by DM Davis
“Black hair?” I’m stunned and repeating words now.
“Anyway…” Carol continues, ignoring me.
“Later,” Lauren whispers.
“…I thought it was quite sweet and traditional. Fitting for my sweet Lauren.” Carol turns to me. “It really was touching. Thank you. She deserves to have someone who believes in her and treats her with respect and love. She has so much to give. You couldn’t find anyone more loving.” Her smile returns to her daughter, full of adoration.
“Stop. You’re going to make me cry,” Lauren beseeches.
“No surprise there,” Carol teases, but I feel Lauren stiffen at my side.
Is this why Lauren doesn’t like to cry in front of people? Always apologizing for being so emotional? Did her family make her feel ashamed of her tears—her sensitivity?
“You’re right, Carol. I’ve never met anyone like Lauren. She is quite special, and I plan on spending the rest of my life loving her the way she deserves.” I squeeze Lauren’s shoulder, my need to protect her surging through my blood.
We peruse the menu, falling quiet as we decide what to order.
“Thank you,” my vision whispers in my ear.
I steal a precious kiss, locking eyes. “Always.”
THE WAITER RETURNS, LOOKING AT LAUREN, asking if she’s ready to order.
Bloody hell. “Yes, we are, in fact, ready,” I correct his statement.
The boy nods, not even having the good sense to be embarrassed.
As we order, his eyes remain on Lauren, only occasionally making eye contact with Carol or me. It’s disturbing yet humourous because Lauren has no idea.
Carol is eyeing him. When he leaves, Carol gives me a can you believe that asshole? look, and we bust out laughing.
“What? What’s so funny?” Lauren laughs with the two of us. She can’t help it, even though she doesn’t know why.
“Since we walked in, our waiter can’t keep his eyes off you. It’s as if your mum and I aren’t even here.”
Her mouth falls open, and her eyes widen in shock. “No.” She shakes her head. “No, he’s only being nice—attentive.”
My sweet girl. “Dove, even your mum noticed.”
“He’s right, honey. From the moment we sat down, he hasn’t stopped looking at you,” Carol confirms.
“No.” Lauren frowns at me. “Why would you say that?”
Sighing, my eyes meet Carol’s. “She has no idea how beautiful she is.”
Carol nods. “I know, and she won’t listen.”
“Y’all are crazy,” Lauren insists. “Plain crazy.” I can hear her internal voice telling her she’s nothing special.
“Crazy for you.” I capture her fidgeting hand and kiss her cheek. “Crazy for you, Dove. Only you.”
Her head hits my shoulder on an exhale. She may not accept that others find her attractive, but she at least accepts I do, and that is all that matters.
Lauren mentions her brother Bobby wants to have us all over for dinner to meet me. We agree to check our calendars and determine a date that works in the near future.
That settled, Lauren moves on to my brother’s visit, which then morphs into talking about my family. Apparently, she’s had enough talking about her.
“How much older is Connor?” Carol asks.
“Ten years. He’s married with two kids.”
“Mom, he’s an orthopedic surgeon.”
Carol seems impressed, but Lauren steams forward, not giving her a chance to respond. “They’re all highly educated. Between the two parents and five kids, there are three doctors, two professors, and two teachers. Impressive, huh?”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s not.” I don’t want to focus on that. I’m lucky. I was born into a well-off family where education was paramount and feasible.
“I’m highly undereducated,” Lauren throws out dismissively. “The amount of brain power at one of your family dinners is impressive,” she adds fuel to the fire.
I squeeze her leg, hoping her gushing over my family will cease. “No more than your family. Education does not equate to a high IQ.”
“Says the professor,” Lauren teases, but I can hear the meaning behind her words.
I won’t have her feeling inferior to me—to my family. But I don’t want to discuss it in front of her mum. I squeeze Lauren’s hand this time, capturing her gaze, trying to convey my feelings.
When I’m sure my message is received, I change the subject. “Does your mum know about Nicole coming to visit?”
That does the trick. The two of them set off on that tangent. Carol seems happy to hear about Nicole. I find it fascinating. Carol seems to really care for Nicole, despite the fact she’s her ex-husband’s child from his second marriage. I’m sure Lauren’s love for Nicole has a lot to do with it.
As our food comes and goes, the conversation flows easily. Wanting to know more about my love, I take the opportunity to delve further. “Carol, what was Lauren like as a child?”
An adoring smile takes over Carol’s face as she looks at Lauren and answers me. “She hated to sleep from the get go, fought it tooth and nail.” She shakes her head in exasperation at the memory.
“Now, Bobby, was a different story. As young as two, if he was tired, he put himself to bed, but not this one.” She points at Lauren. “She never liked to sleep, at least until she hit puberty. Then I couldn't drag her out of bed.”
“I was afraid everyone would be gone when I woke up.” Lauren shrugs as if she didn’t just drop a bomb. “I don’t know why. I always remember feeling that way.”
“I don’t know why either, honey. We were always there when you did.”
Lauren’s eyes flit to me before looking away. I’ve had inklings before, but now it’s solidified. Lauren’s afraid of being left behind. She has abandonment issues that stem from childhood, if not infancy. I’m not sure if it was her father leaving when she was four or some earlier trauma that’s triggered that fear. Whichever it was is deep-seated and has been with her for a long time.
Carol continues as my mind works to absorb this new detail. “She was very shy, painfully so. She would hide behind my legs and not talk to anyone. Though, in school, she would go around and help the other kids finish their work after hers was complete. She was always a little mother, wanting to take care of everyone. She was—is—a very sensitive old soul. She has the grey streak to prove it.” She waves her hand dismissively, a move I’ve seen quite often from her daughter. “I’ve already mentioned that. But what I didn’t mention was that by the time she was a year old, her hair was blonde, having gradually changed colour.”
My eyes capture Lauren’s. “Most definitely a sensitive old soul.”
We finish our meal and say our goodbyes outside with promises to see her mum soon. Before we leave, Carol pulls me into another hug, whispering, “Love my daughter like she deserves to be loved. Make her happy, and you’ll know true happiness.”
Those are words to live by. “Like my life depends on it,” I promise.
The roads are clear of ice, and the sun, bright in the sky, will have the rest melted off the ground by midafternoon. I take a deep breath and let it out. I feel lighter. The weight of my boyfriend meeting my mother no longer weighs on my shoulders.
“It went well,” I murmur, more to myself.
“I believe so.”
“Thank you.” I glance at Theo in time to catch him watching me.
His eyes warm with heat as he takes my hand. “No need to thank me. Your mum is nice. I enjoyed meeting her.” He chuckles as he focuses on the road. “I was shocked, though. You don’t look like her. I was expecting her to be blonde and fair-skinned, but she’s the complete opposite.”
“I look like my dad. Although, he had dark hair too, so I don’t really know where my hair came from.” I can’t tell where we’re heading since both our places are in the same direction from the restaurant. “Are we going back to your place?”
“Home. We’re g
oing home.” He moves his hand to my knee, caressing it lightly.
I rest my head against the seat and watch the world pass outside my window. Home. At this point, wherever he is feels like home, so I guess it doesn’t really matter if it’s my place or his, but it’s interesting he didn’t specify. I suppose he’s trying to make a point. Though, I hope it’s his place.
I’m giddy when he pulls into his garage. He notices and smirks when he opens my door, offering his hand.
Standing in the living room, I’m not sure what to do with myself as Theo drops his keys and empties his pockets on his desk. My purse is set beside his belongings. I wrap my arms around myself and take in my surroundings. It’s peaceful, quiet. Barely any sound creeps in from the outside world.
Warm hands slide around my waist, his body blanketing my back. “My home looks good on you.” He nuzzles my hair before sweeping it off my shoulder.
You look good on me. I sigh as his lips caress the tender spot below my ear.
“You smell good too.”
I shiver as he draws my earlobe into his mouth, sucking and nipping tenderly.
“Take a bath with me,” he whispers against my lips as he cups my cheek, turning me toward him.
My response is lost in his mouth as he consumes every gasp and whimper while we devour each other for mere seconds before he releases me.
“Bloody hell, Dove.” He shakes his head as if he’s lost his bearings. His hand drops from my face and clasps mine.
In his bedroom, he stops by his bed, releasing me. “Have a seat if you like.” He motions to the bed or the chair beside it before continuing to the bathroom.
I sit on the side of the bed, facing the open bathroom door, watching. He turns on the tub faucet, pouring something into the stream of water. Bubble bath or bath oils, I assume. The smell of vanilla hits me and eases my nerves.
I’m in awe of his body, so strong and masculine. Muscles flex below his clothes with each movement. I can’t imagine being that fit, that in command of my body. He’s a sight to behold. I called him beautiful before, but he’s magnificent—a god among men.
He turns, catching me gawking. I lick my lips as he stalks closer. My nipples hurt, they’re so hard. Warmth creeps up my neck, knowing he’s well aware of what he does to me.
He tips my chin so our eyes meet, his thumb brushing my lip as his heated gaze rakes my face. “Dove, you’re killing me with that look.”
“What look?” I fall back to the bed as he comes over me, his hand behind my head ensuring a slow descent.
“Like you need me to devour you.”
“Yes.” God, yes.
His lips sweep across mine, sucking on my bottom lip before pressing forward. His tongue dances with mine, twirling and gliding, tasting, commanding. His hands travel up my sides, lifting my shirt as he goes. My legs twine around the back of his, pulling him where I need his touch.
He breaks our kiss, but his lips never leave my skin as they travel down my body while he pulls my shirt over my head. My arms fall free, and I sink my fingers into his hair. He groans and grips my breasts over my bra, his lips trailing kisses over the plumped-up mounds. His teeth graze my satin-covered nipples before he tugs them free, tucking the cups under each exposed breast.
I arch into him as he sucks a nipple into his mouth. “Oh, God.” My breathing is harsh as I grind against him, pulling him closer with desperate hands and needy words.
His hand slips between us, pressing against my jeans right on my clit. He releases one breast to suck on the other. Circling, circling my nipple and clit, a beautiful synchronized dance that has me trembling with need, crying out for more, and arching for release.
As I get closer, he’s more demanding. His breath is jagged, and his moans nearly surpass my own as he answers each one, his touch determined. He’s so turned on as a result of my arousal, and that—right there—flips the switch.
Clinging to him like a spider monkey, I convulse in his arms, under his body.
My head thrown back.
My eyes seeing stars.
My mouth screaming my release.
A small moan accompanies each exhale, trying to calm my racing heart.
His touch gentles.
His lips ease.
“Holy hell,” I huff on an extended puff of air.
He chuckles somewhere near my chest. “Devour, Dove. Devour.” He kisses my lips, and then he’s gone, and I feel cold from the absence.
I blink my eyes open. He stands next to the bed, his eyes dark with need. The bulge in his pants is undeniable.
But I’m a mass of useless limbs.
“Don’t move.” Then he’s gone.
“Move? Who could move after that?” I mumble.
He chuckles from the hallway. Apparently, he can.
Cold air brushes my damp nipples, making me painfully aware of my state of undress. With a groan, I lift my two-ton arms and pop my boobs back into my bra. Satisfied I’m decently covered, I let my arms fall to the mattress however they may.
Theo’s moving around the house, opening and closing doors and drawers, then heads back to his room with towels and a candle in his arms. I manage to roll to my side so I can see what he’s doing. He places the towels on the corner of the tub and lights the candle on the counter, then tests the water and adjusts the temperature.
When he turns, his eyes catch mine—again, his knowing smirk ever-present. Making his way back to the bed, he leans over me, brushing my hair from my face. His eyes shine with love, and a gentle smile now coats his lips. “You alright, Dove?”
I nod and manage a, “Yeah.”
“Up you go then.” He pulls me into a sitting position with my legs dangling over the sides. His bed is high, not nearly as high as mine, but my feet are still inches from the floor.
His lips move across mine in a kiss that ends with his tongue flitting along the underside of my top lip, quick but highly effective, as he kneels. His hands move down my thighs to my boots, unzipping, and slowly slips one off and then the other, followed by my socks.
He pulls me to my feet and into his arms. His kiss is soft and coaxing. Each time he stops, I chase his lips, wanting more, and more, and more. By the time he steps back with a hand on my hip to stop me from falling into him, I’m weak-kneed and heavy-lidded.
After removing his shoes and socks, he takes my hand and leads me to the bathroom, stopping at the tub to turn off the water. When he stands, I reach for his belt, unbuckle it, and tug his shirt free.
He caresses my face, his forehead pressed to mine, his fingers grazing my hair. Our breaths mingle as I unbutton his shirt, exposing the hard lines of his chest and abdomen. God, I could lick every nook and cranny and be here for days.
“Do you have a clip or something for your hair?” His eyes scan my head.
“Yeah, in my purse.” I reluctantly extricate myself from his grasp, grab my clip, and
secure my hair as I step back into the bathroom.
His eyes sweep down my face and neck, landing on my breasts. I lower my arms as he steps into me and runs a finger down the curve of my neck, sending chills down my spine. My eyes close when his lips press to my skin, and he sucks gently on my pulse point.
No longer feeling his touch, I sigh and open my eyes to find Theo looking in the mirror, his hands at his sides and his eyes focused on my reflection. His belt hangs loose. His arms flex as he reaches out to me, gripping my hips. His chest rises and falls, the etched lines of his ribs and muscles on tantalizing display.
My gaze returns to the man—not the reflection. “You’re beautiful.” My voice is in awe of the man who’s captured my heart.
A smile flashes, amused by me calling him beautiful, before his brow falls, and his lips fall into line. “No, Dove.” He pivots so I’m facing the mirror with him standing behind me. “You’re the one who’s beautiful.”
My head shakes in denial, my eyes locked on his in the mirror.
“Will you not look at yourself?” His voi
ce is soft as his hand gently runs down my side.
I close my eyes under his touch, turning and wrapping myself in his arms. “I’d rather look at you.”
He smiles down at me, but before he can say something else I’ll find embarrassing, I kiss him, hard and unrelenting. He groans at my attack. His hands try to still mine as I go for his jeans. He succeeds when he pins me to the counter with his body, my hands behind me.
His breath glides across my skin as we stare at each other, panting. “Patience, my love.” His grip gentles. His brow rises as he waits for my acquiescence.
“Okay.”
He releases me and steps to the door, gripping it with his back to me. His breathing is rough, and when I glance in the mirror, I can see his eyes are closed.
Perhaps his plea for patience was as much for him as for me. That never-ending pull between us is strung tight, nearly impossible to resist. But somehow, he manages. I, on the other hand, feel more like a pawn to my desires. I need to work on my discipline to be half as controlled as he is.
The click of the door brings my eyes back to him. For a second, I feared he left me alone behind this closed door. He turns off the light, plunging us into near darkness except for the lone candle, flickering on the counter.
Silently, he undoes my jeans and kneels to slip them off. Once my legs are free, he wraps his arms around my waist, and his lips traverse my stomach from one side to the other as he caresses up my back, unhooking my bra and slipping it off my shoulders.
I clutch his hair, and his head tilts up. His eyes meet mine before his hands bracket my breasts, and his thumbs sweep my hardening nipples. My insides clench with the need to be filled, and my head falls back on a moan.
“So beautiful.” His words skate across my chest before he latches on to my breast, squeezing and plumping it up for his barrage. One and then the other.
To hell with patience. I glide my nails across his waist as I make my way to the front of his jeans. His growl around my breast and his muscles contracting under my touch only spur me on. I flick the button and unzip him, the sound filling the room, emphasized by my gasp as Theo teethes a nipple before sucking it deep.
