Second Chances

by Abbie Williams

  “Better than a husband who cheats on his wife?” Bly asked then, his tone deceptively mild. “Better than that, you mean?”

  “It’s none of your fucking business,” Jackson seethed. He looked again into my eyes and said, pleadingly, “Joelle, I meant everything I said the other night. This is your last chance to rethink this.”

  Part of me wanted to tell the bastard that he had no right issuing ultimatums to me. Another part of me wanted to go to him and hug him one last time, tell him I was truly sorry for many things. I hesitated for a long moment. Blythe was totally still, watching me like a hawk.

  At last I said to Jackson, “I know you did. But that doesn’t change anything.” I tightened my grip on Bly’s hand and added, quietly, “I don’t love you anymore, Jackie.”

  The man I did love seemed to draw a breath for the first time in minutes. I looked up at Bly and everything I felt for him was in my eyes. Blythe looked down at me with an expression that was a combination of relief and tenderness and deep, deep love. He swallowed and I felt just the smallest of trembles run through him, like an aftershock.

  “Well I’m sorry you feel that way,” Jackie said after a moment.

  I looked back at him and said, “The girls are home if you want to see them. They can come and visit you anytime, Jackson. You know that. I would never keep them from you.”

  “I know, Jo,” he said. His voice was rough as he added, “Good-bye, then.”

  And he got in his car and drove away without a backward glance. It was only then that I whispered, “Bye, Jackie.”

  “Come here,” Blythe said gruffly as we were left alone, blessedly alone together. I moved into his arms and let him pick me up off the ground, clinging to his neck. I pressed my face against the cords of muscle along the top of his right shoulder, just breathing in his scent. He held me like I needed, close to his heart, his lips pressed to my right temple. The air around us became tinted by night. After a time he whispered, “You okay?”

  “Yes,” I whispered back. “Thank you for being here.”

  “There’s nowhere I’d rather be,” he told me. “You know that, crazy girl.”

  I tried to keep my voice light but failed as I ordered, “Never leave me again, okay?”

  He drew back enough to look into my eyes and said, “I won’t. And promise me you won’t worry about it ever again.”

  “I promise,” I said, holding him as tightly as I could. His own arms were locked around me.

  “Let’s go home,” he said then and I smiled into his eyes.

  “I’ll give you the grand tour tomorrow,” I told him as I unlocked the door and led him inside, clicking on the overhead light. We’d elected to walk to the house on Broom Street; I figured Jackson was over at Shore Leave saying good-bye to the girls and didn’t want to infringe on that.

  Bly came fully into the room and turned in a slow circle before resting his eyes on me with a certainty that made my knees begin to tremble. He said, “I love it already, Joelle. And I’ll take you up on that. Honestly, the only room I want to see right now is ours.”

  I led him through the kitchen and down the basement steps, then clicked on the lamp in our room, lending the darkening air a rosy glow. I’d imagined him in this space so many times. My heart was throbbing with love and desire and simple gladness. He gave me his slow, smoldering smile and I was trembling visibly now. I reached to free my hair from the barrette I’d put it up with earlier, but he moved and caught my hand gently in his, brought it to his lips.

  “Let me, baby,” he implored. I shivered a little at both his tone and the way he was looking at me just now, his eyes dark in the lamplight, sensuous with longing. He curled his fingers into my hair and loosed the clasp, catching its heavy length and settling it over my right shoulder. With deliberate slowness he cupped my bare upper arms, letting his fingers stroke softly. I shivered, feeling almost feverish.

  He bent and kissed the side of my neck, breathing against me lightly and I pleaded, almost undone, “Blythe…”

  “Not yet,” he whispered back, his deep voice almost harsh with his own desire. “I dreamed about this so many times. Undressing you, the way your eyes look when you want me…”

  “The way they look every moment,” I said, reaching for him, but he wouldn’t be rushed.

  “Your soft skin,” he murmured, running his palms again down my arms. He was so tall if I tipped my forehead against him it would be cradled against his huge chest. “You feel so good, like silk.”

  I closed my eyes as he kissed my neck with soft, suckling kisses. His hands worked down my spine, freeing the buttons of my tank top. Once undone he let the soft cotton slip down my waist, unhooked my bra and slid the straps over my arms with deliberate slowness. I moaned, my nipples round and hard against his palms as he cupped me gently, lightly biting the tendon that ran along the top of my shoulder.

  “You feel so good in my hands,” he said, his voice low and sweet. “And you taste so good, Joelle, I need you in my mouth.” And so saying, he sat on the bed, drew me into the vee of his legs and opened his lips over the peak of one breast and then the other, cradling me to him, drawing my nipples into his mouth with slow, sensual strokes of his tongue. My knees were weak with the ripples of heated pleasure that his lips called from my body. I gasped and fell over him as he took us to the bed, rolling me to my back. I turned my head against the mattress, panting, curling my hands into his thick hair, holding him against me. He rested his chin between my breasts and said, his voice ragged, “I can’t get enough of you. I need you so much, Joelle.”

  “I need you, Blythe, I need you so much. Don’t stop,” I begged him, and his eyes caught fire at the expression in mine. “Get this off,” I demanded, and he yanked the shirt from his body, moving back over me like the most gorgeous predator in existence and lavishing my breasts with his lips and tongue. His hands were busy removing the last of both of our clothes. My throat was arched back in wordless pleasure, though I was far from quiet. He kissed my collarbone, my belly, my pelvis. His breathing was harsh and sweat slipped down his huge chest as he spread my thighs farther apart on the mattress. Colors burst behind my closed eyes and I gripped handfuls of the sheets as he bent his head.

  When he moved back up my body with hot, sweet kisses I was scarcely aware of space and time. My head tipped to the side, weakly, as he reached it and pressed his warm, smiling lips against my temple. I was drenched in sweat, my body limp. He was harder than any rock against my right thigh but he held back and whispered, teasing me, “Baby, the neighbors will call the cops if you get any louder.”

  “Mmmm,” I managed to articulate. He kissed my jaw, my neck, my nipples again, sending trailing pulses of heat and light through me. He murmured against my skin, wordless sounds of love, his long fingers stroking me until I regrouped my strength and reached to grip him none too gently, shifting my hips to impale myself on his flesh.

  “Holy shit,” he groaned, overcome. I rolled him to his back and found a new well of energy.

  “Now who’s…being…loud?” I managed to gasp. His hands clutched my hips and I was pleased that he was the one now unable to speak. “Don’t come…yet. Not till…I say,” I ordered. “Not yet, Bly…let me make you come…so hard.”

  He made a sound like his heart was being torn out, moving back above me without breaking the connection of our bodies. For the last few strokes he plunged so deeply that the line between pleasure and pain was thin. But I clung to him, would have died if he’d stopped yet. And after he’d come I cradled him on top of me, feeling the small tingling aftershocks of our lovemaking scatter through my insides. He pressed his warm lips against my hair and whispered, “You always make me come so hard, sweetheart.”

  “Good,” I mumbled back, threading my arms even more tightly around his neck. “I love you.”

  “Fuckin’ right,” he teased me, his voice a soft murmur. “G’night, baby. Let me hold you while I sleep. That’s all I need in the world right now.”


  In the morning light I woke to find him braced on an elbow, smoothing a strand of hair from my forehead and watching me with a tender smile. I rocked against him and kissed his chest.

  “Morning,” I said, breathing against his skin.

  He kissed the side of my neck and said, “Mornin’, baby. Your phone was ringing a minute ago.”

  I didn’t move for a moment and did so only with reluctance. I slid on my stomach to the edge of the bed and leaned over the mattress, catching up my phone. I pressed the voicemail button and heard Camille’s message, her voice sounding distraught, “Mom, call back as soon as you can. It’s Aunt Jilly.”

  About The Author

  Abbie Williams has been addicted to love stories ever since first sneaking her mother’s copy of The Flame and the Flower; and since then, she’s been jotting down her own in a notebook. A school teacher who spends her days with her own true love, their three daughters, and a very busy schedule, she is most happy when she gets a few hours to indulge in visiting the characters in her stories. When she’s not writing, teaching or spending time with her family, you’ll find her either camping, making a grand mess in her kitchen at various cooking attempts, or listening to a good bluegrass banjo.

  She is also the author of FORBIDDEN and SUMMER AT THE SHORE LEAVE CAFÉ.