Cry For You_A Second Chance Romance

by Shaniel Watson

  “Please, Landon,” she whimpers. “Don’t stop touching me. Touch me, please.”

  “Baby, I won’t. As long as you want me, I’m here.” I kiss her lips, securely holding her in my arms that are trembling from the willpower it’s taking me not to come with each torturous movement of our bodies sliding together.

  I lay her down on the bed, covering her with my body. “Lacey, I’m going to make you feel so good,” I moan against her mouth, applying gentle pressure to her hardened nipples.

  “You already are.” Her mouth falls open as I rock into her harder and faster. She pants, her head sinking back into the pillow. “So good.”

  Our mouths fuse, same as our bodies, tongues tangling in grunts and moans and an overwhelming need to be closer to anyone than I’ve ever been in my life. I surge into her, holding her hips, her holding my face. Wet, slapping noises echo in the room as the bed creaks between whimpers of pleasure. My hand slips between us again, stroking and rubbing that swollen bundle of nerves to give her everything she needs.

  Only then, when I hear her cry of release, do I allow myself to let go, joining her in a happy space of hazy bliss, incoherent words, grunts and pleas to God and heaven above.

  Breathing hard, her hands finally loosen around my face. One last spurt into her, and the muscles in my body begin to relax. I kiss her nose, neck, mouth, and cheek with the last bit of strength I possess and say, “You’re beautiful, and that was transcendent. Thank you.”

  After all that, her shy smile appears, and she kisses my lips. I roll to the side, taking her with me, safe and secure in my arms.

  When Landon left, he did me a great favor by doing something I wouldn’t have done myself—that I flat-out refused to do. I just didn’t want to think about it anymore. I wanted to forget about everything and everyone. I just wanted to be left alone in the empty shell I called my body. Truly, it wasn’t my body anymore. It was a foreign object that I didn’t recognize—that I didn’t want.

  Then my lawyer called, she wanted to see me, and there was suddenly a flicker of something. A feeling of anger. The only reason I would leave my house that or any day, besides to see my therapist. I walked into her small office void of emotion, except for fear and the backbreaking anxiety I carried every single moment, wherever I went. Wrapped in two layers of thick, bulky sweaters and sweatpants, dressed in black, head to toe.

  She looked at me with her usual smile. Neat, fresh and clean, professional yet welcoming, like a friend you haven’t seen for a while. Just her, comfortable in her own skin. I wondered if I would ever be that way again. Would I ever stop crying for the life I had, and everything I’ve lost? Looking at her, I was ready to cry, to turn around and leave. She was a painful reminder of why I had to be here, and why I didn’t want to be.

  I could see the minute she sensed I was going to be a major flight risk. She pulled out a chair for me in front of her desk, and said, “It’s good to see you, Lacey. Please, sit down.” She looked in my eyes, unwavering, waiting for me like she had all the time in the world. Which she didn’t. She was court-appointed.

  Some of my anxiety subsided at her calm demeanor. I sensed I had nothing to really fear from her. Sighing heavily, I sat. She smiled brighter and sat at her desk. I didn’t have much to offer, so I waited to hear what she had to say. She was no nonsense, cutting right to the chase. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant, Lacey?” At that, I looked away, not wanting to go through this, not wanting to hear this.

  Like a zombie, I went mute. I put her on mute, trying to shut her out. That wasn’t in her plans. She didn’t care. Kept right on talking, while I went numb, shaking inside, while she went on about Landon telling her about the pregnancy, telling her that it wasn’t his child but the child of a monster he didn’t want anything to do with. Those weren’t her words, but that’s what I heard.

  On the verge of a major breakdown, tears running out my eyes, I shook my head for her to stop. I didn’t want to go through this. There wasn’t going to be a case, because the evidence was weak. We could go to trial, but wouldn’t be assured of a conviction. Then she said, “I’m not going to stop, Lacey. This pregnancy changes everything. It’s more than your words against his. We got him—the element of surprise. We have the proof.”

  “No, we don’t. What if he changes his story, what then? Then I’m a liar, and still a slut. I’m still the girl lusting after the god, with everything to lose. I’m still the girl who wanted a piece of it: his popularity, money, family name. The girl with nothing, against the guy with everything.” I snicker. “Why would he throw it all away when he could have any girl he wanted? Right?”

  “Wrong, Lacey. You’re the girl who is going to help me put a rapist behind bars, so he can’t hurt anyone else. You’re the girl who can do that. You have more power than you think. Lacey, do you know, in this state, if you keep this child he has rights as a father, even if he gets convicted?”

  “What are you talking about? How can that be possible?” I look at her relaxed, cool demeanor, astonished beyond belief.

  “It is. He’s the father. He has rights. Simple as that, it’s the law.”

  Just like that, there was a flicker. A flicker of rage and hate. I couldn’t fathom what she was telling me. After the atrocity and shame, savagely brutalizing me, stealing my dignity and my choices as a woman—as a human being—she was telling me he had rights! The only right he should have is to be put in jail for the rest of his fucking life.

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do about this child inside of me,” I say with venom, holding my hand to my chest, anger dripping from every word. “He is never going to get the chance to see it. I’m going to make sure with everything I have inside of me that it never happens.”

  “And I’m going to help you.”

  Yes, that was the day the feelings that were numb and locked inside of me came to life.

  I smooth my hand across his chest in the early dawn, knowing it’s almost time for this to be over. He has to leave soon. I press my lip over his heart, where my name is scrolled. “Why did you never get rid of it?”

  “Why would I?” His sleep-roughened voice rumbles through his chest, wakening my senses in a curl of sensual need. “I didn’t want to erase you from my life. It would be like erasing a part of my soul.”

  He knows exactly what to say, as if he has a direct line leading straight to my heart. I shake my head. “You say these things—”

  “That I mean.” He rakes his fingers through the hair at the back of my head, pulling my face closer to his. “I’ve never lied to you about my feelings for you. Why would I start now? No one has ever touched me like you do, Lacey.”

  “That the truth?” I ask, feeling the answer in the direct line he has to my heart. He nods, kissing me tenderly, pulling my body half over his so I feel the rising need for me in his body.

  Parting my thighs, I straddle his hips, deepening the kiss I can tell he wants to keep light and gentle, but I know he wants more as much as I do.

  “Damn, Lace, are you sure?” he manages to get out against my lips. Instead of words, I let my hands and tongue do the talking. I swirl my tongue in his mouth with a slow, deep moan. Sliding my hand between us, I stroke him with firm, steady pulls until his hips rock up into my hand, groaning when my thumb inadvertently brushes the tip of his cock. I do it again, sliding over the swollen head that’s pressing against the tight squeeze of my fingers.

  “Fuck, Lace. I need to hear your words. I need words, or I’m going to blow in your hand and embarrass the shit out of myself.”

  I smile, cock in hand, brushing the damp, swollen lips between my thighs against him, reveling in his reaction. “I’m sure I want to feel you, Landon. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel.”

  “So wet...ride me, Lace.”

  “Yes...” My hips gyrate, pressed against his balls make him slick with my wetness.

  “Make me feel even better.”

  “Yes...”

 
Hands on my hips, he helps me raise up, sliding between my folds, coating his shaft from base to tip before entering me. He sucks in a sharp breath as I sink down, assisted by his hand, a slow slide of pleasure that has me biting my lip, closing my eyes on an exhale.

  “Lacey baby, I need to feel all of you. Every single part of you,” he demands, sitting up, rocking into me. Our entire bodies are intertwined: mouths, tongues, hands, the sighs and moans mingling, edging us closer to a release I couldn’t have imagined feeling again until this night happened. The love of my entire existence rocking me to my core, leaving my body aching to be filled as he pulls out. A sweet torment only he could provide, releasing me from lingering self-doubt. Tender kisses and the slide of his body through me, making us an inseparable one, culminate in a shattering, fulfilled release.

  “Landon...”

  “Fuck. Lacey. Come with me, baby.”

  “Landon,” I whimper, gasping for air, taking all of him.

  “I have you, baby. Let go,” he rasps into my ear.

  Wrapping my hands around him, our bodies rock together, panting, as I shudder. My body swallows him whole, wrapped around a wall of spasms. His release mingles with mine, a pure wet heat, aiding the sensual friction of sealed bodies. Finally we come to a slow, rolling stop, our heads bowed on each other as our hands soothe, roaming over dampened, highly sensitized skin.

  Sated, I take a deep breath. Perfect night.

  “Can I call you later?”

  “You better,” I say. His fingers dig into the plush cotton of my pie robe at the small of my back as his head comes down, and he kisses me on the lips. My hands go into his unbuttoned shirt, flat against his back. “I had a wonderful time last night. Thank you, for being so sweet and taking me out.”

  “I need to thank you for giving me a chance. For entrusting me with a precious piece of you that can’t be taken, but only given.” He lightly kisses my lips again. “Thank you, Lacey.”

  I don’t even have words right now. I bite the inside of my bottom lip to keep from saying something that’s way too soon to say. But the tender way he’s staring at me, and his words...phew. We’re standing in the middle of my bedroom after last night, and this morning is making me feel things about him again with an intensity I’m almost scared to acknowledge. It’s too soon. I need to be cautious with my heart, taking things slow because I want things I probably shouldn’t have any business wanting until his life is less complicated—and with one less wife.

  “Hey, what’s that look for?”

  “Nothing.” I clear my throat, showing him my smile. “You made my night and my morning brighter. The only thing that’s missing is breakfast in bed. Maybe next time.”

  “About that—was I your first pancake?”

  “Why are you referring to yourself as food?” I grin. “Are you hungry? I can whip up some quick pancakes?”

  “Far from it. I’m satisfied in every way.” He nuzzles my neck, tickling me. “You haven’t heard of the pancake theory?”

  I shake my head, clueless to what pancakes have to do with anything but breakfast, which I’m kind of starting to crave.

  “The first pancake is the starter, a practice one. It’s never as good as the rest that come after. It’s the throwaway. I don’t want to be the throwaway pancake, Lace.”

  “I may be a bit clueless, but I think I know what you’re saying, though I want to make sure.” I tilt my head back, taking his face in my hand then trailing over his skin at his sides. “If you’re asking if you’re the first person I’ve been with since you left? Then no. You aren’t the first pancake. But you are the best. I can’t and wouldn’t deny it.”

  “I figured.” His lips curve in a grimace of a smile. “You had your shit more together than me. Hell, I’m a little disgusted with myself. You had to walk me through it like a fucking virgin. And I cried like a goddamn baby.”

  I shake my head, chuckling then turn serious. “No shame. It was beautiful and sweet. It takes a real man to cry and show his heart.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. You asked me if I dated, I said I did. It was the second guy. The first pancake, so to speak. Two years ago. We dated for six months.”

  “Was he good to you?” His face evens out, expressionless. I can tell he doesn’t want to really know what went on in any detail.

  “He was.” I see the steady rise of his chest and feel the lean muscles under my fingers relax.

  “Good. All I ever want is for you to be happy.”

  “I’m happy here with you.” I rock up kissing his cheek.

  He brushes my hair back and grabs my hand, smiling. “I don’t want to hear about any other guys in your life. I’m hungry. We have thirty minutes for me to make your favorite. Black coffee, double whipped cream on top. Do you have a Bavarian cream donut lying around?”

  “You remembered.” I’m equal parts pleased and surprised.

  He pulls me into his arms, backing out my bedroom. “I remember everything about you. Even that sometimes you drool, but it’s cool, it’s cute on you.”

  “Oh, shut up, you liar!” I squeal, arms around his neck, smiling from ear to ear. Until...fuck.

  “Mommy, Landon!” Jacob’s voice blacks out everything but the shock of him and my mother, staring at the two of us, who are half-naked at nine in the morning.

  I pull my arm away from around Landon so fast the breeze left behind fans open his unbuttoned shirt, exposing him, embarrassing me more than it should. The expression on my mother’s face siphons away the rest of the joy I had a moment ago.

  “Jacob, why aren’t you with your aunt? Are you okay, baby?”

  “Yes,” he says flatly. His brows pushing together, eyes turning between Landon and me, only to stay on Landon and his wide-open shirt.

  My mother closes the door with a stiff smile at Landon, who is standing next to me, unsuccessfully trying to fix his pants.

  “Why is my Mommy’s name on you?”

  Holy shit. My heart slams to the floor. My past and my lies collide head-on, with my son smack in the middle. The adults flash-freeze—living, breathing statues. I can’t believe this is happening. I’m light-headed, internally hyperventilating.

  “Mommy, why’s your name on Jackson’s dad?” He moves closer to us, standing in front of Landon with curious eyes. “Mommy said my daddy had her name tattooed over his heart because he loved her so much. Are you my daddy?” His hopeful eyes look to us. My heart breaks in a million tiny, jagged shards, tearing at my insides for being a coward. Forever telling him that lie.

  “Baby,...no.”

  “Why not? He has your name, just like you said. Can me and Jackson be brothers?” he says with the hopeful smile of a little boy who has found something he’s always wanted.

  My hand grips my chest. I look to my mother, who’s just as much at a loss for words as I am. Landon, more composed than we are, sheds the shock first, bending down eye-to-eye with my son.

  “Are you my daddy, Landon?”

  “I’m sorry, Jacob. No, I’m not your dad.”

  “Oh.” His little face falls. His chocolate brown eyes, so alert with discovery, turn down with sadness at the swift loss of what he thought he finally found—the dad he’s always wanted. The father he will never know, and I will do everything in my power to keep him from.

  “Why’s my mommy’s name on you, like my daddy’s, then?” His eyes stray to his chest.

  My lips tremble. I have to pin them in when Landon turns to me. I’m ten times a coward. I’m glad I can’t read the piercing look in his eyes. I don’t know what I can say to fix this to either of them.

  He takes Jacob’s hand, which seem extremely small and out of place in his strong hands. “Remember, I knew your mom a long time ago?” Jacob shakes his head. “Well, we were friends before I moved away. Best friends. I loved her very much.” He points a finger to his chest. “I wanted to show her how much I cared about her. I wanted to see her smile, ‘cause that made me happy, and she did.”
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  “Did you know my daddy, too?”

  The pain those words cause is gut-wrenching, to a point my eyes squeeze tight, holding my breath. I cannot imagine what it must be like for Landon, kneeling in front of the child of the man who shattered our lives almost beyond repair.

  After a long pause, my mother’s footsteps move closer. She’s ready and composed enough to do what I can’t seem to get myself together to do, and should, as Jacobs mother: protect him from a clusterfuck of a mess that I created by lying to him, because I’m scared to tell him anything close to the truth.

  “Landon,” my mother says, placing her hands on Jacob’s shoulder.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. McQueen. Jacob and I have become good friends. I can answer his question.” My mother looks doubtful, but she keeps quiet, letting him continue without moving a finger away from her grandson. She and I both watch and listen intently for any sign this might go the wrong way.

  Landon holds both of Jacob’s hands, moving closer by dropping to one knee, retaining eye-level contact with Jacob, who is anxiously awaiting his answer. “No, Jacob, I didn’t know him. But I knew of him. I heard he was smart and good at sports, but I didn’t know him. Jacob, you’re a great kid. Anyone would be proud to have you as their son.”

  He solemnly nods at Landon. I can clearly see he wants more, but he takes what he can get for now. I know I need to make this right for him, and apologize for putting Landon in this spot where he has normalize a man he almost killed with his bare hands. This man, who loves his son, and is an integral part of his life, is having to cover for the man who nearly destroyed us both.

  Without another word, Landon pulls Jacob away from my mother’s hands and into a hug. I’m close to breaking down on the spot. I can’t look at my mother. If I do, I know I’ll lose it completely.

  “Jacob, let’s go get your bike so Aunt Shay and I can take you to the park,” my mother says.