“Is this what it’s like to have a daddy?”
Jagger’s words stay in my head long after sleep catches him, but eludes me.
Maybe it is.
Such a lame response for a mom who was completely caught off guard. For a mom who felt the guilt lance through her for robbing him of it. For not being able to tell him the truth when a similar reasoning is what got her in this situation.
“Can’t sleep?”
I look over my shoulder to where Vince stands on the opposite side of the room. He’s wearing a pair of gray sweatpants, an intense look in his eyes, and nothing else.
“Not tonight, no. Done working?” I ask. Normally he spends the days with Jagger and me and then works all night while everyone sleeps. A part of me thinks the routine helps him avoid having to talk about the hard stuff with me. The other part of me has stood at that closed studio door, fist raised to knock, needing Vince in more ways than one.
It’s hard to be content with a few kisses here and there when your body knows what his can do to yours.
“No work tonight.”
“Really? Why not?”
He walks across the room to where I’m sitting and was staring out the window. “There are other things that are way more important. Things I’ve been neglecting. Matches I was figuring out how to stay lit long after they are supposed to burn out.”
“Vince. I . . .”
“This feels right. You. Me. Jagger. More right than any part of me feels I deserve to have. But . . . I’m working on it. On me. On realizing that my past doesn’t have to be my future.”
“You’re right. It doesn’t.”
“I’ve spent my whole life loving the idea of you but have never allowed myself the reality of it. Of there being an us.” He looks down for a beat, and it looks like the weight of the world that has been heavy on his shoulders these past few weeks has lessened. “You’re right, you know.”
“Be careful,” I tease. “Those four words might come back to bite you in the butt at some point.”
He offers me a bittersweet smile and nods. “I had every intention of sleeping with you while I was here and then going back to my regularly scheduled life when I left. But what was easy in concept was fucking brutal to actually do. I don’t know if it’s because of the time that’s passed or that we’ve both gotten older, matured, but fuck, letting you go that night—on your porch—was the hardest goddamn thing I’ve ever done. It broke me in a way that I’m more than certain I’ve broken you in the past. It was like I was in a tank of oxygen and yet I couldn’t fucking breathe.”
I nod, understanding exactly how he felt.
“But I had to walk away. Because that’s what you wanted. Because that’s the chickenshit I was. Because that’s who my dad tried to persuade me I was . . . so much so that I believed it.”
“Then Jagger happened,” I whisper, and he nods.
“Then Jagger happened.” He glances toward the stairs where our son sleeps and gives a subtle head shake. “I struggled with the enormity of the situation. And as much as I hate the fucking press for scaring the two of you, I’m so goddamn grateful they did because it gave us this time here. It forced me to be here when history dictates I might have run the other way.”
He says the words, makes the confession, but in my heart of hearts, and after seeing him now with Jagger—in hindsight—I know he never would have. How much I would have given to know this before though.
“I know you want promises and assurances, and you deserve every single one of them . . . but I can’t give them yet. That doesn’t mean they aren’t there, though. They are. They’re beside how I feel about you and how I feel about Jagger. They’re just harder for me to put words to because of me. Because of the shit I need to sort through when it comes to myself. But the fact that I’m working on them when I’ve never cared to before . . . I’m hoping that will tide you over until I can say them.”
He meets my eyes. The raw honesty in both his words and his guileless expression is like a salve to the wounds I’ve been waiting to heal over the past few weeks. Maybe even the past few years.
He’s working on his demons so he can be a better man for us. A better father. A better lover. A better partner. A better friend.
They may not have been the words I thought I needed to hear, but they are most definitely the right ones for this moment in time.
I rise to my feet and reach my hand out in the space between us. Asking. Inviting. Wanting. He draws in a shaky breath but takes it without hesitation.
I lead the way to the stairs.
There’s been enough hesitating.
We walk up them one at a time.
Enough questioning.
We move down the hallway.
Enough wondering.
We enter his bedroom.
Now it’s time to show him how he makes me feel. For me to love him with words I can’t express but desperately want to show.
For me to love him.
Our lips meet. It’s the simplest of intimate actions. The soft sighs. The tender touches. The cupping of my face and angling of my head to give him more access.
Every part of me burns for him. My heart with hope. My skin for his touch. The very sweet ache between the delta of my thighs. My soul with the possibility of a future.
We move in the darkness of the room. No words needed. There is no show of getting undressed this time. No time needed to pause and admire the other. Our bodies are already known to each other. Our hearts already beating as one.
I scoot back on the bed, our kisses still intense but softer now. Each one reminding us of our past. Of the present. And of our possible future.
Vince crawls over me as I spread my legs for him. I reach out to touch him, to help him put the condom on. With one elbow pressed beside me and both of our hands encircling his cock, we both guide him into me.
There’s an effortlessness to us tonight. A sweet resignation of acceptance when for so long there has only been uncertainty. But our bodies don’t know that. Only our heads and hearts do.
And so we let our bodies take over. We let them guide us with his slow push and his muted groan as he pulls out. With him guiding my hand down between my thighs so he can watch me pleasure one part of myself while he takes care of the other.
The ache turns to pleasure. The burn builds into bliss.
We’re reduced to moans of rapture and long slides of skin. To hitched breaths and murmured praise. To his fingers gripping and my fingernails scoring.
We make love without words, cementing emotions we’ve felt for what seems like forever. Emotions we’ve been scared of, we admit. Now that they’re in the light, we’ll never be able to hide them in the dark again.
Just like the dust particles dancing around us.
We love each other. With each push in. With every pull out. With our fingers laced on both sides of my head. With the slow grind of his hips. With the scrape of his teeth over my shoulder and the soft kisses to my neck.
It’s a slow dance of skin and sensations and emotions. Of met eyes and soft smiles and lips parted in pleasure. Of lifted hips and arched backs and squeezed hands.
We work together to reach our highs. My climax a slow build of pressure that detonates with a warning of its presence but not of its intensity.
I fall under its haze of pleasure. The white-hot heat rolls through my body like a live wire snapping before slamming back into my core. My back arches and hips buck and fingers grip his.
Only Vince can do this to me. Can evoke this from me. Only ever Vince.
“You’re so gorgeous when you come,” Vince murmurs before meeting my lips with a bruising kiss. The heat of his tongue. The grind of his hips. The feel of his body against mine.
Every damn thing overwhelms my senses so I do the only thing I can. I hold on to Vince. With arms and hands and legs. My own orgasm pulling him with me. He buries his face in the underside of my neck as he begins to piston his hips faster, harder. My body tenses around him as its not finished yet, and all I can do is hold on for the ride.
His breath is warm against my skin. His stubble a tickle as he moves. My moans are soft compared to the harsh pants of his breath. The slap of his hips against mine is the underlying beat.
He pushes my legs farther apart and begins to thrust harder, faster, relentlessly—my body his to use. Then his guttural groan rumbles through the room as he presses his forehead against my shoulder and claims his own orgasm.
Our panted breaths fill the room as our bodies shudder from the rush of adrenaline slowly ebbing from our bodies.
We lie here like this—with his body on mine, his face in the curve of my neck, and my hand idly running up and down his spine.
We lie here like this—soaking up the moment and wondering with hope if this could be a reality we can make work.
If the closeness we feel right now is a hint of what our everyday future could be.
