Mine to Save

by Diana Gardin

  I do trust him. I nod.

  Then he takes my hand, our fingers lacing together, pinning it above my head as he thrusts into me fully for the first time.

  I nod, tears stinging my eyes because the burst of pain was unpleasant, but it’s already receding. Bennett holds completely still, watching me as I adjust to his fullness inside me. I can feel him stretching me, and my mind protests even as my body accepts it.

  With understanding in his gaze, he bends slowly until his lips are pressed against mine. The way he kisses me, like this is so much more than fucking, brings a whole new set of emotions slamming to the surface. His mouth, God his mouth…it’s like he’s coaxing feelings from me I thought could never possibly exist.

  Trying so hard to close myself off, to fight against the hold he’s beginning to have over me, I force my hand free of his and grab his ass. “Move, Blacke.”

  His eyes flash as he pulls back, staring at me, and then he pulls out of me slowly before easing back in. I gasp, the movement feeling better than I ever could have imagined, and glance down at where we’re joined. Complete and utter fascination consumes me as I watch him slide in and out of me so painfully slowly. I want to urge him to move faster, but I also want to slow this moment down so that it lasts.

  He glances down, too, and his jaw is so tight I’m afraid the pulsing vein there will pop right out. He’s restraining himself, and it’s difficult for him. So I squeeze the perfect tautness of his ass again and fire an order.

  “Fuck me, Bennett. Like you promised.”

  With a growl, he retreats and slams into me harder. I cry out as his cock brushes against a place inside me that makes me want to cry with the pleasure of it. I reach for that feeling again, lifting my hips to meet his now-steady thrusts, and each time he stretches deep enough to stroke that spot again, I let out a breathy scream. He reaches down, brushing adept fingers against my clit as the darkness in his eyes grows more and more intense. He stares down at me, watching my face as I chase the pleasure that he promised to bring me.

  “Oh…God…” I don’t even recognize that voice. Is it mine? I sound like someone who’s about to break under the touch of a man.

  I shouldn’t want to break…but I do. God help me, I do.

  It comes without warning. It’s not a climb, this orgasm, it’s a crash into the unforgiving wall of the man pulling my strings. I scream as I fly apart underneath him, his name and a whole bunch of other words I don’t even recognize tumbling out of my mouth. Hell, I think I could be praying.

  Then Bennett dips his head, burying his face against my breast as he pulls my nipple into his mouth on a groan and sucks. His rhythm grows frantic, erratic, sweat making our skin slippery and wet as our bodies slide against one another. I’m already sore, but I couldn’t care less because this night is going to be something I remember for the rest of my life.

  With a grunt, Bennett shudders above me, and his release flows from him as he trembles. He releases my breast, resting his forehead against mine as our breaths slow, and I realize I haven’t once thought about how unbelievable it is that he’s touching me since he first entered me.

  With a shocked laugh, I look up at the ceiling and let out a sigh of disbelief.

  “You’re laughing right now?” His gruff voice is tinged with amusement. “Seriously, beautiful?”

  I don’t have words, so instead I pull his face to mine and kiss him like I need him to breathe.

  All the while praying that I don’t.

  13

  Bennett

  When I slide back into her bedroom from the hallway bath, I’m not surprised to see she’s thrown back on her gray tank top. But her shorts are still missing, leaving those sexy, toned legs stretching out on top of the sheets as she lays in her simple black panties.

  I pause in the doorway, staring at her as I lean against the doorjamb. “So fucking sexy.”

  Her cheeks color, that pretty blush that makes my dick go stiff every time I see it. Reaching for my boxers, I pull them on right before climbing onto the bed beside her. Pulling her against me, I drop a kiss onto the top of her head.

  “This okay?” I whisper.

  But somehow, I know it is. Her body doesn’t go rigid and stiff the way it usually does when she’s touched.

  She rests her head on my shoulder, and her finger traces shapes on my chest. “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  She chuckles softly. “That was…I don’t even know how to describe that. I thought…is everyone’s first time that good?”

  I rear back. “You think that was just good?”

  And there’s the color in her cheeks again. “Good isn’t the right word. It was…stellar.”

  Rolling my eyes toward the ceiling, I laugh, low and deep. “It was fucking stellar, wasn’t it? And no, baby. I don’t think everyone’s first time is stellar.”

  She follows the lines her finger traces on my skin. “Didn’t think so.”

  We just lie there for a while, quiet. Lost in our own thoughts. Then I wrap my arm around her. Resting my chin on top of her head, I breathe in the sweet scent of her. “How are you doing, Sayward? Dealing with your father’s death? I know it hit you hard. I figure it doesn’t matter how far away you are from him, your dad was your dad.”

  She shrugs, staying silent. Pulling away from her slightly, I tip her chin up so I can read the expression on her face. She keeps it shuttered, but her breathing hitches, and I know that her pain is real and very close to the surface.

  “Hey,” I whisper, staring into her eyes. “You can talk to me.”

  “It does.” She breathes, blinking rapidly. “It does hurt. He was always protecting me, you know? Even when he was an ocean away.”

  I smooth her hair back and pull her even closer. “Yeah. That’s what fathers do. That’s what mine did, and he was oceans away a lot of the time when I was growing up. I always knew he loved me and my mom, though.”

  She nods, nestling into me. “Yes. I always knew my father loved me, too.”

  My fingers brush against her lower back where I know her tattoo is hidden.

  “Tell me about this?”

  She rolls onto her stomach, and I reach over to turn on the lamp beside her bed. When the dim light washes over her, illuminating more of her body than the one from the hallway had, all the breath in my body leaves.

  She’s so damn gorgeous it hurts. It physically hurts me to look at her. My dick is stiff and aching, there’s a sharp pain in my chest, and my throat burns from all the things I want to say and can’t. It’s too soon to feel like this about her. If I take this any further than I already have tonight, she’ll run.

  And seeing as how I don’t feel like chasing her, I keep my mouth shut.

  Instead, I drop my eyes to the ink scrawled out on her hip. It’s intricate work, done by a fucking brilliant artist.

  Sayward’s tattoo is a shield. It carries the emblem of a cross, and the whole thing is surrounded by pale pink flowers. There’re initials in script across one corner of the shield.

  Tracing her skin with my finger the way she’d just done mine, I swallow hard as I take in the sight.

  “Brilliant,” I whisper, as I bend down to kiss that spot on her hip.

  Her head twisting to one side, she glances up at me. “Yeah? Those are my mother’s initials.”

  I nod, because I already knew it without her telling me.

  She takes a shaky breath. “The memories from that night…they’re kind of hazy, you know? And, like you, I try not to go back there. But when I do, all I can remember is how brave she was. She would have done anything to protect her children that night.”

  My throat tightens. This woman…she’s so much braver than she knows. She has no idea how strong she is, how fucking resilient she is. She’s overcome so much to become this amazing woman lying beside me, but does she realize how incredible she is?

  Somehow, I don’t think she has a clue.

  Switching the light off again, I stretch out beside
her.

  “You want me back on the couch tonight, beautiful? Just say the word.”

  One of her arms snakes around my stomach and tightens.

  “No,” she whispers. “I want you right here. With me.”

  Thank fuck.

  This is exactly where I want to be.

  14

  Sayward

  I drop into my chair across from Marcos the next day, offering my brother a small smile. The lunch crowd at the busy sidewalk café bustles around us, a relaxed atmosphere that hangs on the edge of excitement in the sunny beach community. Even though the tourists don’t frequent Wilmington this time of year, you still can’t mistake the vacation vibe the city has to offer.

  Marcos doesn’t return my smile; instead, he scowls. “What’s he doing here?”

  I glance at Bennett, who’s taken up residence in the seat beside me. His steady gaze returns Marcos’s head-on. “Nice to see you, too, Marcos. Did you forget what I told you yesterday? My job is to protect your sister. She’s not going anywhere without me.”

  His voice, though, is different than it was yesterday. There’s a harder protective edge to it that wasn’t there before, a distinct hint of possession that lets anyone in his way know that in order to get to me they’ll have to go through him. At the same time the steely blade of his voice disquiets me, it also covers my insides in warmth.

  Safety. Protection. Security.

  Those are all things I have when Bennett is with me, and other than when I’ve been with Jacob Owen, I haven’t felt that way in so long. My chest aches as I think of the way Bennett was with me last night. He was tender and careful, but there was so much unleashed passion vibrating inside him while his body moved over mine. A hot flush creeps over my skin as I frown at Marcos.

  “Marcos. I haven’t seen you in years. Please don’t waste our time being confrontational. I’m happy you’re here.”

  His gaze flicks toward me, and there’s regret there. “I’m sorry, chica. How are you today?”

  Relief settles in. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking. Did you sleep well?”

  Because I sure as hell did. I hadn’t told Bennett, but last night was the first time I’d slept beside anyone since my mother died. I’d fallen asleep in his arms, my breathing slowing to match his, and even though it had felt odd and foreign, there had been no mistaking the fact that it’d also felt good. Right.

  But when I’d opened my eyes this morning, my bed had been empty. Disappointment had settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I was a little sad when I’d found him sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee, his makeshift bed there wrinkled and mussed with the evidence of his sleep location.

  He easily read the look on my face with a lifted brow. “I wanted to give you space.”

  His explanation was simple. He’d done it for me, left my bed and returned to the couch sometime during the night. All because he knew I wasn’t exactly comfortable with his closeness.

  The funny thing? He was wrong. I was way more comfortable with it than I ever thought I could be.

  “The hotel was nice.” Marcos’s tone is reluctant as he glances back at Bennett. “Thanks.”

  Bennett dips his chin in a nod. “No problem.”

  A server appears and we order sandwiches for lunch, but when the waiter’s gone an uncomfortable silence settles over the table. I wish I could figure out how to connect with the brother I’ve been separated from for years, but I can’t seem to catch my footing when I’m around him.

  This man is my blood, but I don’t know him. And he doesn’t know me.

  Years of no contact with my family has left my brother a mere stranger to me. I know that Jacob updated my father on how I was doing over the years, but both men agreed that it’d be best and safest for me if I stayed away from my family completely. I’m guessing Marcos found me through information Jacob shared with my father.

  “So what is your life like in Colombia?” I blurt the question out and then press my lips together, wishing I had a little finesse.

  But I’ve never had that. If there’s a thought swimming through my head, a question sitting on the tip of my tongue, it erupts in words I can’t pull back. That’s how it’s always been.

  But Marcos doesn’t seem offended by my question. Instead he smiles. But it’s tinged with a hint of sadness that I don’t understand. Maybe that’s just the curse that will always follow our family. Happiness is an inevitable part of life, but for us, will it always come at a price?

  “I have a simple life, but a good one, hermanita. I took over our father’s little construction company about three years ago, so that he could retire. I have taken the business a little further than he did. And I married the girl I fell in love with when we were in escuela.” At his last words his face breaks into a true grin.

  Joy blooms in my heart, a flower that settles happily among the weeds. “That’s amazing.”

  “And,” he continues, drawing the word out. “We have a son. He’s three years old.”

  God…I have a nephew? My heart, already so splintered, cracks just a little bit more. And I haven’t even met him?

  Under the table, sudden pressure on my hand has my eyes skirting toward Bennett. He’s staring down at me, understanding and compassion flooding his expression. He squeezes my hand that he’s now holding in his lap, and I’m confronted with the fact that his presence grounds me even when my heart rocks with turmoil.

  How did this happen so fast? How did I allow it?

  I shoot him a grateful smile before looking back at my brother. “That’s…wow, Marcos. I’m happy for you.”

  Even though I don’t think it’s something I’ll ever get to experience, not with all the ways I’m different, I recognize the importance of it. Family…the unit that could complete a person, make them feel like nothing else could ever be missing. I see that happiness in Marcos, value its worth.

  But then something in his eyes darkens, shifts, and the happiness that was just reflecting out at me is tarnished. He looks…what? Distraught? That’s the best word for it…but I can’t understand why.

  “Yeah,” he whispers. “I can’t wait until you meet them.”

  My throat clogs and my chest hurts. “Me neither, Marcos.”

  My brother’s expression softens, and I’m aware of how much it hurts, how much I’ve missed my family. Those kinds of emotions are usually hidden underneath all the ways I’m different from other people, but I can feel them now, bubbling to the surface and making me weaker than I’ve ever been.

  I’ve always felt so isolated, being apart from the rest of my family. Being sent away immediately after my mother’s death, even though I knew it was for my own safety. Those feelings of solitude never really went away. It didn’t matter that it’s my nature to separate myself. It still hurt, a deep aching pain in my heart that was always there.

  Hearing that I have more family, and that I’ve been missing out on everything that has to do with them, cuts me so deeply that it’s hard to take a breath.

  Is this what feeling like this does to people? Takes away their strength? If that’s true, I don’t want any of it. Not the feelings, not the emotions…none of it.

  I release Bennett’s hand like I’ve been touching something hot. Like I’ve been burned.

  My head whips to the side as something whizzes past me. The air around me, which previously felt so open and warm, now chills me to the bone with impending danger. I don’t know where the feeling comes from…maybe my instincts telling me. But I’m already moving when Bennett’s yell rips through the air.

  “Sayward! Get down!”

  A funny, heart-stopping whooshing sound affects the air around my ears, and I gasp as I slide from my seat, Bennett’s hand pushing me down as I drop to the ground.

  15

  Bennett

  I can feel it when the air shifts, rips, around us.

  The sound of the bullet wouldn’t sound like a gunshot to most people. But I know what a gun fitted with a silencer sound
s like, and cold dread mixes with precision, experienced training as my body shoots into action.

  When the first bullet whizzes by, millimeters away from Sayward’s head, my muscles move without me telling them to. I shove her down, too hard, but I need her safe. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know it’s a damn miracle that she wasn’t hit by the first bullet.

  As soon as she’s flat on her stomach under the table I yell for Marcos to get down and then pull my gun from its sheath at my hip. The tables filled with lunch patrons around us buzz with confusion, and I glance at one of them.

  “Shots fired,” I snap. “Call the police!”

  There are startled cries and screams as the other patrons scatter, but I note one man yanking out his phone as he disappears inside the restaurant, and I know that the WPD will be on their way.

  My head swivels as my eyes scan every inch of the sidewalk in both directions, searching for the shooter. Then they rise, looking for a point high enough for someone to aim down to the sidewalk where we’re sitting. Sirens lift into the air in the distance.

  “Dammit!” Not finding any source of a shooter with my gaze, all I want to do is use my legs, searching every inch of the street until I find him.

  He shot at her. Red-tinged haze fills my vision and I want to roar from the feel of it exploding inside my chest. What the hell? We weren’t expecting to run into trouble, if any, until we arrived in Colombia next week. Who the fuck is shooting at Sayward on a sidewalk in North Carolina?

  I make one last sweep with my gaze before dropping down to a knee on the sidewalk. Sayward glances up at me, her eyes filled with fear.

  And goddamn, the sight of her terrified face tugs at my chest, rips into my heart in a way I haven’t felt in so long it’s almost foreign.

  A police SUV pulls up to the curb just as I pull Sayward into my arms. Two uniformed officers climb out. Glancing at one of them, I gesture toward Sayward.