Rectify (A Redemption Novel Book 3)

by Marley Valentine

  I may never be perfect, and I’ll always be paying for my sins, but I could die a happy man knowing Sasha doesn’t see me as the same piece of shit who hurt her all those years ago.

  We fly through small talk as we clean up the after dinner mess. Next time I’m taking her out, so we can skip this part and dive right into dessert.

  The last dish goes into the dishwasher, and she gives me a small peck to say thank you. I hold her to me, before she has the chance to get away.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “What?” she feigns.

  “I’ve been sitting across that table wanting to kiss you and touch you all night, you’re not getting away from me so fast.”

  “But I bought dessert from my favourite place, and I really want you to try it,” she pouts.

  “Your pussy tastes sweeter.”

  She heats up in embarrassment and burrows her head in my chest.

  “Please try the dessert,” she murmurs.

  “Fine. But you owe me.” She bites her bottom lip to hide her smile, but I release it with my thumb, wanting to see her whole face transform. “You’re fucking beautiful, you know that?”

  Every part of her beams. “You’ve mentioned it.”

  I swat her arse, to break the haze and force myself not to fuck her in the kitchen “Get my dessert, already.”

  She bounces to the fridge, and tells me to go and wait for her on the couch. Wanting to get to my dessert sooner, I do exactly as she asks.

  She walks out with two small plates, and I almost expect her to sing happy birthday with the way she’s holding them. Gently placing them on the coffee table, she sits on the couch facing me. Crossing her denim covered legs, she points at mine. “Take your shoes off and sit like this.”

  “I don’t think this changes how dessert tastes,” I tease.

  “It doesn’t, but it definitely determines how many portions you get.”

  I stare at her pointedly. “You’re going to pay for that one.”

  She gives me a cheeky wink, before stretching over and getting the plates and spoons.

  As if I’m sitting on the floor in primary school, my shoes are off, legs crossed and I’m waiting for Sasha’s next instruction.

  “Here.” She hands me the plate, with what looks like some type of sweet pastry. “This is Brioche cake. It’s heaven in your mouth.”

  “I beg to differ,” I murmur, taking it off her. “So, you’re not going to feed me?”

  “And what? Wait for you to finish before eating my own?”

  “That seems like the polite thing to do.”

  Pulling the plate out of my hand, she sticks the spoon into centre of the cake and splits it down the middle. Custard oozes out, and she moans. A full on orgasmic moan.

  She’s trying to fucking kill me.

  She picks up a spoonful, and waits for me to open up. Stupidly, I do, and she turns the spoon right back around and puts the cake in her mouth.

  She practically purrs at the taste, and my dick comes to life at the sound. Gripping the plate out of her hand, I take hold of the spoon and feed her the next bite.

  The mood shifts the second I take control, mischief dancing in her eyes as she obediently opens her mouth. Invested in the game, she licks and sucks the custard off the spoon, the same way she did my cock.

  There’s two more scoops of this cake and then all bets are off. Heat radiates off us, the anticipation impossible to ignore. With one last stroke, she cleans the spoon with her mouth and waits, knowingly, for me to pounce.

  Like a lion, I’m on her in less than a second. We fall back on the couch, foregoing the foreplay and getting right down to naked.

  “You’re such a fucking tease,” I growl into her mouth.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, wrapping her hand around my hard dick. “I was just enjoying my cake.”

  “I got something else you can enjoy.” Reaching over, I stick my hand in my pants and grab a condom. I bring it to her mouth, and she bites the edge as I tear it the opposite way.

  Sitting back on my haunches, I grip my cock, and she rolls it on. I cover her with my body. Mouth to mouth, chest to chest, and I’m aching to be inside her.

  I kiss my way down her neck, and land at her tits. They’re perfect in every way. The way they feel, the way they fit in my hands, the way she shivers when I suck on her nipples.

  I keep at it, while my fingers dip lower to make sure she’s ready for me.

  “You’re so fucking wet, and I haven’t even touched you.” Slipping inside with ease my two fingers pump in and out of her pussy.

  “Your cock. Please,” she pants.

  I stick my fingers in her mouth, the same time I slide my dick inside. Her cunt grips me tight, the tremors already swimming through her.

  I drive into her, as if in any second she’s going to disappear and I need to get my fill.

  “Fuck.” Our loud breathing fills the room. “I want you to ride me.”

  Scooping her up, we sit upright and I’m so deep inside her, I never want to come out. Her eyes lock on mine, and I see it all. Everything inside my chest, is mirrored right there in her eyes.

  The connection is there, the strands of something new, weaving its way around something old, and we’re both helpless on what happens next. In a perfect world our history wouldn’t be so painful, our timeline wouldn’t have an end, and our future wouldn’t be non-existent.

  It’s right there, and either one of us can grab it, but just like old times, I don’t think either of us will.

  Fear. Rejection. Heartache.

  How many times can one person go through that in one lifetime?

  As if she can hear my thoughts, and doesn’t want to listen anymore, she crashes her lips to mine, shutting the noise up indefinitely.

  She rises and falls on my cock, while her tongue tells me how close to the edge she is.

  Cupping her tits, I roll and squeeze her peaks, with precision and purpose.

  “Touch yourself, Pretty Girl. Let me watch you fall.”

  She throws her head back, and reaches for her clit. The faster her fingers move, the harder I pinch her nipples.

  She cries out, as my shoulders tense, and heat cinches the base of my spine. We’re both pulled so tight, ready for the inevitable snap.

  She calls out my name, and detonates around me, as I piston my hips one last time, and explode inside of her.

  Her body sags on top of mine and I hold all her weight, until she’s ready to move.

  “I don’t think I can get up,” she says breathlessly.

  Wrapping my arms around her waist, I hold her to me, and let myself enjoy our closeness. “You can sit here for as long as you need to, I’m in no rush to let you go.”

  After cleaning up our second mess of the evening, I manage to convince Sasha to lay on the couch naked with me.

  In these four walls for one night a week, I want unfiltered access to her. I want to touch, kiss, or fuck her whenever the moment strikes.

  And being naked, is very much conducive to the way I'm thinking. Covered in a beige waffle blanket, her back curves into my front, as we flick through mindless shit on the television, and sift through every topic of conversation we possibly can.

  “So, tell me about Dakota?” I ask, running my fingertips up and down the arm resting over the covers.

  The pride in her voice is instant. “What do you want to know?”

  “How old is she?”

  “She just turned sixteen.”

  I imagine being as young as Saha waswith Lily, and my level of respect rises based on that fact alone. Being a parent isn’t easy work, a single one even harder, but a teenager; there’s only a selected few who could handle that.

  “What’s it like having a sixteen year old?” She turns in my arms, and looks up at me as best she can.

  Her face turns sombre. “It’s scary. People get married at my age, have kids at my age. Start their lives, and I’m here more t
han likely going to be an empty nester at thirty-two.”

  “Do you want that stuff? Marriage, and other kids?”

  “Unless those things appear out of thin air these days, I don’t think it’s on the cards for me.” Her matter of fact attitude regarding things most people spend their whole lives searching for has me curious. When did she become so blazé about her happy ever after?

  “And you and Dakota’s dad couldn't give it a go?”

  She looks at me pointedly. “There's no way you don't know who Dakota’s father is.”

  She's right. I do know Jagger Michaels is Dakota’s father, and not just because of the few photos I’ve seen around the house.

  But I want her to tell me it all herself, anyway. I don't want to come here all guns blazing, amped up because of neighbourhood politics and years of Chinese whispers.

  “Just tell me your story, Pretty Girl.”

  She bunches the covers up to her chest and attempts to put some space between us, but I don't let her. I manoeuvre her on top of me, same position as earlier, but the mood now tense and reserved.

  I drape the material around her shoulders, and cover up her nakedness. As beautiful as her fair skin is, on display. This moment isn't about that, and I don’t want to fuck it up by thinking with the wrong head.

  I run my thumb across her bottom lip, and draw circles on her cheek, hoping to rid her of that worried stare.

  “It's never been like that with Jagger,” she explains out. “I just needed comfort.”

  It was always what she needed, and I gave it to her in spades, until I couldn't anymore.

  I try to ignore the way old wounds begin to reopen. Unfounded jealousy and anger flare up in my chest that she turned to him at all.

  Her voice cracks, and her whiskey coloured eyes are full with tears. “You bailed, and Hendrix couldn't even look at me after he found out about us.” She tightens the blanket around her, almost like she's trying to hide herself. “I got messy drunk and he was just there.”

  “And what's his excuse?”

  She looks at me as if I've spoken a different language. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean while you've beaten yourself up for the last million years, what was Jagger’s excuse? Because he sure as fuck could've gotten “comfort” from anyone who wasn't his brother's girl.”

  The last part comes out like acid, but it's the truth nonetheless. She was never mine.

  “No,” she shakes her head vehemently. “He was drunk too. And I pushed him.”

  My body vibrates with rage, the revelation that she has single handedly shouldered this burden for all these years, and that he's probably let her, breaks my fucking heart.

  But what did I expect? That she would just change. It's always been her MO to see the worst in herself before others.

  “What happened to Hendrix?” I ask through clenched teeth. “Why aren't you together?”

  He was a love sick puppy over her, and the thought of him holding a grudge seems almost impossible.

  “That was all on me,” she says in defeat. “I couldn't forgive myself, and I punished him repeatedly because of it.”

  “And he gave up on you?”

  Tears fall, running over her sad smile. “No. But after so many years of going back and forth, he just found someone who could love him better.”

  I want to shake her and ask, who’s going to love you? And when is she ever going to realise her life is just as important. That someone will, one day, love her better. Love her just the way she deserves.

  But I don't.

  I don't utter a single word, because then I'll give life to my deepest desires; the reasons culpability swims through my veins every time I think of her. And I can’t, because they have no place here.

  Instead, I do the only thing I'm really good at when it comes to Sasha. I distract her.

  I rise off the couch, while she hugs me like a tree, and walk with her in my arms, to her bedroom. The blanket stays behind and we're nothing but skin.

  Lowering her onto the bed, I climb on top of her and just stare.

  “What is it?” she whispers

  Everything

  “Nothing,” I lie. “I’m just ready to be inside you again.”

  She doesn't push, even if she can feel the difference. Her legs go lax around my hips, and I nestle my dick at her entrance.

  “Fuck,” I hiss, “I need to go back and get a—”

  Lips eat up my worry, as a hand circles my shaft and guides me right where I'm desperate to be.

  “Are you sure?”

  She reassured me with another kiss, deepening the connection, licking away the doubt.

  I line myself up and push into her agonisingly slow. My breath catches in my throat as my bare skin, drags along her slick, warm heat.

  We rock against each other, with long and languorous strokes, and I let myself feel every part of her. It's all slow and deep, a torturous rhythm that matches exactly how I feel inside.

  Everything about this is purgatory. Too scared to strive for heaven, too scared to end up in hell.

  I make memories with every thrust, stealing parts of her I can keep with me always. Every kiss, every taste, and every touch will forever be my reference to perfection.

  The emotion inside of me morphs into possession, as the sound of my name gets louder on her lips. Every pant is a repetitious chant, spurring me on to build her body up and watch it crumble, the way only I know how.

  “Jay. Fuck. Please.”

  One finger to her clit, sends the rivers rolling, and she’s drowning in the sensation. Her cunt clenches and pulses around me, pushing me to the edge of my own release. Without even thinking twice, I pull out and pump my cock till I unload all over her stomach.

  “Fuck,” I shout, catching her gaze as the last drop reaches her skin. Her eyes are big brown pools of lust that make me want to do it all over again.

  Her hand drifts down to touch my mess, but I stop her, using my own fingers instead. I draw the letters into her skin that will forever accompany the image of her stained with my come. My own little secret.

  M-I-N-E

  I swirl the word away and offer my finger. “What’s next, Pretty Girl?

  15

  Sasha

  I hate that it’s only the second time he’s been in my bed, and I already hate it when he leaves. I hate wanting to know what it’s like to wake up next to him. I hate that I’m playing a lifetime of catch up, one night a week, and he’s going to leave at anytime. I hate that I want to see him more than that. And most of all I hate that I feel this way at all.

  I go into work early because I’m sick of tossing and turning, replaying words, and being taunted by the ghost of his touch.

  I pull open the office door, only to be greeted by Holly’s loud shriek.

  “What?” I shout back. “Why are you screaming?”

  “What the fuck, Sash? It’s six in the morning, the sun is barely up, and you’re not supposed to be here. Why else would I be fucking screaming? You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Ughh,” I groan. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t even thinking.”

  “We’ve got about another hour before any parents and kids show up. Get coffee and tell me why the fuck you’re even here.”

  Now that we’re both calmer and we have our coffee in hand, I launch into what I know is going to be a lengthy whine that Holly’s going to tell me off for.

  “So, Jay came over last night.”

  “Yeah I know. We came up with the lie you told Jagger together.” She blows at her coffee to cool it down before attempting to take a sip. “Did he not show up?”

  “No, it’s nothing bad,” I assure her. “It just feels too good.”

  “So, stop seeing him,” she says offhandedly.

  “No.” Sometimes I don’t even know how Holly and I function. She’s so black and white, so practical, it’s sometimes painful. “I don’t want to do that.”

  “Maybe it’s not about Jay,” she suggests.
<
br />   “What do you mean?”

  “Okay.” She puts her coffee down and steeples her fingers. “When was the last time you dated a guy?”

  “Never.”

  “Really?” She asks, shocked. “Not even like one time?”

  I shrug. “I’ve hooked up with guys, if I really felt like having sex. But anything past that wasn’t something I had time for.”

  “So, maybe you’re just apprehensive because you’re not sure how this stuff is supposed to go.”

  I laugh at her shitty attempt at comforting me. “I’m not a complete idiot.”

  “I know that, but I just don’t want you making any rash decisions based on how you think it should or shouldn’t be.”

  “The sex is great,” I offer casually. “Have I mentioned that?”

  Her mouth lifts in a smile that matches my own. “On more than one occasion.”

  “He’s so intense. It’s too much too soon.”

  “Says who?” she challenges. “You didn’t just meet him, Sash. You have history with him. And if we’re going to get technical, he stalked you for a good enough amount of time before you agreed to do the dirty with him.”

  “That’s actually kind of comforting.” I think back to last night, and how, together, we picked apart the years that have passed. “He’s changed so much, Holly. And in the best ways.”

  “You like him.”

  It’s not a question, and I don’t even think twice about agreeing with her. “I do.”

  “So let it happen,” she pleads. “You’re a grown adult, and don’t need permission to feel what you do.” She rolls the office chair close to me, so our knees knock. “You’ve been through too much to play games. If you want to see where it goes, then see where it goes.”

  My legs bounce involuntarily, and she puts her hands on my thighs to still them.

  “But if you don’t, and you choose to sit here and wait to cross check items off some imaginary expectation list, you’re going to miss it.” Taking my hands in hers, she raises them, so they sit between us. “You’re going to miss this guy, who amongst all the other shit in your life, managed to catch and hold your attention. Twice.” She squeezes my hands hard, almost like she’s begging me to listen. “Give it to him, Sasha. All of it.”