Page 20

Stevie

The next few days are harried and filled with unexpected obligations.

Taking care of Ally while we wait for Canyon and Saylor to get back from San Diego.

Handling a problem at the gallery since Saylor is out of town.

A casting call for a role in a prime-time television show—I’m positive I won’t get it, but the fact that they came asking for me personally means people are talking about me again. Professionally, that’s important.

And a photo shoot for the cover of a local magazine that focuses on women and mental health. They also did a feature interview with me, which means a headlining article about what happened to me.

I haven’t done any press about it at all, but this felt like the right time and place. I want other women to understand what I went through and not be afraid—or embarrassed—to ask for help.

I’m sure I’ll get more interview requests once the story releases next month, but I haven’t decided if I’m doing anymore. Do I really want to keep talking about what happened to me? The trauma of not just having a miscarriage but also the subsequent hysterectomy needed to save my life? Does the whole world need to know I can’t have children?

The news is out there if you take the time to dig, but I don’t bring it up if I don’t have to.

I don’t even know if Damien knows, and though I don’t care what he thinks, the prosecutor thinks it will be impactful for me to talk about it at the trial.

Damien tried calling me from prison before he was released on bail, but I haven’t heard from him in a long time. My attorney slapped a restraining order on him so fast it probably felt like whiplash, and my hope is to never talk to him again.

Except his trial is coming up and I’m the star witness.

The witness .

I’m also the victim.

But I fucking hate that word.

The last thing I want to do is spend days—maybe even weeks—in a New York courtroom recounting the details of that day.

He could potentially go free if I don’t, so it’s not optional, but I’m dreading it.

My closest friends—Chey and Ivan, Saylor and Canyon, Effie—have all promised to be there but there are no guarantees. Chey and Ivan will probably testify, but otherwise, the guys have hockey and the ladies all have jobs, so I could very well be there alone, with no one but the prosecutor to hold my hand. And she won’t. She’s as tough and badass as they come, but she’s not my emotional support attorney.

I’m running on the treadmill, lost in thought, and I can’t help but wonder if Marty might be able to go with me. I don’t know what’s going on with us, though.

I haven’t seen him in four days, since we picked up Ally from that sleepover. His mom is leaving tomorrow, so our time to be alone will be limited. His kids are lovely, but I like having adult time with him too. Date night.

Sexy times.

The fact that we still haven’t done the deed makes me want to giggle.

First, he was reluctant.

Then me.

Then him again.

Now we’re both on the same page and fate has intervened.

If it’s trying to tell me something, the message is becoming louder but I’m trying to ignore all that.

The digital doorbell rings and I grab my phone to open the video app.

Marty .

I’m in yoga pants and a sports bra, my hair in a ponytail with no makeup, and really sweaty.

Great timing, buddy.

I grab my towel and hurry to the door, throwing it open with a smile.

“Hey! What are you?—”

Before I can finish my greeting, he pushes inside and covers my mouth with his.

Our tongues swirl together instantly, and I wrap my arms around his neck. He lifts me off the ground, my legs close around his middle, and he pushes me against the nearest wall.

Then he kisses me like a man on a mission.

“I have condoms and lube,” he whispers against my lips. “Do we need anything else?”

“Lube?” I ask in confusion.

He pauses. “It’s your first time since the hysterectomy—just in case you’re worried and it impacts your ability to…prepare.”

That might be the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone has ever said to me.

I really adore this man.

“Last I checked—when pleasuring myself—everything is working fine. We’re good to go. But I appreciate that you thought about it.”

He scoops me into his arms groom-style and heads for the stairs.

“How much time do we have?” I ask breathlessly.

“All afternoon. My mom and the kids are at lunch and then a movie.”

“I’m really gross and sweaty.”

His laugh rumbles through his chest and I feel the vibration. “You’re going to be a lot sweatier when we’re done.”

He kicks my bedroom door shut behind us and unceremoniously dumps me on the bed, pausing to toss some condoms on the blanket before starting to get undressed. I follow suit, as anxious to be with him as he appears to be with me, and a moment later we’re both naked.

Holy shit.

Marty and me.

Naked.

In my bed.

He’s incredibly sexy, his lean, tan body just the right amount of toned and muscular. His thighs are huge—years of ice skating, I assume—and his shoulders broad, but the rest of him is nicely balanced. Flat torso with a faint six-pack and oblique muscles forming that familiar “V” that makes me a little giddy.

I love his biceps too. They’re beautifully formed and strong, but not overly so.

And the erection bobbing proudly against his groin is perfect in my opinion. Not too big, but definitely not small.

I can’t wait to have it inside me.

I crook a finger at him.

“We’ve waited long enough,” I whisper. My voice doesn’t sound like my own, a lot throatier than usual.

“We have.” He slowly climbs on the bed and crawls over to me. Instead of getting on top of me, he rolls onto his back and pulls me astride him. He skims his hands down my back, his touch light as a feather. Goosebumps break out on my skin and all I can do is sigh. I love the feel of his hands on me, gently caressing my skin like we have all the time in the world, even though we’ve been desperate for this moment.

For a few minutes that’s all we do.

He nuzzles my nose with his and uses his hands to explore. My back, my shoulders, my ass, and my upper thighs. We’re staring into each other’s eyes like we’re searching for answers to questions we’re not yet aware of, and it’s heady. The urgency of a few minutes ago is gone, replaced by an intimacy that leaves me greedy for more. I’ve been fucked many times. But that’s not what this is.

This has to be what making love feels like.

It has to.

Because it’s nothing I’ve ever felt before.

The way his gaze bores into mine, his eyes assessing, thoughtful, truly interested in me. The woman. Not Stevie the supermodel.

I can’t look away and I don’t want to.

He presses his lips to mine and glides his tongue along the seam. I obligingly grant access, opening so that our tongues can mate. Some of the urgency returns, but still, his caresses are like balm to my tattered soul. That feeling of safety washes over me, even as my body is in a full state of arousal—and I’m suddenly drunk on our connection.

His fingers brush across the side of my breast, my hip, and then over the curve of my ass. He squeezes my thigh, slipping two fingers between my legs and stroking the sensitive flesh.

“So wet,” he murmurs against my lips.

“Told you.” I playfully nip at his lower lip, using my teeth to tug at it.

He brings one hand up, gripping the hair at the nape of my neck and pulling my mouth to his again.

God, he can kiss.

This is seduction at its finest and I’m already addicted to it.

He presses his fingers into me, just a little, and I clench with anticipation.

Our kisses are deeper now, more intense, and I feel his erection pressed against my stomach.

“I need you,” I whisper.

“Put the condom on, baby.” His dark eyes meet mine and I fumble with the foil packet, ripping it open and somehow managing to roll it down his hard cock. I position myself over him but then hesitate, equal parts excited and nervous. My body is all in but my heart is wary—I know this is going to change things between us. I’m already getting attached and making love with him, well, that’s going to add a level of emotion I wasn’t counting on.

And yet stopping isn’t an option.

Not for me.

My hair falls forward as I adjust my hips and then slowly sink down.

He hisses out a breath, our eyes locked until my head falls forward, chin hitting my chest. He’s perfect inside me, and I moan as he bottoms out.

“Oh, fuck, don’t move, baby…” he growls. “This feels so good, and it’s been a while for me.”

“For me too,” I whisper, grinding against him, anxious for more but not wanting to rush. I have one hand on his chest, for balance, but I use the other to run my hand through his thick, wavy hair. “I’m so glad it’s you.”

His eyes soften for a moment, and he turns his head to kiss the inside of my wrist.

“I’m glad it’s us.” He shifts beneath me, putting his hands on my hips. “Take the lead, baby.”

That’s usually my least favorite thing—I always feel like maybe I’m doing it wrong, or that the person I’m with won’t like it. But I don’t believe that will be the case with Marty.

I lift up, so his cock is barely inside of me, and then drop back down. I do it a few more times, finding the rhythm that makes me clench and spasm in anticipation of what’s to come—I’m already close.

Marty flicks a finger across my clit, a quick back and forth that jolts me into hyper arousal, and I groan. This isn’t going to take long. I’ve been without a man for nearly nine months, and my body is practically demanding release.

“Let me look at you,” he rasps.

I lift my body, gazing down at him, and he takes over, thrusting up and in steadily. His eyes never leave mine and I’m completely mesmerized, watching the muscles in his abdomen tighten every time he moves. Deeper and harder, until I can’t breathe or think or do anything but let him.

I stiffen, gasping as my orgasm takes me by surprise, and his fingers dig into my hips.

“Fuck, Stevie!” His voice is a cross between a growl and a hiss, pumping into me hard and fast as he gets off.

“Oh shit—yes!” I clamp down around him, riding wave after wave of pleasure before I collapse against him.

His arms close around me and I sink into his warmth.

“Wow,” I whisper.

“Right?” He chuckles. “That didn’t suck.”

“Nope. We may have to do that again.”

“I whole-heartedly agree.” I’ve never felt so satisfied in the aftermath of sex before. And it has a lot more to do with the man beneath me than the epic orgasm I just had.

“I think—” I’m cut-off mid-sentence by a familiar voice.

“We’re ba-ack! Whatcha doin’, girlfriend!” Chey throws open the door to the bedroom and comes walking in.