Fighting to Forgive (Fighting Series)

by J. B. Salsbury

  I run my finger along the silvery strip and kiss the surrounding skin. What could it be? It’s too big to be a stab wound, but seems too sloppy for a surgical scar. “Don’t shut down on me. Tell me what happened.”

  Her tensed muscles relax fractionally at my whispered words. I continue to brush and pull at her tender skin with my lips, urging her to calm, silently begging her to trust me.

  I don’t move any lower, but linger, content to stay between her legs as long as it takes for her to talk to me. If Stew did this to her, I’ll hunt him down like a pig and slaughter his ass. I keep this information to myself, knowing that my flipping out will only chase her away.

  “C-section scar,” she finally whispers.

  Well, thank God.

  My breathing slows, and I study her skin. It looks like the damn procedure was done with a box cutter. The line isn’t straight, and the skin is puckered, like it healed wrong in some places. “Why?” It sounds like a stupid question, but I don’t know shit about baby delivery.

  She clears her throat. “I’m small. I was smaller at sixteen. Axelle was almost ten pounds.”

  “Fuckin’ hell, Mouse.” I don’t know much about babies, but I know weight. A ten-pound baby coming out of this tiny body? I resume my kissing hoping to hide my grimace, and trace the line with my lips. “Does it hurt?”

  “No. It’s hard to explain. Kind of numb, I guess.” She coughs out a laugh. “Guess this is the first time you’ve ever been naked with a mom before.” Throwing her hands over her face, she groans. “Embarrassing.”

  She’s right. I’ve never been with a mom. I don’t tell her that women with children were on my list of sexual no-no’s. It’s possible I unknowingly hooked up with a chick that had a kid, but I’ve never seen a scar like this before. I’d remember that.

  I slide up her body and pull her hands apart to see her face. She looks up at me with unease.

  “No, never been with a mom.” She rolls her eyes, and I catch her arms to keep her from covering her face again. “Scars aren’t ugly, Layla.” She startles, the sound of her name from my mouth getting her attention. But I need her to know how dead fucking serious I am about what I’m about to say. “They’re badges. Reminders of the experiences in our lives that were important enough to leave a mark.” Gazing down the length of her perfectly naked body, I skate my finger from her throat straight to the scar. “This is a reminder of what you have and what you went through to get her here. Not a damn thing ugly about that.”

  Her eyes sparkle, and she reaches up to run her hand over my hair and behind my neck. “Yeah, I like that.”

  “I like it too,” I whisper and slide my hand lower.

  “I’m glad—oh, gosh.”

  I catch her breathless gasp with my mouth.

  Everything I learn about her—the good, the bad—only makes her more attractive. I told myself to stay away from women with children for so many reasons. But I’m finding that some of her sexiest qualities revolve around her being a mom. Her patience and determination to right her wrongs with her daughter. Her concern for Axelle’s stability. And her capacity to love. I’ve never met anyone so complex and yet so simply beautiful.

  I want her. All of her.

  Trailing kisses down her body, she moans as I pass my lips over her scar again. But this time, I don’t stop there. I press open her thighs and wedge myself between her legs, throwing one of them over my shoulder.

  And then, I’m gone.

  I dip down and open my mouth between her legs. Mmm. Pure, sweet heaven. She takes a sharp breath, tensing for a moment, and then relaxes as I gorge myself on her. Unable to pull my eyes away from her arching body, I’m staring openly. Her hands grip the sheets, and her moans encourage me deeper. My hands dig into her ass, tilting her hips for a better angle. Harder, deeper, more.

  She’s breathless, and her supple breasts rise and fall faster and faster. “Snake…”

  My dick throbs at the breathy way she says my nickname. I’ve never wanted to be inside anyone so badly in all my life. My skin feels tight, and the pressure of what’s building below the surface threatens to rip free. I pull one hand from her ass and thrust my fingers inside her. She gasps with a drawn out mewl. Her hips roll, pressing against my hand, and I increase the pressure of my tongue. I focus on the cues her body gives. She’s so damn close, but unlike last night, she’s not fighting it. Two more seconds of this and my woman’s going to ignite.

  I pull back, not at all ready for this to end, but desperate for her gripping heat to engulf me. She lifts her upper body from the bed, and I climb over her. She grasps my head and kisses me. Pressing her back to the bed, I drop to the side and roll, taking her with me so she’s on top. She sucks my tongue into her mouth and groans. The taste of her floods both of our mouths.

  Reaching over, I open the top drawer of my bedside table. In record time, I’ve got my board shorts off and a condom on.

  “Sweetheart?” I say between kisses. There’s no way I’ll go any farther unless she begs. “Ask me.”

  “Please.” She buries her face in my neck.

  “Say it, Mouse.” I slide my hand between her legs. “I need to hear you say it.”

  She grinds down on my fingers. “Yes, I want you inside me.”

  “I want that too.” Gripping her hips, I position her over me. “Beg me.”

  “I’m empty without you.” She pulls at my earlobe with her teeth. “Please, Blake.”

  She pulls back, and we lock eyes. Straddled over me, she pushes up to her knees and lowers her body down, slowly taking me little by little. She rolls her lips between her teeth and her eyebrows pinch together.

  I hold her hips to still her. “Talk to me.”

  “I’m okay. You’re just really big.”

  “You sweet talkin’ me, Mouse?” I grin and pull her down for a long, wet kiss. “Feels so good, wrapped tight.”

  She pushes back, controlling the penetration until we’re completely connected. I wait for her to adjust, taking that time to move my hands and mouth over every available inch of her body. Her hands roam over my shoulders, arms, and chest. After a few minutes, she starts to move. Slow rolls of her hips alternate between long slides up and down.

  My chest gets tight, something intense welling deep. This goes far beyond a couple of consenting adults playing around in the bedroom. What’s happening here is binding. Permanent. It’s in the way we don’t take our eyes off each other. The visual stimulation of her petite body taking mine is more than I can handle. Her narrow hips are set wide across mine. Her delicate frame is braced above me, moving in rhythm with my thrusts.

  She moves faster, small sounds leaking from her lips going straight to my gut. My abdomen tightens, and the release I’ve been trying hard to hold off swirls at the ready.

  I grip her hips and fight the urge to slam her down on me, to impale her over and over until she screams my name. My teeth clench. It’s too much. The combination of what’s going on below my waist is outnumbered by what’s going on above.

  “Mouse, baby—”

  “Harder.”

  Yes! I push up to sitting and thrust my hips, practically tossing her off me. She holds onto my shoulders and I take over the pace. Every thrust threatens to shatter my strength and send my orgasm rocketing through me.

  Her head falls forward, and she hides her face in my neck.

  “You’re safe with me. Always.” I nip at her shoulder. “Don’t hide it from me, sweetheart.” I feel her body tighten around mine. “Show me.”

  She pulls back and peeks up at me. “Blake… I…”

  “Let go.”

  She calls out my name in a combination of a gasp and a growl. The sound pushes my orgasm to the surface, but I hold it back. Her body convulses around me. Burying me deep, she falls apart in my arms. Her fingers pinch into my biceps, holding on to me just as tightly as I am her. I lean back and drop kisses against her parted lips as she rides out her release. With her cheeks flushed pink and her eyes
drifting closed, she rolls against me and drops her head to the side on a moan.

  Gorgeously sated and relaxed, my strong, amazing woman who has been dragging sexual baggage along with her for over sixteen years just fell apart in my arms. My ribcage feels too small to contain the enormous amount of pride that is surging and billowing behind it. I flip her to her back, the one thing I told myself I shouldn’t do, and put myself on top of her.

  “You did it, baby. And fuck me, that shit was insanely hot. You’re not broken, you’re perfect.” I need to make sure that her being pinned beneath me doesn’t bring back old memories. “You okay?”

  She gives me a lazy smile, and glides her hands up over my shoulders to my neck. “Yeah.”

  I rock into her and grind down. “Good, because I’m not finished with you yet.”

  She moans and arches her back. Unable to take another second away from her lips, I lean on my elbow and devour her mouth.

  Our bodies move together, the pace growing more frantic. Her legs wrap and lock around my hips. Hands and lips move, exploring in a frenzied loss of control. She rips her mouth from mine and moans so deep I feel it in my dick.

  And I’m gone.

  I lock my eyes on hers. My breath rasps as I push and pull through my orgasm. The tension in my muscles dissolves, along with everything else in the world. Worry and concern for what just happened between us becomes non-existent. The only thing that that means anything is lying beneath me, eyes closed, and a soft smile, on her lips. And she’s all fucking mine.

  “Mouse, I’m…” I’m what? Falling for you. Crazy about you? In lo—no. Right?

  “Wow, now I see why you’re so popular with the ladies.”

  What the fuck? How can she even think about me with other women after what we just did?

  I roll off her, hoping to hell she didn’t mean that the way it sounded. Throwing my legs over the edge of the bed, I give her my back and toss the condom into the small trashcan by my bed.

  “I can’t believe I had an orgasm.” She giggles behind me. “You, Mr. Daniels, are quite talented.”

  I’m not at all happy with the carefree sound in her voice. That single sexual experience shook the foundation of every fucking thing I thought I knew. And here she’s laughing like it meant nothing more than an orgasm.

  I grab my board shorts from off the ground and slide them on. “Yeah, that was fun.” That’s all I can say?

  “Fun? That was amazing.” I hear the sound of rustling sheets as she moves around the bed. She’s probably looking for her clothes, but I can’t bring myself to look back at her. “I’ve never felt anything like that before. Now I know why women throw themselves at you.”

  Fuck. What just happened here?

  I shake my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to get my bearings.

  “You okay? You have a headache or something?” Her concerned voice is right next to me.

  I open my eyes to see her dressed in her pants with her hands covering her naked breasts.

  “Headache. Probably from the sun.” Bullshit. But whatever.

  “What time is it? I should probably get home.”

  I cannot fucking believe this shit.

  Moving up from the bed, I snag a shirt and slip on my shoes. “Sure, let’s get you home.”

  “You sure you’re okay?”

  No, I’m sure as shit not okay. “Fine. You ready?”

  She nods and moves past me. I don’t follow her right away, but instead stare at my bed. Minutes ago, that place held so much promise, a possible future. Life altering shit. But now, the bed is empty, and the sheets are twisted, just like my insides feel.

  She’s downplaying our experience and putting me back into the asshole player category she had me in when we met. Reducing her worth into nothing more than a meaningless one-night-stand, with nothing to show for it but—in her words—a goopy condom in my trashcan.

  Nineteen

  Layla

  I can’t believe it happened. It finally happened! With a man—a gorgeous man—for the first time. Ever.

  I’m floating on the high of post-orgasm bliss and empowerment. To add celebration to my sex-high, I didn’t hear Stewart’s voice in my head one time. Blake’s verbal affirmations drown out Stewart’s internal assaults. Is it possible that this could be a breakthrough to my healing?

  It’s all so new. A sexual relationship on my terms. Not born out of duty or obligation, but choice. Breathing deep, a grin curls my lips. I haven’t been able to wipe it from my face since… sigh…

  My body’s still humming. The memory of what he did with his hands, his mouth, his—wow. A wave of arousal rolls through my body. After we finished, I wasn’t thinking clearly. If I had, I’d have asked for a round two.

  I guess it’s best that I didn’t. He was quiet on the drive home and didn’t walk me to my door like he usually does. He said he had a headache, but something tells me it’s more than that. So caught up in my sexual achievement, I didn’t slow down long enough to think about how sleeping with his boss’s assistant might affect him. Or maybe it was the C-section scar that freaked him out? Oh no! What if he thinks I’m horrible in bed? Insecurity washes over me. What if he regrets having sex with me?

  “I’m heading out.” Elle strolls into the kitchen, where I’m eating peanut butter out of the jar.

  I shake away the direction of my thoughts and focus on my daughter. “No, you’re not.” Licking my spoon, I dig in for another bite.

  She slides into the seat across from me. I notice she doesn’t have all that dark makeup on, and she’s wearing a shirt that covers most of her skin. “Mom, I know I totally messed up, and you probably don’t trust me to make good choices.”

  I nod. She’s got that right.

  “I’ve been hanging out with a new girl at school. She’s friends with Killian. Her number’s on the fridge.” She points to the pink Post-it note stuck to the freezer door. “Her name is Cara, and her mom’s name is Suzanne. I put her mom’s cell number up there too.”

  I swing my gaze from the Post-it to Elle. “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  She leans back in her chair. “Call her. Call her mom. They’ll tell you.”

  Narrowing my eyes at her, I lean in and point my peanut butter spoon in her face. “If you’re not lying, then tell me what your plans are. I’ll call Suzanne and cross-reference your story with hers. If it checks out, you’re free to go.”

  “We’re going to the school play and then to have pizza with some friends in the drama department. Killian will be there. And if it’s cool with you, Cara said I could stay the night.”

  I hop up and dial Suzanne’s number into my cell phone. After a very pleasant conversation with Cara’s mom, I decide that Elle is telling the truth.

  “Okay, your story checks out. You can go, but you have to promise to call me before you go to bed.”

  Elle claps her hands and jumps up from her seat. “I will, I promise.” She moves over to me and wraps me in a bear hug.

  I hug her back as hard as I can and hope it communicates how much I love her and how proud I am that she was honest with me. “I love you, Axelle.”

  She pulls back and studies me, her eyebrows pinched together. “You never call me that. I mean, unless you’re pissed.”

  I shrug and twirl a piece of her silky hair between my fingers. “I know, but it’s your name. I should call you that.”

  Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she gives me one last hug. Cara shows up a few minutes later to pick her up. She seems like a nice girl, clean cut without a hint of rebellion. After waving the girls off, I go to my room and pull on tube socks that go up to my knees, a cozy pair of shorty-shorts, and a long-sleeved tee. I move into the living room and flop on the couch with the remote.

  Seven at night on a Saturday and I’m channel surfing. Alone. Fabulous.

  A couple of really bad reality television shows later, I’m wide awake and staring at the clock. What’s a girl to do on a Saturday nig
ht all alone? My eyes drift to the clock again. I’d go see if Mac was at The Blackout but don’t feel like getting ready.

  Orrrr… One side of my mouth lifts into a grin. I could drive over to Blake’s and surprise him. I’d just check on him and see how he’s feeling. Maybe make him something to eat. My belly cartwheels at the thought of cuddling up with Blake. Holding his head in my lap while we channel surf.

  In a hurry, before I talk myself out of it, I slip on some shoes and race out the door. Giddy, I jump into the Bronco and drive toward Blake’s house.

  This is so impulsive, and on my terms. I blast the classic rock station that’s playing “Hotel California” by The Eagles. Before long, I’m parked and racing up the stairs to Blake’s condo.

  I pound on the door and ring the bell, smiling and bouncing on my toes. There’s music, faint, but loud enough to be heard through the solid wood door. He won’t be able to hear my knock over the blaring beat.

  Sticking my ear to the door, I wait for a break in the track. The drum solo throbs against my ears, and I try to identify the song. When the vibration of the bass dies, I ring the doorbell, this time louder and longer. I press my ear to the door again. The music shuts off. Butterflies swirl in my stomach. I lick my lips, so excited to see him and jump into his arms.

  By the time I hear the lock click, I’m practically squealing with excitement. The door opens and… my smile dissolves along with my enthusiasm.

  Blake stands in the doorway, a scowl etched into his face. His shirtless torso shimmers with sweat down to his jeans, and the top button of his fly hangs open.

  And he’s barefoot. What in the hell did I just interrupt?

  His narrow glare moves from my tube-socked feet, up my legs, over my belly, and to my eyes. I shake my head, as if my body is speaking the word my lips won’t voice. No.

  I take a step back, and for the first time I see something flare in his eyes, but I can’t read it.

  “Mouse? What the hell are you doing here?”

  “You’re, um… busy.” I can’t take my eyes off the open buttons of his jeans. “I’m gonna go.” But I can’t move.