Page 31 of The Locksmith’s Promise (The Promise Duet #1)

It’s Going to Hurt

M aggie

Clad in pyjama pants and Baxter’s old sweatshirt, I paced the length of my tiny family room waiting for him to come home. My dad had picked up Corwin over an hour ago to give Baxter and me space to talk.

Dad was a mess with bloodshot eyes, smudges of black on his face and his clothes, and reeking of smoke. But he was smiling. He wouldn’t tell me anything other than Baxter was in a better place than he was.

Than he was when?

Yesterday? Ten years ago? Three weeks ago? When?

As usual, he didn’t give me enough information, and Baxter wasn’t coming nearly fast enough.

I peered out the window looking onto the street below but there was no sign of Baxter out front.

Jogging to my bedroom, I checked the back parking lot, but his truck wasn’t there either.

Moving back to the kitchen, I put on a pot of coffee and forced myself to sit down on the couch to wait.

And the thoughts I’d managed to outrun since the night before caught up to me in a mad rush.

With my head in my hands, I rocked back and forth.

My, God, I ran.

I ran and took Corwin away from Baxter.

Instead of placing my faith in Baxter, I believed the lie his father showed me.

My jealousy over Jenny clouded my judgement.

I squeezed my eyes shut, the pain of my betrayal too much to bear. Is this how Baxter felt when he believed he cheated on me? How had he stood under this?

How could he ever forgive me?

And Corwin? What about when he put all the pieces together? Especially now that he’d fallen in love with his dad.

Was there any moving on from this?

When his key finally turned in the lock, I ran to the door.

As soon as he swung it open and smiled at me, I burst into tears.

“I’m so sorry, Bax. I’m so, so sorry. If I hadn’t run, none of this would have happened.”

His smile dropped. “My sweet Maggie.” Hair damp from the shower, he toed off his shoes and hung his coat on the hook before dipping his chin and striding toward me.

Dipping his knees, he wrapped his arms around me and straightened, crushing my breasts to his hard chest and tucking his face into my neck.

I circled my arms around his neck and hung on as he walked us into the family room. My chest heaved under the burden of grief, fear, and unspent tears.

He’d suffered so much.

And the worst of it was my own doing.

Breathing him in, the fresh, clean scent of his soap and a lingering hint of woodsmoke clinging to his skin, I closed my eyes and shut out the rest of the world just like I used to.

Him and me.

Him and me against the world.

A sob rose in my throat.

I failed him so badly.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured.

His chest rising and falling steadily, he held me until I stopped shaking.

“Last night, I didn’t know what was happening,” I mewled.

I’d tossed and turned, the knowledge he was with my dad and his friends the only thing keeping me from hitting the streets to look for him.

“I know.” Kissing the tender curve of my neck where it met my shoulder, he continued to my bedroom and set me down on the bed.

He tipped his chin down and tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

Searching my eyes, voice gruff, he murmured, “You and me, we’re not leaving this bed until we settle this for once and all.”

I frowned, unsure what exactly ‘this’ was. “Settle what?”

I raised my face to his, and he bent toward me.

He brushed his lips over my cheek, then grasped the hem of his ancient sweatshirt and pulled it up over my head.

I sucked in a startled breath, my gaze flying up to meet his.

He gently traced the curve of my naked breast with his finger. His voice deepened. “But first we’re going fuck real quick and then sleep.”

I blinked in surprise. “Fuck?”

Since when did we use that word?

I squirmed, pressing my thighs together tightly to ease the sudden ache. “We’re going to fuck?”

“Yeah, Maggie.”

Controlled.

Determined.

His face calm and expressionless but for his eyes.

He reached back for the neck of his t-shirt and yanked it over his head before flicking open the button of his jeans. Dropping them to the floor, he placed one knee on the bed beside me.

With his arm wrapped around my waist, he dragged me up the bed and stretched out over me. With his elbows braced on either side of my head, he stared down at me.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he whispered reverently.

It wasn’t true, it couldn’t be.

But maybe, just maybe, it was true for him.

My fingers danced over his naked back. The circles of rough skin, knowing now how they came to be part of our story, and the helplessness he endured, made them stand out beneath my fingertips.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Are we going to talk?”

He nodded. “We’re going to do that, too.”

Rising to his knees between my thighs, he hooked his fingers over the waistband of my sleep pants. He peeled them down my legs, leaving me naked beneath him.

“Maggie,” he whispered, the mask of control slipping to reveal the sadness and hunger swirling just under the surface as he pushed his boxers down his thighs.

I opened my arms. “I’m here, baby.”

He moved to cover me then quickly changed course.

Thrusting his hands under my bum, he bent low, closed his eyes, and hummed as he covered my sex with his mouth.

My neck arched back at the shock of that first touch, my thighs shaking within seconds. I tangled my fingers in his soft hair, holding him against my pussy as my orgasm ripped through me.

With his hand behind my knee, he yanked my leg up, covered me with his body, and entered me with one, long, unrelenting thrust.

I gasped, my body struggling to adjust to the intrusion.

“Okay, baby?” he muttered low, rubbing his beard against my cheek.

Connected.

“My Maggie,” he whispered. “My sweet baby.”

My body softened.

I nodded and we breathed out in relief as one.

Skin to skin.

I sighed and melted into the mattress as I ran my hands up and down his sides, stopping to cup the key on his ribs. Nothing had ever felt so good, so sweet, or so right as Baxter’s skin against mine.

My perfect counterpart.

Braced on his elbows, he held my gaze as he began to move slowly inside me.

“You are life, Maggie,” he muttered, thrusting deep.

A tear escaped the corner of my eye.

“Everything that is good,” he continued, rising to one hand and grasping the nape of my neck with the other to hold me in place.

I didn’t feel good, not with everything that happened.

With no means of escape, I remained mute against the onslaught of his tender words.

“And light,” he rasped, his hips slamming into me harder.

I hung on for the ride. This wasn’t for me, not this part.

This was for him.

A reclaiming of us.

I smoothed my hands down to his ass, digging my fingers into the muscle as he worked his body into mine, encouraging him to take what he needed.

He grimaced, his face twisting with grief as he dropped his forehead to mine. “You’re everything I ever dreamed of but never hoped to have.”

Oh, God.

I didn’t deserve him.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” I chanted, wrapping my legs high around his waist.

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped, his long body bowing as he spilled inside me. “Maggie.”

I stroked him through his release, reveling in the easing of his body against mine.

A few moments later, he led me into the bathroom to clean up, then tugged me back to bed. Curling around me, he tucked his face into my neck, and we slept.

Hours later, I woke to Baxter’s mouth trailing scruffy kisses across my collarbone.

“Bax,” I whispered.

“We need to talk,” he murmured, his lips moving to the swell of my breast. “It’s going to hurt.”

I nodded, the misery he had eradicated with his body creeping back in.

“Both of us,” he added, cupping my breast in his hand and covering my nipple with his mouth.

“Like this?” I asked, my voice pitched high.

He nodded. “Going to stick close to you. Neither of us is running from anything this time.”

His big hand trailed down over my stomach and palmed my pussy. “We’re going to hash things out and work our way through the rubble of the past so we can finally put it behind us.”

I nodded as he smoothed his way over to my hip, caressing the tender skin with his thumb. “None of this, for me, is about forgiveness.”

“Okay,” I whispered, unsure where he was going.

“But I’m so fucking angry with you.”