by Emma Scott
“Yes,” I whispered, as Sawyer knelt over me, kissed me, then lifted me so he could kneel under me, sitting on his heels. I rested on his thighs for a moment, my back against the headboard and Sawyer in front of me, his beautiful dark eyes full of hard want and reverence; gentle care and heated need all at once.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again with a soft voice, even as his hands gripped my hips painfully. “But Darlene…”
“You won’t,” I said. “I don’t care if you do. I need you…God, Sawyer, please. Please…” I craned my mouth to him and his lips met mine just as he lifted me over him and slipped inside me as I sank down.
“Oh God,” I hissed, as the huge, heavy pressure of him filled me, stretched me.
“Jesus,” he groaned, his forehead on mine. “You feel…fuck, you feel so good…So…”
“Perfect,” I whispered, tears stinging my eyes and then burning away. “This is perfect.”
Sawyer lifted his head to look at me in the dimness, and I saw everything I’d ever wanted to see in a man staring back at me.
The moment of stillness caught and held, and then the need in our bodies became ravenous and couldn’t wait one second more. His hands on my hips gripped harder, lifting me and then bringing me down on him. I wrapped my arms and legs around him, kissing him at first as the heaviness of him pushed into me, touching deep, and I undulated my hips to bring him deeper, to take his every thrust harder.
Kissing became impossible, and Sawyer reached above me to grip the headboard with both hands, caging me in his arms. I reached up too, held on and lifted into his thrusts, to meet his every movement. My soft breasts brushed against the hard muscles of his chest, while the intense pressure of him inside me grew and tightened, coiled into something ready to explode. I couldn’t get enough of him. His warm scent, the taste of his kiss when our mouths clashed frantically, the feel of his powerful body pinning mine against the headboard.
“More,” I whispered. “Sawyer... I want more.” I could barely speak, barely comprehended the words that fell from my mouth. “Take me…”
Though it didn’t seem possible, Sawyer’s hips moved faster and harder at my words. He reached one hand down to hook my leg onto the crook of his elbow, to cradle my injured foot, while taking him somehow deeper into me with every thrust.
I could barely hold on as the tight coil he’d been brushing and coaxing and touching inside me came apart like an explosion. My entire body stiffened; I arched into him, opened my body to him, a scream wrenched out of me as the orgasm rocketed up from where we were joined.
“Yes,” he groaned, his thrusts slower now, hard and deep. “Come for me, Darlene. Just like that…Christ, you’re so beautiful.”
And in my ecstatic delirium, I realized I was going to be his first orgasm in almost a year.
He waited until me.
I held his face in my hands reverently, kissed his broad mouth deeply. “Now you,” I whispered against his lips. “Come for me, Sawyer. Come inside me.”
I felt his own body tense, every one of his taut muscles drawing tighter. His hipbones ground against mine, he was so deep in me. I pressed myself into his last thrusts, nails digging into his ass to hold him tight. He let go of my leg to brace himself on the bed, his other hand gripping my hip to push into me. His mouth found my neck, and he bit down, danced the line between pleasure and pain, and came against me, inside me, the masculine sounds of his release breathing hotly against my throat.
I wrapped my arms around him as he shuddered, wound my fingers in his hair, and held him as the tension in him ebbed and our chests met and retreated, over and over, like a tide, as we caught our breaths together.
“Holy hell,” Sawyer groaned into my neck.
“I know,” I said. My fingers curled in his hair. The aftershocks of the orgasm made me shudder against him. “Oh my God, feel that?”
He nodded against my shoulder. “Everywhere. I feel you everywhere.”
I held him tighter, his beautiful body that was warm, soft skin, over hard muscle and power he had unleashed against me so magnificently.
After a time, Sawyer lifted his head to look at me blearily, drunk with the pleasure and utterly spent. I was sure I looked the same—my hair a tangled mess with strands falling over my face and billowing with my breath. Sawyer’s eyes sharpened as his hand came up to brush them away.
“Darlene…”
He fought for more words but found none.
“Just kiss me,” I said, and he did.
And in that kiss, I felt his emotions he still hadn’t found the words for, but knew that he would. We had time now, and the freedom to be happy. His heart that he had kept locked away for so long was mine. He gave it to me in every soft look, and touch, and in the trust he placed in me to care for his little girl.
And in return, I gave him my entire self; I didn’t know how to give less. I loved him with all of me, even the tarnished parts that would always bear the bruises of my past.
“I love you, Sawyer.” I stroked his cheek. “Always. I won’t ever stop loving you.”
“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you, Darlene. God, I love you. I don’t want to stop saying it. I can’t say it enough.”
His eyes were dark and beautiful in the dimness, and I loved how I look reflected there. And it was real, his love; not something my lonely heart had manufactured to hold on to, and I knew I’d feel this way, like I did in that moment, forever.
Sawyer
Again and again, I had her.
We spent the night making love, ravenous like wild animals, and everything in between. We stopped to catch our breath; I brought us water, we talked a little and laughed a lot, but inevitably, the gentle touches of Darlene’s hand in my hair, or mine gliding down the softness of her skin would make us greedy. Like a flare sparking to life, we’d fall back in a sweaty tangle of arms and legs, grasping at skin, her nails raking down my back, my mouth kissing her everywhere. I couldn’t get enough of touching her body or listening to her come undone beneath me, over and over again. It was a celebration of our victories that lasted long into the night, and finally ceased when dawn’s first light filtered in through the window.
And, miracle of miracles, Olivia slept through the whole thing.
As we lay in the drowsy silence of the morning, my body heavy and spent, I heard Olivia make a little sound in her sleep, through the baby monitor, but she didn’t wake.
“She usually wakes up at least once per night,” I said. “This is a first. Not to mention,” I added with a grin, “you were loud as hell. We probably woke up Elena’s kids.”
Darlene swatted my arm. She lay curled against me, her leg slung over my hip and her booted foot resting on my thigh.
“That’s all your fault, not mine.” She nestled closer to me. “You told me you thought Olivia woke up because she was afraid she was alone,” she said after a moment. Her fingers trailed over my chest. “Maybe she senses the tension has been lifted and she gets to stay where she belongs. And with whom she belongs.”
“Maybe so,” I said. “But there’s still a little tension. One last hurdle.”
“Your meeting with Judge Miller?”
I nodded. “Monday. I have not written a word of that essay he wants.”
Darlene propped her chin on my chest. “Are you worried?”
“I should be, but I don’t know. So much has happened, I feel like what I need to say to him will come to me.”
“It will,” Darlene said. “I know it will.”
“Well, it had better get here quick. It only has two days.”
The baby monitor lit up with Olivia stirring.
“She’s so cute when she wakes up,” Darlene said.
“I’ll get her.”
Darlene pushed me back. “Let me.”
She drew on her underwear and found one of my dress shirts on the floor. It came down to her thighs, and made her legs look like they went on forever. Her hair was tousled—my hands had b
een buried in it all night—and her lips were swollen from my kisses.
“God, you’re sexy,” I murmured as she buttoned up the shirt, leaving the top three undone.
She grinned. “You’re only saying that because we just had sex for six hours straight.”
“I don’t think it’s subjective,” I said. “But I’m willing to put in more time. Just to be sure.”
She laughed as she limped to Olivia’s room. I slipped on my boxers, then sat against the headboard, listening over the monitor as my daughter crowed ‘Dareen!’ and Darlene answered with sweet words and silly noises to make her laugh.
They came back into the bedroom, Olivia on Darlene’s hip. My little girl blinked sleep out of her eyes; a lock of Darlene’s hair was curled around her fingers.
“Look who’s awake,” Darlene said, bouncing her lightly. “Say, ‘good morning, Daddy.’”
“Daddy,” Olivia said, and something caught her eye. “Birr. Birr…” She reached her hand and Darlene moved to the window.
“What do you see? Is that a bird?”
“Birr.”
The light streamed in, slanted over Darlene holding my baby, and I drank in every detail. The blue of her shirt against Olivia’s pale yellow jammies; the sunlight turning strands of Darlene’s brown hair gold with hints of red; Olivia’s blue eyes as she pointed and babbled at only something she and Darlene could see.
I saw only them; filled my eyes with them and my photographic memory captured every nuance of that moment, and saved it forever.
Monday morning, I arrived at Judge Miller’s office promptly at eight a.m. Roger was already there, naturally. He gave me a short glance.
“How did your brief turn out?” he asked.
“It didn’t,” I said.
His eyes widened slightly, and a small smile tugged the corners of his lips. “What does that mean, exactly?”
It means I’m taking a colossal chance, and possibly throwing away my dream job.
I shrugged. “We’ll see.”
Roger pressed a smile between his lips and his fingers smoothed the cover of a sleek portfolio that no doubt held his perfectly collated and annotated brief inside.
My hands were empty.
Judge Miller arrived. “Gentlemen.”
We followed him into his office and waited at attention until he sat behind his desk.
“You may sit. So. The bar exam,” he said, without preamble. “I know results are weeks away, but how do you feel it went?”
“Very well, Your Honor,” Roger said. “I feel good about it.”
The judge turned to me. “Mr. Haas?”
“I don’t know, Your Honor,” I said. “I did my best. I’m proud of my work.” I shrugged. “That’s all I can say at this point.”
Miller nodded. “Indeed. Your briefs, please?”
Roger perked up and handed his portfolio to the judge, who flipped through it to give a cursory glance, then looked to me.
“I don’t have a brief written.”
Judge Miller’s thick white eyebrows shot up. “I see.”
Beside me, Roger shifted in his chair, sensing victory.
“And for what reason were you unable to complete the assignment?”
“In part, I’m not prepared because I became locked in a custody battle for my daughter.”
The judge sat back in his chair. “And did you prevail?”
“I did,” I said, “but I shouldn’t have. Not under the law.”
The words that had been tangled in knots and locked in my heart, unraveled. Finally. Not on paper, in black and white ink, but in words spoken from one man to another.
“I won custody of my daughter, except she isn’t technically my daughter. Under the law as prescribed, I came up just short of the year deadline under which she would have been mine. And without my blood in her veins, I was going to lose her to her grandparents who can provide her with everything she could ever want.”
I could feel Roger’s eyes darting back and forth between us, watching intently to see how my words landed on Judge Miller’s face.
“I did try to write your brief,” I said. “About my mother. She was killed by a drunk driver, and I was going to write how I wanted to do a better job than the prosecutor who plea bargained, and put her killer back out on the street. He let him go, my mother died, and my family was ripped apart. My father, brother and I were flung far away from one another because of an addict, and that addict became the standard by which I judged all other addicts.”
Judge Miller laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them, listening intently.
“I had facts and figures memorized; recidivism rates, and the statistics that painted a bleak picture for drug-and-alcohol-related crimes. Had I written that brief with those facts and figures, you would have given the job to Roger. But I met a woman who is fighting the same battle as the man who killed my mother. The only difference is that she never gave in, even when no one believed in her. When I didn’t believe in her. This woman…she showed me life. Not the rules and the laws, but everything in between.”
Judge Miller’s eyes never left mine, and I drew in a shuddering breath, endeavoring to be professional.
But this is life. Sometimes it’s messy.
“I made a promise to my daughter’s grandparents that wasn’t sealed by law,” I said. “They accepted knowing they had no legal recourse should I renege. But they trusted me because Darlene showed them—and me—what a second chance truly means. Thanks to her, my daughter has a father and grandparents, both. Family. I have a family for the first time in fifteen years.”
I fought for control, as the enormity of what Darlene had done for me swept through me. I blinked hard, and swallowed harder.
“As a federal prosecutor, I’m going to fight to uphold the law one case at a time. One individual at a time. I want justice for victims, no question; but I will have the evidence in front of me, instead of my anger and rage behind me. That’s gone now, and I have one amazing, strong, brave woman to thank for that. My career will be forever aimed at making her proud and doing right by her. All else, including this job, will come second. Thank you.”
I slumped in my chair feeling as if I had just purged myself of something heavy and black that had been weighing me down. I wondered if Darlene felt like that, standing in front of her meeting group, telling the absolute truths of her heart, and a wave of pride swept over me. It didn’t even matter what the judge decided. I could go home to Darlene and Olivia and be the kind of man they both deserved, with or without this job.
The room grew quiet. Judge Miller was looking at me the way my father once did when I’d come home from school with all A’s or after I’d hit a home run in Little League. Before my mother was gone and he was still able to be Dad without it hurting so damn much.
Roger glanced at me, then at Judge Miller’s expression. A small smile flitted over his face and he rose to his feet. He straightened his jacket, picked up his briefcase and offered his hand to the judge.
“Your Honor, it’s been a pleasure,” he said. Then he turned to me and offered his hand. “Congratulations.”
Roger walked out the door and closed it behind him. Judge Miller did not call him back.
At the Victorian, I stepped inside my place. Darlene was at the kitchen counter, nervously flipping through a magazine. She stopped when she saw me; searched my face for clues. I fought to keep my expression neutral.
“Olivia’s taking a nap,” she said in a low voice. “So?”
“Well…” I rubbed the back of my head, keeping my gaze cast down.
“Holy hell, Sawyer Haas, I love you, but I’m going to kill you if you don’t tell me right now. Did you get it?”
A smile spread over my face in tandem with love for this woman spreading in my heart. “I got it.”
Darlene squealed then covered her mouth. She hobbled over to me and threw her arms around my neck and I lifted her up, holding her tight to me.
“It’s no
t official; I have to have passed the bar. But now that I can look at it without being scared to death with custody hearings, I think I passed that bastard.”
“I’m so proud of you,” she said kissing me over and over. “But I’m not surprised. Not in the least.” She held my face in her hands. “My Sawyer the Lawyer.”
“Sawyer the Clerk of the Court.”
She pretended to think about that a moment. “Doesn’t have the same ring to it, but I’ll take it.”
“I’ll take you,” I said, carrying her to the bedroom. “Again and again and again…”
“Until the baby wakes up,” she said, kissing me hotly.
I set her down and she reached for me, but I held her hands in mine. “Everything good in my life is because of you. How do I thank you for that?”
She smiled and traced the line of my jaw with her finger. “You don’t. Just love me, Sawyer.”
I nodded wordlessly and kissed her. Of course that’s all she wanted. Only love, because that’s who she was, and as I took her to bed, touching her gently and slow, I vowed to always be worthy of her, right now and forever.
Darlene
One year later…
“How many in your party?” the hostess at Nopa asked us.
I glanced at Sawyer with Olivia on his hip. “Oh gosh, there are… sixteen of us?” I said. “We have a reservation for brunch. Under Montgomery?”
The hostess smiled and checked her book. “We’re setting that up now. When your entire party is here, we can seat you.”
“She might want to rethink that,” I said to Sawyer. “We’re going to clog up the works in the front here.”
“Probably,” he said absently, hoisting Olivia higher. She looked like a cream puff in a ruffled yellow dress. Sawyer looked devastatingly handsome, as always, in a dark gray suit and ruby red tie.
