by Kim Karr
Leaving me breathless, he pulls back and studies my face. His fingers move to gently stroke my shoulders beneath the straps of my tank top. “Does this hurt?” He dips his head to kiss my shoulder.
I shake my head no because I can’t speak. The feel of his skin on mine causes my breath to catch in my throat and I’m rendered speechless.
“Good.” He peppers light, soft kisses up my neck and back down.
I toss my head back.
He pushes my straps farther down and his dips even lower.
“This?” he asks as his lips touch my nipple and circle it while his hand cups the other one.
“N . . . n . . . no,” I stammer.
He licks and sucks one nipple while he rolls the other between his thumb and finger.
I press my hips forward. “Oh God, Ben.”
I can feel his lips tilt up into a smile. He looks up at me from underneath his lashes. “You like that?”
I feel my legs start to tremble from just the look he’s giving me.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“You know I do,” I pant.
Both of us are breathing loudly and I’m not sure whose breath is whose anymore. His grin grows wide as he drags his hot mouth up my chest to my jaw. He nips my lower lip with his teeth and presses his very erect penis against me. I whimper at the contact.
“You want this.” His voice is husky.
“Yes,” I say more quickly and more clearly than I have answered any of his questions since coming into the kitchen.
He groans, almost roars in response. In a beat he lifts me and sets me on the counter. His palms press down on either side of me and I feel his closeness even with the small distance between us.
I stare at him, drinking in the sight—hooded lids, parted lips, chest rising and falling.
His deep blue eyes sweep me. “You know I think you’re hot as fuck.”
I love his dirty mouth and his commanding tone. His forcefulness turns me on so much. I’ve never been with a guy like him. Something about him makes me want to give myself over to him in any way he wants. I want to be anything he desires, everything he needs—I want to be his dream girl.
I lean forward and begin to undo his buttons. “I think the same thing about you. Yesterday after I left the beach, all I could think about was your cock inside me. I might have had at least three mini orgasms at the thought.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, biting down on his lip. His hands slide to my breasts and he cups both of them. Feeling almost dizzy, I press myself into his palms and drop my hands from his shirt, letting the sensation of his touch slide through me. My nipples pebble into hard peaks as he squeezes them and I can’t help moaning even louder.
He pushes the spaghetti straps of my tank farther down my arms to uncover my handful-sized breasts. His breath hitches as his mouth dips to mine. “Did you wear this to drive me crazy last night?”
I shake my head and try to catch his lips with mine, but he maintains a slight distance between us.
“And without a bra to kill me.” This time it’s not a question.
But I shake my head no again.
His hands move up my thighs and his fingertips dance under the flimsy cotton of my bottoms. “Fuck me, you’re not wearing any underwear.”
Again I try to press my lips to his, but he keeps drawing back. He lets his fingers only lightly graze over me and I brace my palms on the counter to keep steady. When he presses them a little harder I moan, but he pulls his hands away. He covers them over mine, lightly caressing his thumbs across my skin. “Tell me and I’ll put my fingers inside your sweet pussy.”
I’m tingling everywhere as I mumble, “No, I didn’t, I promise. I was trying to keep anything from touching my sunburn and besides, if I wanted to drive you crazy I would have worn that.” I lift my hand from underneath his and point to the skimpy swimsuit I laid out perfectly yesterday before I left for Ivy’s release party.
The wickedest grin crosses his lips. “Put it on now.”
I bite my lip. “Whatever you say, Mr. Covington.”
He catches my mouth with his and finally kisses me again. I rub my naked chest against his and I think he might be panting. I clutch his shoulders under his shirt and scoot off the counter. He presses his fingers into my hips and guides me down.
I saunter across the room, pick up the suit, and hold it in front of me. “Is this what you want to see me in?”
He bobs his chin, but his smoldering eyes stay locked on mine.
“I’ll be right back,” I say, sashaying toward the bathroom.
“No, don’t leave the room. Show me a little of that striptease you said you learned.”
I shrug as if it’s no big deal, but really I want to be as sexy for him as I can be, and the thrill of being able to give him what he wants makes my stomach flip. I pull the straps of my tank top back up and turn around. Just as I glance over my shoulder and start to slowly lower the straps back down, his eyes shift from ocean blue into midnight sky before me.
“But just know I’m fucking you in your bed—all day,” he growls.
A sudden throbbing expands from my heart to my fingertips to my core but just as suddenly dissipates when there’s a knock at my door and I hear the jangling of my mother’s keys and very familiar voice.
“Bell, honey, are you up? Jack and I went to the market this morning and brought you a few things,” she says as she tries to open the front door, but the chain prevents her.
“Fuck, not how I want to meet your parents,” Ben mutters under his breath.
I quickly pull my top back down. Ben is fast too, moving to redo the buttons I just moments ago undid. Patting my hair and taking a deep breath, I walk toward the door and unhook the chain.
With bags blocking their view, my mother and stepfather come in.
“So glad you’re finally using that lock I installed,” Jack says.
I smile. Ben must have used it last night. Honestly, I always forget.
“Oh, good, you’re already up. I thought we’d have breakfast together. You left so fast last night I didn’t get a chance to ask about your day at the beach,” my mother says.
“And, missy, how did you get home anyway? Xander told us you’d left. I was worried about you,” Jack scolds.
“Oh, Jack, a girl is allowed some secrets.” My mother winks at him.
He shrugs. “Charlotte, you know I can’t help it. I worry about her on her own.”
My mother dismisses his comment, but I know she worries about me too. “It smells like you’re already cooking breakfast,” she says.
As they move toward the kitchen I know I have to say something. “Actually Ben is making breakfast.”
“Ben?” my mother questions.
“Yes, Ben Covington. He stopped by to check on me.”
My mother’s face drops and she stands frozen just looking into the kitchen.
Jack sets his bags on the counter, grabbing my mother’s from her and doing the same. Ben moves toward them and extending his hand first to my mother, he says, “Mrs. Tyler, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Bell has told me so much about you.”
Surprise and shock seem to swamp her, but she eventually smiles and extends her hand.
Ben turns to Jack and does the same. Jack is more cordial. When he extends his hand he says, “Ben, I heard the announcement this morning. Congratulations on the acquisition of Sound Music. I hear you have some terrific ideas for how to boost the publication. I’d love to hear about them.”
“I do, sir. And I’d be happy to share them anytime.”
I can’t decide whether I want to hide underneath the sofa or jump on top of it in celebration at the effort Ben is making.
My mother clears her throat as she turns to me. Her eyes scan my flimsy attire that is not at all appropriate for visitors. “You said Ben was checking on you. What’s the matter?”
“I took her to the beach yesterday and was worried she might have gotten too much sun,” he rushes to ans
wer.
“Oh, you’re the friend who was teaching Bell how to surf?” Jack asks.
Ben’s hands go to his pockets and he nods with a smile.
I’ve kept my mother and Jack in the loop on my “dates” with Ben. I just failed to mention his name. And now I wonder if that was worse than not telling them. I’d painted a picture of a proper suitor pursuing me, and he was one and he did pursue me. They just didn’t know the guy was Ben Covington. But they were both really happy for me that I was finally spending time with someone I liked. So why should it matter who it is?
Jack even mentioned that since I called my new suitor a friend and not my boyfriend, it must be serious. And I was planning on telling them as soon as I knew for sure Ben wanted more than just sex from me, so that should count for something. Not that I’d tell my parents that.
My mother’s eyes dart to me again. “Oh my, you are really burnt. You looked pink last night, but today it’s much worse. Did you put something on it?”
“Yes, Ben brought over some aloe,” I answer, rushing toward the bags that Jack set on the counter.
“Oh, let me,” my mother answers as I start unloading the items.
“Bell, I should run. I have some calls to make at the office,” Ben says, and I notice the use of my real name. I don’t like it.
“I didn’t realize you had to work today. It’s Saturday.” I know I’m frowning but I can’t help myself. He’s trying to ease out of an awkward situation, but I really don’t want him to go.
“With the announcement I really should head in and return a few calls,” he says. “Mr. and Mrs. Tyler, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Call me Jack.”
“Oh, and I’m Charlotte of course,” my mother adds, rounding the counter and making her way into the kitchen.
“What about breakfast?” I ask, hoping he’ll stay.
“I made it for you,” he says.
I stop unloading the goods from the bags that my mother has already started to put away and follow him to the door. My mother and Jack begin their own conversation and Ben points to his feet. Crap, crap, crap.
“Let me get you those books you asked to borrow before you leave.” I don’t know what else to say. Honestly I don’t care if you’re sixteen or twenty-six; getting caught by your mother with a boy in your room is just plain embarrassing.
Ben covers his mouth with his fingers in a move I’ve come to love but right now hate. I know he does it when he’s trying not to laugh. I scowl at him and he pats his pockets. I get it—don’t forget his keys and wallet. I make the walk of shame to my room as my mother and Jack act as if they don’t know what’s going on. Entering my room with a deep sigh, I gather everything. I come back with a brown-handled shopping bag, knowing my mother and stepfather must have noticed Ben didn’t have his shoes on. I hand him the bag filled with his stuff and some random romance novels I grabbed off my floor. When our hands connect he brushes his thumb across the top of mine. Electricity shoots through me and I finally smile at him.
He opens the door and once again says good-bye to my mother and Jack.
“Bye, thanks for stopping by to check on me.”
A devilish grin crosses his lips. “Anytime. Call me later if you need anything,” he replies with a wink.
When he leaves I collapse against the door. My body is taut with tension but also tingling at the same time.
“Bell, I think we should have a talk.” My mother’s voice is stern, but soft. And I hope to God she doesn’t want to give me the sex talk again. She gave it to me when I was sixteen and again after I told her I was pregnant. I think I get it.
Jack busies himself putting the fruit in Tupperware containers my mother also brought over. Even though he isn’t my father, he has always treated me like a daughter. His love and concern have meant a lot to me, but he also knows when to keep quiet—like now.
Standing straight, I slowly make my way to the kitchen. “Mom, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was seeing him. I just didn’t want you to judge him.”
My mother stops what she’s doing. “Bell, I would never judge him. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
“But you are judging him. I can tell by the look on your face.”
“Charlotte, he seems like a nice boy. Respectful, concerned about Bell,” Jack says, and my mouth drops. I wouldn’t have counted on him as an ally.
“I’m not judging him.” The tone of her voice rises. She glances at me. “I am not one to judge anyone. What happened years ago when he was with Dahlia is for you and him and your brother to come to terms with, and I’m sure you know that isn’t going to be easy.”
“Ben and Dahlia have talked. They’ve made peace.”
She raises her hand. “Like I said, that is between the four of you. My concern right now is only for you. Have you told him about the baby?”
I shake my head no.
She levels with me. “Secrets become lies.”
“I’m not you,” I snap back.
She ignores me and I know I shouldn’t have said that.
“Bell, honey, not telling him isn’t any way to start a relationship. You can’t keep a secret like that. It’s not fair to him. Everyone in our family knows. You know I think you should have told him years ago, but since he wouldn’t return your calls I let you make the decision not to.”
I tremble at the painful memory.
She reaches across the counter to grab my hand. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”
Tears spill from my eyes. “But, Mom, I’m hurting now. Every time you bring it up, it hurts me. Don’t you get it? I want to forget it.”
“I’m sorry, honey, but you can’t and I can’t let you—not this time.”
I run to my room crying and throw myself on the bed. My hand goes to my belly button, then to my scar, and the memory comes back as if it were yesterday.
• • •
There were no breathing exercises, no Lamaze classes. It was nothing like Rachel giving birth on Friends. I had been diagnosed with preeclampsia and was being monitored closely. Corticosteroid shots were part of my daily regimen to help mature the baby’s lungs. Magnesium sulfate also became part of the ritual to help prevent seizures, but that drug wasn’t an easy shot; it was given in IV form and I hated it. I was warned that when delivery time came the magnesium sulfate dosage might need to be increased. I didn’t understand what that meant, but the nurses looked as though they felt sorry for me.
On March seventeenth, almost eight months after the baby had been conceived, I understood why. My already high blood pressure had risen to an unhealthy level, putting the baby’s life in danger. The doctors had decided it was time to induce me. So with Pitocin in one IV and mag in another, I was in pain, burning up, and dry-heaving in a basin my mother held for me. Her tears only made me cry all the more. The contractions came on quickly. They were nothing like what I thought they would be. They were the worst kind of cramps and so painful I was screaming before I was even close to being fully dilated. I had opted to remain drug free, but the pain was so bad I begged the nurses to call an anesthesiologist. The fear of a needle stuck in my back seemed so small compared to what I was feeling.
However, before relief could even arrive, I was being wheeled down a sterile hall with the words emergency C-section being thrown at me. My blood pressure had reached an alarming level and the doctors could no longer wait for the birth-inducing drug to kick in. My mother wasn’t allowed in and I was terrified. With fear and pain all I could fathom, a mask went over my face and as I counted backward, blackness came. I awoke sometime later in the recovery room. I patted my stomach but couldn’t feel anything. I looked around for my mother, my brothers, but sleep called to me. The next time I woke up I was in a different hospital room. It wasn’t the same one I had been recovering in since the accident. The one I had to stay in even after the trauma had passed while we waited for the baby to come.
I remember the nurse asking, “Do you want to see the baby?�
��
“I don’t know,” I cried out.
I had told them I didn’t. All I could think about was why were they asking me? The adoption was already arranged—I had selected the people I thought would make the most perfect parents, but having my baby taken from me before I expected left me empty, wondering. I started to second-guess myself. I became hysterical and screamed for my mother. The nurses brought her to me.
“Is the baby okay?” I asked.
She cried, nodding.
“Did you hold it?”
She cried even harder, nodding again.
Once I knew the baby was safe, my doubts were no more. I couldn’t hold the baby, because if I did I just knew I’d never be able to give it up. So on that day I signed my child over to its new parents, never seeing it, never knowing if it was a boy or girl because it didn’t matter. All I knew, all that mattered was that my child would be raised by two people who would forever love him or her. What I didn’t know is I would never stop loving that child either.
• • •
A familiar comforting hand runs up and down my back and I twist around, wiping my tears away.
“Bell, you know how much I love you. I want more than anything for you to be happy. And if you think this man will make you happy, I will accept him with open arms. But you have to be honest with him. I’ve been through a lot in my life and learned from my mistakes. I never told your brother who his real father was and I could have lost him because of that. I’m not trying to hurt you. I know thinking about the baby is painful, but please think about what I’ve said. I won’t bring it up again. How you move forward is your decision.”
With the memories so vivid and painful, I sit up and pull my mother to me. Eventually my cries muffle into familiar sobs as everything I’ve tried so hard to forget circles around me.
