Only for Her

by Cristin Harber

  I expect her hands to land on my belt, but they don’t. She moves toward the bandage, kissing my skin, smoothing her fingers over the ripples in my abs.

  Chastely, she places kisses on the edges of the bandage then looks up. “I mourned your death.”

  My eyes sink shut. I hurt that she hurt. “Emma…”

  “I never wanted you in pain.”

  No. Not this conversation again. “Off your knees and in my lap. Come here.”

  Half a second passes before I take her hand and tug her up. She settles against my hard-on and her arms rise above her head, locking me in a permissive gaze.

  I slip her shirt over her head. Full breasts, creamy skin. “My beautiful girl.”

  A blush hits her cheeks again. “I’ve always been yours.”

  Shit. I’m done for, and I drop us to lie on the couch. Her hair spreads on the cushions, a blond halo for my angel, my savior. How did I let this go? I hold myself against her, stomach to stomach, chest to chest. I’m falling for her all over again.

  Our tongues lash together, and I kiss her deep. Emma claws my back. My fingers trace up her side to massage her breasts, rubbing her nipples through the lace. With a slide of my hand, I remove her bra and dip my mouth. The harder I suck, the louder she gets and the more she thrashes.

  “God, Gray.” There’s a desperate need in her voice that I feel too.

  Enough permission granted to push forward, I tug down her pants. “How are you even prettier than before?”

  “That’s a good line.”

  “No, baby.” My hands tease over her hips to skim the silk of her panties. “Do you think after everything I’ve said, I’d drop some line that wasn’t true?”

  “I… don’t know.”

  My hand cups between her legs, and she groans.

  “God, I can’t think.” She’s breathy and drags out her words.

  I slip my fingers alongside the fabric. She’s wet, and I’m deliriously hard. I swear I’m going to rip the silk off and sink into her. She’s ready enough I could. My finger slides against her, and she meets my touch, rolling her hips and rubbing hard as she watches me.

  We’re side by side on her couch without much room for our tangled bodies. “Good?”

  “Like that.” Her gasps stutter as I slide a finger into her slick tightness. “Oh. More.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I growl and give her what she wants.

  Time apart has given her confidence, hunger, knowledge of what she wants and how she’s going to get it, knocking her sexiness level to stratospheric.

  Her mouth is open, eyes closed. I give her two fingers. Her muscles clench on me. She’s moaning, building, and crying for more. “Grayson.”

  “Come, Ems. Come for me so I can fuck you, love you.”

  She nods nonstop, hair wild. Emma moans, arching her back and grinding her clit against my palm. I work her, do her, let her ride to what she needs.

  “God, Gray. God!”

  Detonation. With eyes squeezed shut, she comes hard, as if she’s needed me to really let go.

  Still spasming, her face goes lax as her orgasm lulls. My body hums while she slows.

  Beautiful brown eyes blink open. “Every inch of me belongs to you. Always has.”

  Slowly, I take my hand from between her legs. She’s perfect. Naked breasts and amazing body. I kiss her shoulder, her neck. She smells like… mine. To taste and touch and fuck and love. Emma Kingsley is all mine.

  “Grayson… there’s…” She looks at the wall. “There’s been no one… but you.”

  I freeze. “No one?” She cringes. What I said, how I said it, it came out wrong. But three years… my forehead pinches. “Emma.”

  I’ve got nothing else to say, but masculine pride fills me in a way I can’t express. I owned her virginity, but still it’s just me.

  She stares over my shoulder. “You think I’m pathetic, but… it’s not like that.”

  I cup her chin, bring her focus back to me, and shake my head. “I don’t. I’ve never been more—” I don’t have words. Territorial testosterone is about to make me punch-drunk. “It’s not a bad thing. It’s fuckin’ amazing.”

  “Promise?”

  A dark possessiveness flashes through me. I can’t stay off her. My hands cover her stomach, her breasts, her sides… I reach for her legs to spread her thighs. I want to taste her, feel her. I want my dick inside this woman who’s only ever had me. I can’t breathe for how greedy for her I am right now.

  “Grayson, wait.”

  Whatever she has to explain can be left for later. I need to feel her come on my cock, harder and stronger than she did on my hand. “You need me like I need you?”

  She pants and nods. “More than that.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I take her mouth hard. This is happening. We’re past reconnecting, past talking out forgiveness. Her hands are on my belt. She slides it loose and attacks the button and zipper. Seconds later, I’m hard in her hands. She’s pumping me, one fist on top of the other, thumb teasing my crown.

  “Fuck me.” The couch is too small for us. Restraint. I need it. Someway, somehow. Until I find a mattress. “Bedroom, Ems?”

  “Yes. Wait. Don’t stop. Please.” She’s writhing and moaning. “Please.”

  “Just a little more, baby. Then a bed.” Her panties are working their way down, and I’m dying. Our tongues tangle, but I pull back. “Let’s go.”

  “Yeah.” She adjusts her panties and sits up with me.

  I’m off the couch with my pants hanging loose on my hips. I grab her hand and let her lead me to her bedroom. She’s wearing black silk underwear, and that’s it. Her ass. What a fuckin’ ass.

  We’re halfway through the kitchen, but I can’t resist. I snag her to me. My hands thread through her hair. Her breasts press to my chest. “I can’t wait.”

  “Too close to stop here.” She pulls me down a short hall and into a room.

  There’s a bed on the floor, a dresser, and a few boxes. The lights are dim. We fall to the mattress together, arms and legs tangled. Done wasting time, I snag the sides of her panties, ready to bare her body to me. I’ve never been more primed.

  “I’ve dreamed of this…” she whispers. “Danced for this…”

  My eyes rake over her as I remove the last of her clothes. She’s naked and… I tilt my head. What the hell is…

  My chest goes tight. Panic curls into my neck, chokes my throat. My mouth goes dry. Emma sits up, heavy lidded. I can’t fuckin’ breathe, can’t believe my eyes. I don’t know what to think or do.

  “Ems?” I inch closer, praying for a truth that’s different than what I think. “What’s that?”

  Confusion then… fear crosses her face.

  “Emma?” My eyes drop, laser-focused, between her hips. She’s covering up, moving back. “Tell me what happened there.”

  “No.” Her eyes go wide. Tears fill them. “Shit. Shoot. Just once, I got caught up in the moment.”

  Oh, fuck no. Please, Christ, don’t let it be. Don’t let me have abandoned more than just her. “Ems? What is that?”

  “A C-section scar.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Grayson

  For as far back as I can remember, my mom sucked down pills. They made her happy; they made her sad. It was circular, one feeling morphing into the next. A smile. A frown. The whacked-out emotions seesawed back and forth. I didn’t know what was wrong with her, but I knew she needed me. Until I killed her.

  Right now, kneeling on Emma’s bed, hearing the word C-section, I know the fucked-up truth. I let people down. It’s my lot in life. I don’t mean for it to happen, but my decisions are my worst enemy. Pops preached that truth from the day he walked in as I stood over my lifeless mother.

  Now tears prick my eyes and raw fear skates down my throat as I stare at Emma. She cowers against the wall, pulling the covers to her chin as though they’re a protective barrier. From me.

  “C-section?” I thought I’d failed her�
��failed us. Dammit, I was wrong.

  She nods. Her tears fall over her cheeks, and she doesn’t wipe them. Wet streaks stain her skin pink, reminding me that I do nothing but ruin lives. I have no response. I’m sick. My muscles tense as the urge to run wars with the weight of my abandonment. I don’t know which way to go or what to do.

  Just another pill, baby. Gray-baby, give Mama her pills. Such a good boy. Precious boy.

  A panic attack is coming. I know the signs, the feelings. That moment when I try for a breath and can’t take one.

  Calm down.

  Think.

  I concentrate, hoping to focus on Emma… but my vision skews. Black and gray. Hazy and distorted. The walls are caving in, inching closer with every heavy thud of my agitated heart.

  “Emma—” My voice shakes.

  The room tilts forward. I follow, falling, my head down, my balled fists digging into her mattress. I can’t escape the smothering grip around my neck.

  “Gray? Are you okay?”

  A cold sweat covers my body. I can't swallow, can’t function, can’t make sense of the room spinning. “Emma. Ems, God.” I’m not sure I can handle this.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispers.

  I look up and hold her eyes, seeking the truth that I’m terrified to confirm. “You said you’ve never been with anybody but me?”

  Her head barely nods. Soft blond hair falls over her shoulder, framing her innocent face.

  “We.” The thick lump in my throat won’t budge, and I can’t look her in the eye. “Have a baby?”

  But I didn’t see any toys. A million thoughts crowd my mind. Adoption? Something happened? A protective wave of adrenaline surges through me at the thought of lost years and decisions I know nothing about.

  “You weren’t supposed to find out this way.” Emma wraps her arms around her legs, holding herself. “She’s perfect.”

  My heart explodes, and my eyes burn. “She?”

  The only girl I’ve ever loved nods again. “We… have a little girl.”

  Confirmation.

  My fists loosen, and I claw into the blanket, fighting the fall into darkness. My mind screams of everyone I’ve abandoned. But, God, now there are two girls I love, and I refuse to run from this moment. “A little girl.”

  “Yeah.”

  I don’t know what to do. I’m aching. Devastated. Curious. Scared. Angry. I’m everything, a million times more intense than I’ve ever experienced. But the guilt. It’s going to kill me. Emma and our little girl? Another person I let down, and she’s my flesh and blood. I hurt my daughter. Just like my dad. No. Just like my mom.

  “Gray?” Concern carries in her voice. “Are you okay?”

  Shit, no. I’m dying. The only thing I know to do is reach for Emma. She’s saved me my whole life, and she might be the only who can save me now. I force myself to look into her eyes, certain of the hatred and desertion I’ll see there, but I can’t get a read on her.

  “Where is she?” My voice breaks. I know it. Can’t stop it. Just… “What’s her name?”

  Emma’s face twists; her chin falls, letting her golden hair obscure her gaze.

  I don’t know what she’s going to tell me. If she’ll share. Not that I deserve anything. But I’ll beg. “You have to tell me.”

  Her chin juts up, and sudden anger radiates from her. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  She’s right. I left my girl and my child. My child. Fuck me, fuck me. I swallow against churning nausea and move forward, crawling toward the epitome of everything I’ve let down. “I didn’t know.”

  “How would you have?” Emma’s ice cold. The emotion is wiped from her face as if she’s morphed into a different person. Pulling a blanket around her chest, she scoots out of bed and toward a suitcase on the floor. In a mechanical, efficient way, she pulls on panties and pajamas, semi-shielding herself. Once covered in a baggy T-shirt and flannel pants, she drops the blanket. “What was I supposed to do?”

  My mouth opens, but I’ve got nothing.

  “You should go, Grayson.” She doesn’t look at me and walks out.

  I’m left cold, shaking from the news and the aftereffects of PTSD meltdown avoidance. My nerves are shot. My adrenaline’s still kicking, changing my begging to anger. “What were you supposed to do? You find me. You track me down and say ‘game changer.’ That it isn’t about you and me anymore. It’s not about you making me promise on the beach to never say good-bye, or me loving you so damn hard I knew that was the only memory I’d ever need.” I follow her into the hall. “Do you hear me, Emma? You. Find. Me.”

  She spins, arms thrown out. “God, like it's that simple.” Her hands tear into her hair, and she growls, deep and devastated. “One day you’re here, the next day you’re gone. One day you were with me…”

  The heavy thud in my heart starts again. My chest aches. “If I had known…”

  Her cold eyes hold mine, and she shakes her head. “You don’t get to say that.”

  I heave out a breath, hoping to dissipate the fight-or-flight reflex that strangles me again. I’m on a roller coaster of crazy that I’m struggling to control. Thump, thump, thump. My heartbeat pushes into my throat. A fresh panic attack is inches away. I turn, lean into the wall, and press my forehead to it so hard it hurts. My fists ball. My shoulders tingle. My skin’s needled, a terrifying, electrifying sensation ripping me apart. I need to get out of here. Just run. Pound pavement until I can’t take another stride.

  Help…

  I push past Emma, needing the front door and its sweet release.

  “She looks just like you, Gray.”

  God. My heart shreds to a million pieces. Pain I didn’t know existed… it’s unfathomable. My legs turn liquid. Agony rips through me as I hit my knees. I’m going to implode. I just need to get out the door to fresh air… but I can’t.

  “Where the hell is she?” Tears stain my words. My throat cracks, and I can’t say more.

  Emma’s steps approach me slowly. Each one takes an eternity. “With Cherry.”

  “I have to see her.” I won’t turn around—I can’t look at her, not like this—but I have to see my daughter. “Now. Please.”

  “No.”

  I’m crushed. My limbs tremble. My heartbeat pounds. Slowly, I pivot, still on the floor, and watch her drop next to me. Resolve paints her face, looking like something I can only describe as a protective mother.

  “I don’t have to do anything. You’re not something I can spring on her. ‘Hey, Cally, you have a dad and he wants to say hi.’”

  My baby girl’s name is Cally.

  My mother’s name was Calinda.

  Emma’s mouth pinches closed as the same realization hits us at the same time. This is the biggest, hardest, cruelest what-the-fuck-have-I-done-with-my-life moment, and my heart finally gives out.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Emma

  On my knees and in Gray’s arms, I’m surrounded by his complete destruction. I don’t know what’s happening. One second he’s angry, the next desperate. I hadn’t thought about how to handle our situation, and when he showed up… we spiraled, as evidenced by him still being shirtless. His breaths come too quickly. I don’t even think he sees me, even though our faces are inches apart.

  “Grayson!”

  No response. Like a dead man in a warm body, he’s here with me, but something wicked is happening on the inside. I did this to him. The hurt rolling off him is palpable, and this might be shock. I don’t know what else to call it.

  My hands grip his thick shoulders and shake him. “Gray. Please. You’re scaring me.” I’ve never seen anything more vulnerable than him at this moment. “Please.”

  My cell phone starts ringing somewhere. It’s late, and part of me automatically fears it’s Cherry with bad news. But it’s probably the diner telling me someone didn’t show up. I’m the standard first call to fill any shift. But I let it keep ringing. If it’s Cherry, she’ll hit redial as soon as the voicemail p
icks up.

  Grayson leans into me. His head fits into the crook of my neck, and he’s nearly dead weight. A sob wracks his powerful body, and I wrap my arms around him. I’m not sure that he’s in tears, just that he’s overwhelmed, and why wouldn’t he be? His mother’s name did him over. I didn’t know much about her, just that Calinda Ford died when we were in kindergarten. I wanted Cally to have a piece of her daddy.

  I smooth a hand over the strong muscles of his bare back and up his corded neck. His blond hair is short, though I suspect it’s longer than the military would like. I coo in his ear like I do when Cally has nightmares. Hurting him was never the plan. I still love him. I want him. It’s this situation—it’s hair-trigger tense. We’re both set to fly hard in opposite directions, both needing something that can’t be had. The past can’t be rewritten, but the future… the future is always ours to change.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “And I love you.”

  His arms cling to me tighter, like the night at the beach house, before we had sex, before I told him how I felt, what I wanted. If this is shock or trauma or… whatever it is, I don’t know, but he can hear me, feel me. Slowly the tension leaves his muscles until we’re tangled together on my front floor. His breathing has evened, but his green eyes are sad and downcast, not looking anywhere but at the barren floor.

  We stay there for hours maybe before he shifts, letting out a barely ragged sigh. “Bet you’re a good mama.”

  My God, does he always know what makes my heart explode? I nod through the pressure in my chest and the mist in my eyes. “I’ve killed myself for our girl. Second-guessed everything, pushed myself, lectured myself… ignored the looks, ignored the whispers. But when it comes down to being a good mama? I’ve given her everything I have.”

  “Yeah, you’re good. I just know it… my mom was, and she wasn’t.”

  I don’t remember him speaking of his mom. Whatever I knew had been instilled in my mind long ago, and I never questioned it. As just a fact of life, Grayson’s mom had died and his pops is a bastard. I bite my lip, unsure what to say. Gray still won’t look at me.