“Are you … are you sure we should be …” she asks, breathless.
I know what she’s insinuating.
Stopping, I climb over her, pressing kisses into her middle. “We’ll go slow.”
Slow, romantic sex isn’t usually my thing—but neither are women like Astaire.
I slide my hands along her outer thighs before wrapping them around my waist and pulling her closer. Our gazes catch. I dip down and crush her mouth with a kiss, sharing her taste on my tongue.
“You have no idea how badly I’ve wanted this,” I whisper, my lips grazing hers. “Wanted you …”
Running her fingers through my hair, she bites her lower lip. “Is this going to be just sex for you? Because if it is—”
“—no, Astaire. This isn’t going to be just sex for me.” I kiss her again, our bodies pressed against one another, grinding, teasing.
I bite a kiss into her neck before peeling myself away to grab a foil packet from the top drawer of my nightstand. Ripping it open between my teeth, I toss the packet aside and roll the rubber down my shaft before returning.
Running my hand between her thighs, I spread them wider before plunging my finger into her wet pussy. Her stomach caves and she exhales as I taste her sweetness one more time before stroking her entrance with the head of my cock.
A second later, I plunge my length deep inside of her, filling her tightness as her nails dig into my shoulder blades. Thrust after thrust, she fucks me back, settling into a rhythm as our mouths meet between breathless sighs.
Thrust for thrust, we go harder, faster, deeper.
We’re not anywhere close to finished, and already I can’t wait to have her again.
“Slow down,” Astaire whispers, her hands sliding to the small of my back. “Enjoy this … … I’m not going anywhere and we’ve got all night …”
Our gazes lock and she brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, her swollen lips twisting into a sideways smile as she stares into my eyes in a way that no one ever has before, like she’s staring into the insulated, obscure parts of me.
I think back to what she said earlier, that she was falling for me.
I didn’t give myself a chance to let those words sink in at the time, to stop and listen to what she was trying to tell me, because I was so busy trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing.
The words linger on the tip of my tongue.
I’m falling for you too.
I don’t say them.
I can’t. Not yet.
But the craziest thing happens: she slips her fingers around the back of my neck, kisses me soft and slow, and whispers the words, “I know.”
It hasn’t been but a few minutes since I kissed Astaire goodbye Saturday morning when there’s a knock at the door. I shut the shower water off, slip back into my sweats, and jog to the door. I imagine she forgot something.
Or maybe she came back for one more round …
I check the peep hole to be certain—only to be met with the familiar lanky outline of Victoria Tuppance-Schoenbach.
She knocks again. “Open up, Bennett. I know you’re home. I just passed one of your conquests in the hallway. I’m not leaving until you answer.”
And she means it too.
She’s been known to set up camp for hours when necessary, having her assistants bring her lunches and magazines and phone chargers.
Steeling my resolve, I swing the door wide.
Her gaze lands immediately on my bare chest. “My God, Bennett. Have you no decency?”
“I was just about to grab a shower … you should have called.”
She steps in, pushing past me. “I’ve been calling you all week.”
My mother’s watchful gaze sweeps the space, as if she’s looking for clues or signs or evidence, though for what I’m not sure.
“I heard you were back in the hospital this week.” She turns to face me, hands clasped.
I’ve no need to ask how she heard. Knowing my brother, I imagine he had Astaire followed after he saw her leaving my place that night with my bag in tow.
“Everything all right, darling?” she asks. But before I can answer she adds, “Well, I suppose I should assume so, seeing how you didn’t think to call your dear mother and let her know you’d been admitted.”
“I’m fine. Now what can I help you with, Mother?”
“We need to discuss that child again.” Disgust colors her voice.
“That child has a name.”
“Because this is a decision that affects all of us, we need to handle this as a family. Do what’s best for the entire family.”
“I don’t see how any of this is going to affect you. She’ll be living with me. I’ll be raising her. You don’t have to do a damn thing.”
She scoffs. “You don’t think people will see the two of you around? You don’t think they’ll wonder why the child looks so much like a Schoenbach? And what if they discover she’s Larissa’s child? It won’t take a genius to piece that together.”
I shrug. “Not my problem. Maybe if you’d have raised Errol to be a little less like you and a little more like a decent human being, he wouldn’t have been screwing his sister and none of us would be in this predicament.”
I brace myself for a slap that doesn’t come, and then I realize she’s staring at my scar.
When I had my operation last year, she visited once. And once was enough for the both of us. And while things were peaceful without her flitting in and out and pretending to give a damn, it still stung to know that I mattered that little to my own mother.
“Bennett, I’ve tried to reason with you, but if you’re not going to budge on this issue, you’re leaving me with no choice.” She straightens her shoulders and lifts her pointed chin the way she does when she’s about to strong arm me. “Your brother is prepared to go to a judge to request a court-ordered paternity test, proving he’s the child’s biological father. Once that’s established, he’s prepared to fight for sole legal and physical custody—and he will win. After that, her fate will be in his hands. He can waive his parental rights and place her right back in the system, where she is now. So it’s up to you, darling. Do you want her to spend the next year of her life being bounced around and shuffled from family courtroom to family courtroom? Or do you want to do this the easy way?”
My heart hammers, blood whooshing in my ears.
Everything is red.
Then black.
Then crystal-fucking-clear.
The other night, when Errol was here begging for me to sign over custody, he skirted the Beth issue because this was his intention all along—to gain custody, only to waive his rights. With a bit of careful manipulation, he could do all of those things under her nose.
“You’re a wicked and vile excuse for a human being,” I spit the words I’ve been longing to say for as long as I can remember. “You disgust me.”
She sniffs. “I would say it takes one to know one, but that’d be giving you too much credit. You’re not wicked, Bennett. You’re weak.” Her gaze drips to my scar and back. “You were born weak. And you’ll die weak.” Strolling past me, she sighs. “Thank goodness your father didn’t live to see you like this. Defiant. Not a shred of loyalty. It’s pathetic, truly.”