in danger of wanting more. And I think if we keep going like we have been, and sleeping together, I’m going to get myself into a position where I might get my heart broken.”
After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Wow. Okay.” Was that shock in his voice? Awe? Sheer terror?
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said.
“I’m thinking nobody’s ever made me feel half as flattered as you just did,” he said, smiling still but looking nervous, too. “But if you’re going to be that honest, I better be, too. I don’t know what I want. Wait—no, that’s not entirely true. I don’t know what I’m capable of, I guess. Even knowing my mental health is stable, I’m afraid to promise more than I’m used to delivering on. Because it’s different, with a baby in the picture.”
She nodded. “It is. And I’m not exactly sure what I want, either.” She drew her spine up straight and did something she wasn’t accustomed to—she made a demand of the man she was sleeping with. “Before I could ever know if what I want from you is a future, I’d have to know what it is you’ve been up to, since you left Fortuity. What you were doing in Texas.”
He swallowed. “I’m not sure I could tell you that.”
That brought a frown to her lips. “It was illegal; that much is obvious. And if you don’t think you want anything serious, of course you don’t need to say. But if you ever thought maybe you did, I’d have to know. I’ve gotten real good at ignoring red flags, but I can’t do that, now that Mercy’s here. I thought at first, I just couldn’t fall for another man with a criminal record. But you seem like you’ve changed, like you said, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe I could get past that.”
“I have changed. Or I’m starting to. Trying to.”
Abilene nodded, feeling hopeful. She’d forgiven James a lot,
and he’d hurt people. For all she knew, he may have killed people, and if not, she had little doubt that the weapons he ran would have managed the crime by proxy. There was no way Casey was a hit man or a rapist or a sex trafficker or anything truly heinous. He used to care about money, a lot. So a thief, maybe? A counterfeiter? A criminal of some sort, she imagined, but not a violent one. She trusted that. Sensed it. And he couldn’t scare her off. Not unless . . .
“It’s not about drugs, is it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing to do with drugs.”
She sighed inside, relieved beyond measure. That was the only deal breaker she could think of. Anything else he might’ve been in his old life—scam artist, bank robber, porn star—she assured herself that she could take in stride.
“Okay. Good.”
“But it’s tricky, honey. If I told you what I’ve done, you’d have all the information you’d need to get me put away for the rest of my life.”
Her bubble promptly burst.
“I can’t have you knowing those things.”
“You think I’d tell someone?” She couldn’t say which hurt worse now, that or the fear of hearing the details. Do I even know who I’ve been sleeping with? Who I’ve let into my life, and my daughter’s?
She did know who Casey was, in some ways. Knew he was kind, funny, patient, caring, passionate. She’d finally done it, it seemed. After years and years of falling for bad boys, she’d found a good man—good in the here and now, if not in his past. A good man who lit her up, and who seemed lit right back. She refused to give up on that dream, not until she knew the ugly truth.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said. “Not at all. But if you knew, and somebody came investigating me in a few weeks or months or years, that could make you complicit.”
“Jesus, Casey. What on earth did you do?”
He smiled his apology, the gesture tired and sad.
“You promised me you didn’t hurt anyone.”
He shook his head. “Not physically, no. I was a thief, but in exactly what way, I can’t tell you. Not yet, anyway.”
“Okay.” A thief, just as she’d suspected. Her chest loosened, if not completely. “Would you at least tell me what it is you served time for?” She could probably go online and find out, or ask one of his friends, but she wanted to hear it from Casey.
“I did six months, when I was twenty-two,” he said, then smirked. “The charge was impersonating an officer.”
She blinked. “What?”
“It’s a long, ridiculous, blurry story. I was pretty new to Vegas. There was a lot of alcohol involved, and a girl, and me agreeing to pass myself off as a cop to try to keep her friend from getting the real police called on him by a pit boss. I was young and dumb—it didn’t occur to me that she was asking me to commit a felony. But anyhow, I did my time, and the friend I got busted trying to help, he wound up being my in with all those card-counting folks, so there was that, at least.”
Her nerves unknotted. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”
“Nah, it was just stupid as shit. My first attempted con, you might say. I learned a valuable lesson at least—don’t drink on the job.”
“Thanks for telling me that much, anyhow . . . I can’t pretend I’m not curious if whatever we are to each other goes deeper than I was ready to admit. And if you decide you agree, I want to hear about you. And I have skeletons in my own closet that you’d deserve to know about.” She couldn’t say whose past should give the other more cause for misgiving, but she was sick of hiding. She was ready to find out, if being with this man was the prize up for grabs.
“I think I’d better head downstairs,” Casey said lightly.
Her heart went still between her ribs. “Oh. Okay.”
“Miah and his dad are still up,” he added, a little too quickly, and stood from the bed. “No need to start rumors.”
She sat up and watched as he dressed. “No, I guess not.” But she knew Casey well enough to guess that under normal circumstances, the comfort of a warm bed and the haze that followed sex would easily trump any worries about seeming improper. No, he was leaving because he needed distance, space. He was leaving because she’d spooked him. She’d told him she cared; she’d made the beginnings of demands. She’d pried, and she’d scared him away.
“If I wind up on the couch,” he said, buckling his belt, “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
She nodded. “Sounds good.”
With a final, tight smile, he added, “Sleep well,” and shut the door behind him.
But she knew already, she’d sleep like absolute shit.
Chapter 20
Casey stirred early—just after five, the DVD player’s clock told him. He was wide awake in a breath, like he’d blinked last night and then found himself lying here on the couch, never having slept a wink.
I’m sane. The thought struck with such a bolt that he could’ve jammed his tongue in a socket. In an instant, every muscle was taught. His vision in the dark room felt more keen, each cell in his body alert. Getting the news had left him shell-shocked—vaguely pleased and relieved, but also reeling. Overnight the disbelief seemed to have burned away, and in its wake he felt alive beyond comprehension.
I’m sane.
And I think maybe I fucked everything up.
He couldn’t say how long he’d lain awake after leaving Abilene’s room last night, how long he’d stared blankly at that stuffed antelope head, worrying his lighter, feeling lost. Feeling like—no, knowing—that he’d messed things up. That what Abilene had had to offer was exactly what he wanted most, deep down, but he’d let the old Casey fuck it up, reverting to outgrown priorities when faced with something that demanded more than he was used to giving. Being with her required commitment and honesty, and trust. And it required him to come clean about how he’d spent the past three or four years of his life, and to admit, even to himself, that he wasn’t entirely proud of it.
But the second he’d left those covers, he felt it in his gut—he’d made a mistake. She’d handed him a chance to become that man he’d been wanting to be, and he’d chosen instead to be a fucking coward.
Sure, she scared him a little. So did the baby, and so did airing his dirty laundry. The entire goddamn situation terrified him, but deep down, he didn’t fear all that commitment and honesty half as badly as he craved it.
And I can have it.
The test results made those things possible, and maybe that had him scared, too. He’d spent so many years imagining he had no future, finding out he did was an unexpectedly frightening reality. Like his life was the widest, longest expanse, with too many paths, too much possibility. Way too many ways for him to fuck it all up.
He looked to the landing, to the guest bedroom door. I already did fuck it up. Two steps into a thousand-mile journey into the unknown, and he’d already made a wrong turn. His heart knew what was best for him, but his fears had led him down the coward’s path last night.
I can fix this, still. He wanted her—he couldn’t deny it. It’d mean growing up, and real fucking fast, but he’d been working on that for months already. It’d mean telling her about his past, and risk her telling him she’d been wrong, that there was no place for him in her and Mercy’s lives.
He shivered at that, pinpointing exactly why he’d run.
Because of what he’d told her, the other night. What he wanted most. To be better than he had been, and to be worthy of people’s trust and love. She had the power to grant that wish, and the power to destroy it. He’d never handed a woman such a weapon before. He stared at that door and imagined saying the words.
Be mine. It felt like a prayer. Listen to my sins, and find it in your heart to forgive them. A big ask, but their entire connection felt big. Rare. Right.
Whether he’d find the balls to say those things aloud, he couldn’t guess, and he wouldn’t be able to find out for a while yet. He had to head to the bar this morning—he’d offered to take the weekly inventory
and let the contractors in for the day, so Duncan could have a morning to himself. Maybe that was best. Maybe he’d find a little courage on the ride.
He parked his bike in front of Benji’s right around six thirty, the town feeling quiet aside from the few cars on the road, their drivers surely heading to the quarry or a construction site—guys like Vince, with backbreaking jobs and large thermoses of coffee.
Casey didn’t mind a bit of dirty work, but as he unlocked the bar, he knew this was what he was built for. He might be able to do his brother’s job, if not as well, but he also knew it was a waste of his skills. He was too social. And, no offense to Vince, too smart. Vince’s power was in his body. Casey’s was between his ears, even if it might surprise some people to hear that. Working for somebody else, and at a job that provided zero mental stimulation, would turn him bitter inside six months.
He smiled at the vinyl banner strung along the awning that ran above the bar’s front door, the one telling passing carnivores that this place was going to be ready to meet their lunch and dinner needs soon. It read GRAND OPENING, EARLY SPRING, and provided the staff fell into place, they were on track to keep that promise.
He flipped the bolt closed behind himself and eyed the jukebox, considering it. Music might make taking stock a little less boring, but the silence was nice, in its own way. He liked the way his footsteps sounded on the floorboards, the random little creaks and groans of the old building as he strode to the office to fetch the inventory list. The front of the bar faced east and the morning light was nice this time of year, silvery and calming. Plus, Sunday or not, the contractors would be in soon enough, filling the place with their sanding or sawing or who knew what else, so he might as well enjoy the peace while he had it.
The workers did indeed arrive shortly, a few minutes after seven. Casey let them in the back door, then returned to his clipboard duties, tallying up every bottle and every bag of chips, every keg in the dusty basement, every lemon, every box of straws. When he next glanced at the clock, it read ten forty—ten twenty in bar time. He grabbed the laptop Duncan had bought for them to handle their accounts on from the office and set himself up at a high top before the windows, enjoying the last few rays before the sun rose to hide beyond the—
