by Frankie Love
And contacting Dean Westbrook will change my life forever.
Will change Asher's life.
And isn't that exactly what happened the first time I met him?
But Lexi's right, I need to find out more.
He's dying.
He has weeks to live.
Still, the next morning when I call in sick to work and drop Asher off at daycare, I can't help but feel selfish to roll into his office now and tell him my part of his story.
The part that will link us together in life and in death.
The part he has no idea about.
In the news story, he said his greatest regret was not having a family. I swallow my tears as I get on a subway headed to uptown where Google tells me his office is located. I chose not to bring Asher, needing to meet him myself, and make sure he could handle the truth.
I try to imagine what it would be like to know you were dying, to feel all alone in the world, and then to find out you have a child. It's the cruelest joke the universe could play.
I don't even know if he wants a child. But Lexi and I had stayed up reading his Wiki page and looking at his social media profile—triple confirming that Dane is my baby-daddy. And even if he's been a player in the past, his impending death changes things. And honestly, his days of being a player truly did seem behind him. He had donated millions to various charities. And not just one million here, two million there. We're talking hundreds of millions of dollars to our city.
I always wanted Asher to know who his dad is, but I never expected his dad would be dying when we figured out who he was.
And now, standing in the Manhattan office of Westbrook Inc., a venture capitalist firm, tears well up in my eyes again. The secretary is frazzled, and I am sure she has been fielding calls all day. In fact, I watch her phone lines blinking and she keeps putting people on hold while I wait my turn.
Eventually, she looks up at me, informing me that Dane isn't seeing anyone. But I had already forced my way past security, insisting and crying and eventually getting to his secretary. No way am I leaving without seeing him.
When she calls Dane, telling him someone's here to see him, he refuses to see me.
That's when I give up being polite.
This is worth causing a scene over.
And now I'm standing across from Dane Westbrook in his office. His face is written with shock over seeing me.
One look tells me everything I need to know.
He remembers me.
He remembers our time together.
And then I look at his handsome face. His eyes brim with a pain he hadn't experienced when we made Asher. He possesses a sorrow that a man so young shouldn't know.
Dane is dying. And no matter how many times I wished I knew who he was, for Asher's sake, I never imagined this moment going down like this.
I never imagined that the moment I found out his name I would also find out he had a timestamp on his life.
"Oh, God," he says, rising from his chair. The realization that I'm here clearly shocks him and he grips the edge of the desk, his biceps flexing and his button-down shirt stretching over his muscles. Even if he's sick, he's as strong as ever.
In control.
Taking him in takes my breath away.
He looks like Asher. My Asher.
And Asher looks just like him. Tears spring to my eyes, completely in shock at this revelation. I blink back my emotions, imagining Dane's baby pictures, certain they would show the same blond curls and bright blue eyes and cheeks with dimples. Dane's baby pictures would be mirror images of Asher's.
I can't speak.
I'm the one falling apart when he is the one who is going to die.
"Are you alright?" he asks, coming around his desk toward me. I shake my head, my hand at my chest, unbuttoning the top button of my blouse as I try to fan myself. Cool myself. I'm suddenly so hot. So overwhelmed.
I'm faint.
And I'm not being fair.
This shouldn't be about me.
This needs to be about Dane.
I look in his eyes and in an instant, I'm back at that Miami cabana. Coconut and sunscreen and margaritas. Salty lips and salty air and sun-streaked hair.
His arms on me. His body against mine.
A moment of reckless abandon.
A moment of worlds colliding.
We made a child.
Asher.
And now Dane is dying.
"You need some water." He flings open his office door. "Carla, I need some water. Now."
"Yes, sir." Carla rushes in and brings me a bottle of water. Dane thanks her, tells her to clear his schedule, and then shuts the door.
Locks it.
I guzzle the water.
I can't breathe. I look at him and feel a million emotions. Heartbreak. Desire. Lust. Love.
No. Not love.
I can’t love a stranger.
Can I?
But what I feel for him is something deep and true and spans beyond life and death.
It’s not just because he is Asher’s father. That is part of it… but it is also that when he looks at me, he sees me.
"You heard, then?" he asks as I finish the bottle of water, trying to ground myself in the moment.
"When I saw the story last night, I finally figured out who you were... Your name..."
I want to tell him about Asher.
But he touches my cheek while sighing the deepest, most agonizing sigh I've ever heard in my life, then runs his hands through his hair.
The kind of sigh that is laced with regret. I just don't know what sort of regret right now.
Is it regret about ever being with me? Regret over what his life could have been? Regret over walking away?
"I'm so fucking glad you saw it." Dane shakes his head. "I've been yelling at my publicist all night and day, but if the press meant you found me... then it was worth it." He runs his hand over his chiseled jaw. A jaw I kissed, a jaw I want to kiss again.
"Bittersweet, though, isn't it?"
He laughs sharply. Too sharp. A sharpness that was probably embedded in his heart the moment he found out about his diagnosis. A sharpness he shouldn't apologize for.
He has weeks left to live.
"Life is a fucking trip, isn't it?" he asks.
I can't help but smile. And then he is smiling too. I don't know why, why we would smile in the middle of this mess—I still haven't told him why I came—but when he looks at me I can't help but see the world through a different lens.
And he is looking straight at my heart. He gives me a look so full of desperate longing that all I want to do right now is make his pain go away.
"I'm a fucking mess. I mean, when you met me I was a mess, but a different kind. Back then I was out of my head most the time, partying way too hard, but I met you, and everything changed."
"What do you mean, everything changed?" I have to ask. Because what he doesn't realize is that everything changed for me too.
The day we met is the day I became a mother.
"After I met you, I realized if I ever wanted to be a man who was good enough for a woman like you, I needed to be a better man. I needed to stop the bullshit, the games. I wanted to be the kind of man my parents would be proud of. A man you would be proud of. So, I started giving money to places that matter, started learning about ways to give back. In short, I stopped living for myself. And I only did that because I met you."
His words are so surprising, so unexpected, my eyes fill with tears.
"It's hard to believe that one hour with me caused you to change your entire life." Even as I say it, I know it's not so hard to believe at all. Because one hour with him changed my entire world.
"Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me."
I bite my bottom lip, savoring his words and knowing how true they are.
"I wish we had time to fall in love, to grow old together," he says sincerely. "It's cruel to meet again, like this, but even though I'm dying, me
eting you made the last year of my life so much better. You, Dottie, gave my life meaning."
Dane presses his palms against his face, this strong, confident man is coming undone.
The news story reported that he had no family, no living relatives.
What would it be like to face death with those facts before you?
I lay a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know if I have the right to say anything to you right now," I tell him, knowing that as a guidance counselor at a high school I get paid to listen to people tell me their problems. And I do my best to encourage them. "But if you want to talk... I'm here for you. I can be a shoulder to cry on."
He drops his hand, taking in my words. And as he does, it's like a weight has been lifted from the room. As if offering him my support lessens his burden.
"I don't want to talk to you, Dottie," he says slowly.
I stiffen, not expecting those words.
"You don't?"
He shakes his head, then cups my face with both his hands and pulls me toward him. "I don't want to talk. I want to make love to you."
My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but his eyes are hungry with desire.
And my body responds to his touch, waking up from a fifteen-month slumber.
"Please, Dottie. I don't want to talk right now... I want to feel like a man who is still living."
I nod, leaning in, needing his mouth on my mine, knowing I would never deny the father of my child his dying wish.
Chapter 8
Maybe it's unfair to unburden myself with the woman who barely knows me. But she stands in this office listening to me, as I cry in front of her, she tells me she will be a shoulder for me to cry on.
She doesn't ask me for a single thing—her and me... in a different life... a life where I wasn't going to die... we could've been something beautiful.
We could have made a life we would have been proud of.
Hell, she's the reason my life is something I'm proud of at all.
I never considered philanthropy before I met her. I was nothing but a greedy mother fucker. But all that changed when she walked into my life. And she doesn't even understand it.
She doesn't seem to realize the effect she has on me.
Her mouth is so close to mine, her lips so tender and pink. Her eyes rimmed in red and I imagine her crying over me, over the news.
I hate that my life has caused her any pain, and the fact that she's giving herself to me, again, is more than I fucking deserve.
When she kisses me, and wraps her arms around me; when she leans into me, it's with an ache I understand. She needs this and I need her.
My arms wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to me. My cock is already hard as I remember her naked flesh against my chest at the pool.
All I want is to see her body again. Hell, I haven't slept with a single person since we were together. That amounts to fifteen months of jacking off all by my lonesome to her memory.
To images of her... her polka dot swimsuit, her perfect tits bobbing in the water, her creamy skin that had never been touched.
Now she's here.
I push everything off my desk. Papers scatter and books fall and, hell, I think a laptop crashes to the floor.
She looks at me wide-eyed, surprised. She doesn't understand my hunger.
But then she's ripping off my shirt, unbuckling my belt, and I realize I didn't give her enough credit.
She understands my hunger because she’s fucking famished. Her hands run up and down my chest, whimpering as she touches my body. And I pull down the zipper on the back of her dress, help her to shrug out of the sleeves, letting the dress fall to the floor.
She's wearing a simple cotton bra and a basic pair of panties that tell me she hasn't been fucking strangers.
No, she wouldn't be wearing these underclothes if she had frequent hookups. And I like that she isn't reckless every day.
Hell, maybe she was only reckless one day.
She flips off the overhead light, telling me the fluorescent ones are too much.
I don't care if we're in the dark or if we're in the sunshine—all I want is her. All I need is her. And somehow, right now, I have her.
I lay her back against the desk and pull off her panties, tossing them aside and spreading her knees apart. I press my mouth to her pussy before she has a chance to reconsider. And with one lick, I know this is right.
The day we met, I finger fucked her, I had to open her tightness until she was ready for my cock, but I had never seen her with her legs spread apart, open for me.
And now I lick her up and down, and her back arches against the glass top of my desk, my fingers press into her pussy; rubbing her hood in a circle, and my tongue darts deeper and deeper inside her, wanting to taste and explore her until she comes against me.
Her hands thread through in my hair, and her legs wrap around my head. Good girl. I'm no longer thinking about life or death—I'm only thinking about us.
Her pussy is so fucking sweet, and I lick her hard as she whimpers under me. Her pussy is dripping now, she tastes like sweet red apples and I'm desperate for more.
I suck on her clit, and when I do it causes her to moan. And with her on her back like this, I want to make her scream my name.
I lick her harder, one of my fingers pressing inside of her, hitting her G spot over and over as my mouth kisses her thighs, as my mouth licks her skin.
She's coming, hard against my hand, and I move my mouth back to her sex, wanting to drink up everything she offers.
"I'm coming, Dane," she groans as an orgasm washes over her, leaving her gasping for breath.
I smile as I lick her, loving that she's giving in like this. Loving that she's making my dreams come true.
"I need to see you," she begs.
And not wanting to disappoint my baby, I sit down in my leather chair, unzipping my pants as I do. She crawls off the desk, getting to her knees, kneeling between mine. Her mouth opens and she begins to take all of me in her perfect mouth. Her fingers fondle my balls, they are so hot and tight.
It's been so fucking long since I've been touched by a woman. It's been since the day I walked away from her at the club.
The biggest regret of my fucking life.
So, today I will go as long as she likes; my schedule is cleared and I have all fucking day. All day to fuck her.
"Oh, baby," I say running my hands through her hair, pressing the back of her head so she can deep throat me. She loves it, her head bobs up and down so fucking fast, taking so much of my veiny cock. I'm so fucking close to coming. She keeps sucking, suctioning her lips around me like she's spent her life blowing me.
I can't let this be like it was the last time we fucked.
I close my eyes, willing myself away from the fear of what might come next.
And instead, I come into the present. The release fills up her mouth, and she pulls me from her, letting ribbons of my come shoot against her big tits, she licks her lips, and I imagine the drops of my come sliding down her throat.
Her eyes are cloudy with pleasure, her pussy is still aching for more. I only know that because she reaches her fingers to herself, touching her pussy as she continues to jack me off, her hand wrapped around my solid shaft, as my come coats her nipples and her creamy skin.
She pulls me back into her mouth as if she can't bear to have this be the end. She sucks me until I'm emptied. And then she asks how I'd like to fuck her pussy.
I growl in response, telling her to bend over my desk so I can press my cock into her from behind. She does as I say, and I spank her round ass nice and hard and she screams in pleasure as I do. My hand runs over her ass crack to her pussy. Her sweet wet pussy that drips for me. I plunge my still-hard cock back into her, her body trembling as I fill her up.
Her elbows rest on my desk, and I take a fistful of her hair, pulling her toward me. She looks at me over her shoulder, and my mouth meets hers. I thrust deep inside her, kissing her as I do. Our kiss is so despera
te that I'm scared of what will happen when it ends.
I fuck her, putting my heart on the table. I fuck her, putting it all on the line. This woman has stolen my heart in a way no one else ever could. In this moment my body feels invincible, even though I know my lease on life is short, I fuck her as if I could live forever.
I come hard in her pussy and she comes hard against me, too.
"Oh God, Dane, don't stop." She screams my name just like I prayed she would.
My mouth kisses the base of her neck, her back, and I pull her tight to me. My hands full with her breasts, her naked body against my naked body. My heart beating in time with hers.
We come a third time, and as we do, I don't know how the hell I'm going to say goodbye when we've only just had a chance to say hello.
Chapter 9
We finish fucking once. Then do it again. And again, and again. It's as if we're trying to make up for the last fifteen months in one afternoon. I have rug burn on my knees and I'm famished.
I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast except... okay, never mind. I don't think Dane Westbrook’s come counts as a meal.
But oh, my God, when he's inside of me I feel so full.
"We should get some food," he says. We're lying on the floor, our hands laced together as one. My leg is draped across his leg, and from this viewpoint, it seems impossible that his kidneys could fail him at any hour.
I look over at the clock on the wall and do a double take.
"Oh shit, shit, shit."
"What is it?" Dane asks.
"I have to go. I have to..."
Suddenly my throat constricts, I can't breathe. I just fucked this man for the last five hours and didn't tell him the one thing he deserves to know.
"Dottie, what is it? Don't freak out now," he tells me.
But I'm already standing and reaching for my underwear and bra. I fed Asher before we left this morning but now my breasts are achingly full.
It's time for me to pick him up at daycare, I can't afford to keep him there more hours in the day.
"I'm not freaking out, I swear. I just have to be somewhere. I have to—"
But Dane doesn't like that I'm leaving and suddenly he's fuming. "Really? How can you just walk away like this, after this day we shared? Dottie, what are you thinking? You can't just—" He exhales, running his hands through his hair.
