His hand is over my lips, silencing my cries when I come, and in the next breath he’s hovering above me, his chin glistening, his breaths rushing past moonlit swollen lips.
I press against his chest when he slides his body between my thighs, his intent clear. I resituate my body, lying more on my left side than my back. I want to feel good when we come together again like this, and that would be impossible if I’m lying flat.
A master at adaptation, he doesn’t miss a beat, placing my ankle over his shoulder and straddling my other leg.
When he slides into me, it’s nothing like that first time. There’s no rush, no threat of being caught, no race to the finish line for either of us. When his hips slowly begin to move, gliding into me until he’s buried deep before pulling back out, he never takes his eyes from mine.
I see promises in them.
I see a future.
I see apologies for the mistakes he’s made.
He begs for forgiveness with his eyes, with the tears rolling down his cheeks.
I nod, knowing I don’t have to open my mouth to say the words to let him know he has nothing to be forgiven for.
“Drew,” I whimper.
“Shh,” he urges, his hips still moving at a maddening pace. “Just this.”
“This,” I echo.
This is heaven.
This is what I’ve been dying for.
Not the sex exactly, but the intimacy, the walls down and his true feelings in front of my face.
My own tongue snakes out when he sucks his thumb into his mouth. I know what’s coming. He did the same thing that night, but my body isn’t ready when he presses the wet finger to my clit. I groan, a low rumble of pleasure, uncaring for the others in the house. There are only two people who exist right now, two souls finally lining up, a love so true no words are even needed to express it.
My body convulses when I orgasm, muscles tightening all over from the sheer force of the pleasure he has given me.
He’s not far behind, moaning my name as he spasms inside of me.
Warm, wet lips press to my calf before he pulls away and situates himself at my back, his fingers tracing a heart on my belly. The baby, awake from the activity, moves, rolling around in my stomach as if he knows his daddy is near and he’s missed him.
“Drew.”
“Shh,” he urges again.
Then I feel hot tears on my back, and all I can do is cup my hand over his where his son is saying hi, and I cry a little too.
As I fall asleep, I’m torn between the happiness I feel for him, finally making me understand how he feels and the torment I know I’m going to experience if he goes to prison.
By the time I wake the next morning, Drew is gone, having not bothered to say goodbye, and the house is empty.
Like a fool, it takes me longer than it should that he wasn’t confessing his love, but saying his goodbye with his body.
If only I was smart enough at the time to realize it wasn’t goodbye for now, but a goodbye forever.
Chapter 22
Drew
“We’ll need to reschedule,” Mr. Crampton says after shaking my hand in the tiny room reserved for client meetings at the courthouse.
“No,” I tell him.
“I wasn’t able to get the state to agree to a reduced sentence.”
Lawson stiffens beside me. “Reduced sentence? Doesn’t the trial have to happen first?”
“There’s not going to be a trial,” I say without looking my brother in the eye.
“If we go through today, you’ll get the full six years.”
“I’m awar—”
“Six years?” Lawson yells.
“Law,” Jaxon warns. “Calm down.”
“Six years?” Lawson seethes, his voice barely lower than before. “I thought he was looking at eighteen months with involuntary manslaughter.”
My attorney looks at me for direction. I told him not to speak to anyone about my case, and I’m regretting it now. Explaining this today of all days is harder than I ever thought possible.
“I’m pleading to voluntary manslaughter. It carries a six-year sentence.”
“I’m still planning on asking the judge to reduce it.” Mr. Crampton gives me a weak smile letting me know the request won’t matter.
“Please.” Lawson spins me around, and the tears on his face would have the ability to break me if I hadn’t done it to myself two days ago. “Drew?”
“You’ve been an amazing brother. I couldn’t ask for a bett—”
“Don’t,” he snaps, shaking me by my shoulders. “Don’t start that shit. I’m not fucking saying goodbye to you.”
I snap my mouth closed. I won’t say it if he doesn’t want to hear it, but it doesn’t change anything. If the dream I had last night has the power of prediction, I won’t last a week in prison. Holding Izzy Saturday is the only thing that kept me from the grave that night anyway. I never wanted to go to prison, and if she hadn’t arrived, there was a good chance my brother’s goodbyes would be spoken over my grave instead of here, right now.
“We need to get out there. Judge Slate doesn’t take kindly to tardiness.”
“Drew,” Lawson says one last time, but Kincaid, his dad and Hound urge him from the room.
“Mr. O’Neil?” I turn to face my attorney. “I can ask for an extension. This case has moved very quickly through the system. It’s not unheard of to need a delay. I can get a few more months. Maybe revisiting with the state’s attorney after the holidays could yield a better result.”
“I’m ready today.”
If I walk out of this courtroom today, I may never get the nerve back up to reenter.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” The answer is filled with gravel, forcing me to clear my throat. It only makes my attorney frown deeper.
“I’ve never met a man like you before, Mr. O’Neil.”
He doesn’t clarify if he thinks I’m a fool or if he commends me, but it doesn’t matter either way.
I can’t face the people in the crowd. The fact that there’s anyone here to witness my downfall makes my stomach turn more than it already was. Other than Hound, Lawson, Kincaid, and Jaxon, I think all the other Cerberus guys stayed back at the clubhouse.
Hound assured me that he’d keep Izzy home, but then he showed up himself at the hotel we stayed at last night. I didn’t see her, and I didn’t ask. I just pray the man was able to keep that promise to me.
“The judge is going to ask some questions,” Mr. Crampton whispers as we walk toward a table to one side of the room. “Pay attention and answer respectfully. There are a lot of people in the crowd.”
“Ready to lynch me,” I mutter.
“Unlikely. There’s a full docket today, cases being cleared before the Christmas holiday. The clerks were stupidly excited when I called to cancel the trial. It cleared up a lot of time to get many other things done.” He nods, whispering flat pleasantries to the men standing at the other table in front of the judge’s bench. “Now, I’m going to refuse the offer for the reading of the petition, so only those here for you will know what happened. With a plea, it’s pretty straight forward. No details are given other than the offense.”