Be My Bride (Make It Marriage Book 8)

by Nia Arthurs

  It’s a burden as much as it is a gift. If he reveals himself to me, all of him—there’s no way I can keep myself from holding back.

  None.

  I’ll want to give him all of me too.

  I should tell him to stop.

  To keep it to himself.

  That this is just a business arrangement.

  It isn’t real.

  He doesn’t need to explain anything.

  But I don’t say that.

  He slowly rises to his feet. “When I was twelve, I met my birth mother.”

  Shock vibrates through my chest. “Did your parents know?”

  “They had no idea. They still don’t.”

  I can’t imagine how freaked out Zo would be if she knew. The woman adores Hansley.

  “What did she want?” I ask.

  “Money.” He clears his throat. “I didn’t find this out until later, but she’d already asked my parents for help.”

  “Oh no.”

  “They’d given her some cash, but when she tried to blackmail them into getting more and threatened to take me away from them, they told her to leave and never show up again.”

  His eyes glaze over as if he’s living in that memory now. “I’d snuck out to hang with my friends and she was waiting at the park. Something about her caught my attention. I don't know. Maybe I saw the truth by looking at her.” He lifts a shoulder. “I went up to her first.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “She was really kind at the beginning. Soft spoken. She was crying and kept apologizing for giving me up.”

  I scowl. “She put on an act.”

  “A good one. I was really conflicted.”

  “Did you give her the money she asked for?”

  “No.” He rubs the back of his neck. “No. I didn’t. For one thing, I didn’t have any. And when she started suggesting I steal from my parents or make something up to get the money from them, warning bells clanged in my ears.” He gestures to the side of his head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about my dad and what he would want me to do in that situation. He taught me to be honest and to never steal. What my birth mom was asking was wrong. It got into my head and it wouldn’t let go.”

  I imagine a smaller Hansley—dark hair, scrawny shoulders and big brown eyes staring at the woman who gave birth to him. I imagine him confused, overwhelmed, and lost as that woman hurt him for her own selfish gain.

  My heart aches, bawling out for him.

  Clawing at my ribs.

  Longing to soothe his pain.

  “She got more and more upset.” His voice is steady, but his eyes convey his distress. “She grabbed me by my shirt and told me I was good for nothing just like my father. She said he never got his act together. That he ruined everything he touched. And that’s why she abandoned me.” His lips tug up, but it’s a bitter, sorrowful smile. “Because I’m just like him.”

  The words slash into the room.

  Evil.

  Disgusting.

  I can’t stay still any longer. Moving swiftly, I fling my arms around Hansley and hold him tight. “You know that’s not true.”

  He dips his head in my shoulder and hugs me back.

  His breath hits the side of my neck.

  I want to wrap him up inside me and never let him go.

  “That’s not true, Hansley,” I whisper fiercely.

  My imagination carries me away to that park.

  Green trees all around. The sound of laughter in the air.

  Kites flying. Dogs barking.

  And in the midst of the happiness and peace, a little boy stands in front of his mother, flinching as she tears him down. As she stomps on his worth. As she curses him and calls him nothing.

  I pull back, noticing the muscles clenching and unclenching in his jaw. There are no tears. None in his eyes. None in his voice.

  This is just a fact to him.

  Because these scars run so much deeper than this moment.

  They’re scraped against his soul. Oozing. Open.

  Never managing to heal.

  “That’s why you didn’t confess to Sharon.” The dots connect in my mind. “You loved her, but… you didn’t want to ruin her.” I sigh. “Hansley…”

  “I changed that day. I know I did. And not for the better.” He nods. “But every morning I woke up, her words would be in the back of my head. And I’d wonder if they were true. The fear of her being right took over my life. Maybe I was just like him.” He scowls. “Maybe I was just like my father.”

  “A sperm donor is not a father.” I stare intently into his eyes. “A father protects, provides and gives identity. A father is there. And you have a father that’s there for you. Who taught you how to love. You’re nothing like the guy who—”

  “I share half his DNA, Asia,” Hansley snaps. “He’s a part of me.”

  I flinch.

  His eyes dart back and forth as despair creeps through his expression. “I can’t live with myself if I turn out to be like him. If I hurt someone I love, I’ll know why. And I can’t…”

  As a tear drips down my cheek, I lean over and kiss him desperately. “You’re better than that.”

  He shakes his head. Tries to push me away.

  I hold on tight. “I trust you, Hansley. I trust you.”

  This time, he kisses me.

  His hands cup my waist and he pulls back, his lips parted and his eyes searching mine for something to hold on to.

  I caress his cheek and nod softly. “You won’t hurt me.”

  Twenty-Two

  Hansley

  You won’t hurt me.

  She doesn’t know that.

  That’s hope talking.

  It’s not based in reality.

  This exquisite creature in my arms deserves more than I can give. Than I have the ability to give.

  “You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I whisper. “You have no idea.”

  Asia’s dark eyes fix on me.

  They’re seeing something that isn’t there.

  Some better version of myself that I wish I was.

  That I suddenly want to be.

  And that’s because of her.

  It’s her.

  It’s this woman right here that’s changing my mind.

  But the fact that I want to be the man she deserves raises the stakes even higher. She’s different. More. In a class all her own. And giving her everything she expects means changing, means proving that she’s my priority.

  I’m willing to make that choice.

  But if I fail… what does that say?

  What does that mean?

  You ruin everything. Just like him.

  Those words defined me for so long. I never gave myself the chance to confirm them. Never offered anyone as a sacrifice to test if my birth mother’s prediction was true.

  I couldn’t do that to Shar.

  And I refuse to do that to Asia.

  I don’t need confirmation. Evidence that I’m a screw-up.

  Just like my birth father.

  I’m already fractured enough.

  Caring about someone this much will only lead to disaster.

  For us both.

  “It’s hard for me too,” she whispers. “But it’s just one step.”

  “Asia…”

  “Take a step toward me, Hansley. And I’ll take one to you.”

  I dig my fingers into her hair.

  My lips descend on hers.

  Desire beats a hasty trail down my spine and throbs in my pants.

  Damn, she’s so soft against me.

  So sweet to the taste.

  My arms tighten around her waist and pull her flush against my body.

  Asia moans softly.

  Her slender arms wrap around my neck as she opens her mouth and welcomes my invasion. I plunge my tongue in roughly, taking her breath and giving mine in return. Scraping and nipping, I brand her as my own.

  My mind spins as restraint slips through my fingers.

/>   I can do this much.

  If it’s just physical, I’m ready.

  If she wants pleasure, I can give it to her all night long.

  I can spread her out on the bed.

  Make her scream.

  Beg.

  Moan.

  All of that.

  Until she passes out from satisfaction.

  But Asia’s not just a fling.

  And that's not what she’s asking for.

  She wants more of me than I’ve given to anyone.

  She’s willing to take the risk, even if it scares her.

  I don’t think I can.

  But I want to try.

  “One step, right?” I whisper.

  Her chest heaves. Each inhale causes her body to rub against me.

  It sends wildfire sparks brushing against my flesh.

  “Just one.” Her eyes are dark, desperate.

  Damn.

  She’s so stunning.

  So precious.

  I walk her backward, kissing her urgently. She kisses me back but, beneath the flaming-hot lust, I sense her hesitance.

  It’s the same routine from the night we got married.

  We take our clothes off.

  I part her thighs.

  Slap the headboard back against the wall.

  Make the mattress creak in rhythm.

  But it’s not the same.

  We’re stone-cold sober this time.

  It means more this time.

  We’re stepping out of hook-up territory and into making love.

  And that freaks the hell out of me.

  Her forehead rests against mine. "Is it okay to admit that I’m terrified?”

  “Get in line.”

  Her smile makes my heart pull tight. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been losing control.”

  “Sorry.” I caress her cheek.

  She chuckles. “It’s… okay. It’s kind of thrilling.”

  “Frightening in the best way.”

  “Exactly.”

  I graze my fingers over her jaw next and grip her chin. In a firm voice, I admit, “You’re important to me. I hope you know that.”

  She nuzzles her cheek into the palm of my hand.

  I kiss her again. Reaching out gently, I pull her shirt over her head. My hand drags against her soft skin, moving until I’ve got all five fingers pressing tightly into her back. Her sweet sigh falls against my lips.

  Kissing her neck down to her chest, I make every touch count.

  She’s already trembling by the time I lay her down on the bed and tug at the waistband of her pants. My heart thunders as I pull it down to her thighs, draping the fabric down over her ankles and then kicking it away.

  Wrapping one of my hands around her legs, I slide her thighs apart.

  Her chest heaves frantically.

  She’s nervous.

  Damn.

  So am I.

  This feels like my first freaking time.

  Which is ridiculous.

  I started young.

  Piled up the body count.

  Added way too many notches on my bed post.

  Hell, there’s barely any bed post left to scratch on.

  I can’t do this when we’re both in such a complicated headspace.

  Easing up, I press my hand into the mattress and hover over Asia. In the dimness of the room, I see the whites of her eyes contrasting against her brown skin.

  It almost makes me smile.

  She wasn’t kidding when she admitted to being afraid.

  I pick up on her mood.

  And I don’t rush.

  This isn’t about taking from her. I know she’s trying to make a point, but she’s still there. In her mind. In that space.

  She needs to get out of it.

  I want her with me.

  Here.

  In this moment.

  I need her with me when I touch her.

  Her eyes shift to me.

  Awareness brushes between us, lighting us up like a match left in a dry bush. Intimacy makes our eye contact longer, heavier. It really does feel like we’re the only two people in the world.

  I kiss Asia long and slow. Her body relaxes beneath mine and we both fall into the rhythm of the embrace, getting used to each other again.

  I caress her jaw softly, keeping my hands on her face until I can sense that she’s no longer overthinking this.

  My lips detach from hers.

  I press a kiss to her jaw.

  To her cheek.

  Drag it lightly over to her chin.

  Her body arches.

  Asia presses her hips to mine, grinding herself against me.

  It sends an explosion rocking through my body.

  My attention turns to her chest again.

  Sucking.

  Nuzzling.

  I don’t stop until she’s gasping.

  Until her hands are tugging on my hair so hard it hurts.

  She cries my name, “Hansley.”

  I smirk.

  And then my slow, lazy journey continues south.

  I can’t put this feeling into words.

  The difference.

  Between Asia.

  And everyone else.

  There’s almost a reverence to my touch. A quiet understanding that this is it.

  This is home.

  I don’t want any distance between us.

  I want to destroy every doubt, even in my own mind.

  And I convey that with every stroke of my thumb against her skin.

  This time, when I part her thighs, there’s no tension.

  No stiffness.

  We’re both standing on the cusps of a force much stronger than either of us can recognize. But I’m willing to jump in.

  Even if I shatter when I reach the bottom.

  Damn.

  As long as I shatter alone.

  As long as I don’t take Asia with me.

  I press kisses up her inner thighs and silently beg her to stay on top of the cliff. To just stay there. And not take a single step more.

  If she runs to me, she won’t find me. I’ll be free-falling.

  Falling so deep into her no one will be able to rescue me.

  My kisses go up.

  Up.

  Up.

  There.

  Her mewls hit my ears.

  She digs her fingers into my hair as her toes curl into the bed and her thighs shake. I hold her legs down, listening to her pants growing closer and closer together.

  She comes apart loudly.

  Trembling.

  Gasping.

  I crawl back over her and kiss her again. She sucks on my bottom lip, tasting herself and groaning softly. Her fingers paw at my pants, a silent directive for more.

  Moving briskly, I unbutton my jeans.

  Push them down.

  Grab protection.

  Her lips hit my ear in a taunt whimper as we connect.

  As we become one.

  In that moment, I feel a fierce protectiveness welling inside me.

  I can’t let anything hurt this woman.

  Even me.

  Especially me.

  I take Asia’s hands and rest them on either side of her head, pushing them deeper into the pillows until they almost sink to the mattress. Our fingers lock tightly as I take her higher.

  Sweat dampens the sheets.

  Her body arches off the mattress.

  I grunt as she moans for me. As she meets me there.

  In that place where time suspends and eternity lasts a moment.

  The bond that connects us pulls to the point of snapping.

  Faster.

  Harder.

  More.

  I move my fingers off her wrists.

  Sink them somewhere sweeter.

  Her nails dig into my back.

  Warmth floods my soul as she kisses me.

  As I kiss her.

  As our worlds crash together

  It sends me over the edge.

 
Glowing as warm as the sun.

  I realize, in that moment, where the fullness emerging between us stems from. My mind settles on one word.

  Wife.

  A friend.

  A lover.

  A better half.

  My heart chose Asia long before I put that ring on her finger. She was mine from the first moment I saw her, a monumental decision made in a split second.

  The realization crashes through my defenses like a train hurtling down a track. There’s no use running from the truth.

  I dove off this cliff a long time ago.

  I’ve fallen hopelessly and deeply in love with my wife.

  Twenty-Three

  Asia

  Strong arms encompass me, holding me in place. My nose brushes up against a tan chest. A strong neck. A solid pair of abs with a light sprinkling of hair.

  Pale fingers reach out and smooth my hair, brushing from the back of my head down to my neck.

  I’m in bed.

  Naked.

  With my husband.

  But I’m not drunk.

  I’m not in Vegas.

  And I’m not panicking.

  Sunlight warms the top of my head and shines over our intertwined bodies.

  Golden rays dance above my thigh that’s trapped between both of Hansley’s.

  It falls over his chocolate brown eyes that caress my face so gently I want to cry.

  We haven’t spoken a word since we woke up.

  We just… laid here.

  In each other’s arms.

  I’m too afraid to say anything.

  What can I say? Last night, it felt like you were telling me you loved me? Do you? Do I?

  No.

  It’s too crude.

  Too clunky for a moment like this.

  Words will shatter the bubble.

  Will destroy this fragile refuge we’ve built.

  And I don’t want to leave yet.

  I don’t want to ever leave.

  Last night broke something inside me.

  Demolished my walls.

  My fears.

  Everything.

  Hansley’s tender strokes left me defenseless.

  His sweet kisses shook my entire world.

  I remember every caress this time.

  I was present for every thrust. Every nuzzle. Every lethal stroke.

  He stretched me to his capacity.

  Filled me to the hilt with his sincerity.

  I felt him.

  All of him.

  And I know I’ll never be the same.

  Ever.

  Hansley drapes his fingers down my arm, sending little goosebumps rushing to the surface of my skin. I look up at him and notice the way his wavy hair brushes messily against his eyes. It gives him this sexy, bad-boy vibe and my body lights up everywhere.