Chapter Seven
Gillian
It was surreal to see Alex —Joe—in my house. Standing in my living room, his massive frame dominating the small space and overwhelming me. How many times had I dreamed of this moment? How many times in the past ten years had I imagined seeing Alex again, hearing his voice, feeling his arms around me, crushing my head to his chest and inhaling deeply? How many times had I woken up in the middle of the night breathless, hot, and achy with need only to reach for him and find the bed beside me cold and empty?
Now he was examining my art, moving from the hands to the empty basket. Most of my furniture was white, and I kept things simple, the only signs of color in my house coming in the form of my artwork. In the back, the bright sunny studio which I’d added to the house only last year was where I spent my weekends.
“You’re so talented,” he murmured now, moving to another piece. “In so many ways.”
The compliment warmed me more than it should. I’d always wanted to impress Alex, to please him. And in the end, I’d been nothing but a disappointment.
“It’s how I cope,” I told him honestly, “with the memories.”
He glanced at me and took a moment before he replied. “They bad?”
“The worst.”
I wanted to tell him how bad they were, but then I had spent so long trying to not think about them that I wasn’t even sure where to begin. Every night when I closed my eyes I saw the man. The man who worked for my father burst into the bedroom of the house I shared with Alex. Alex was meant to be there, but at the last minute, his dad had called him for a family emergency. His brother had been arrested again and Alex had to go to them. I was meant to be out with friends, but I was eight months pregnant and tired so I’d canceled and went to bed early. The hired hitman didn’t ask questions, he didn’t check. He was a hired gun who cared nothing about me or my unborn baby, just the cash my father dangled in his face.
When I closed my eyes, I remembered waking up with fear, the man silhouetted in the doorway. I never spoke. He never realized that the person in the bed was a heavily pregnant woman. He was too drug addled to realize that the screams came from a woman and not a man because he fired again, and again. In all, he fired five shots into my bedroom, two of them hitting me. One of them killing my daughter.
For months, I remembered nothing about the moments afterward, but over the years the memories slowly came back. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I was vaguely aware of the police and paramedics arriving on scene. A neighbor had heard the shots and called the police.
The baby was gone. They delivered her and dressed her in an infant suit, wrapped her in a blanket, popped a bonnet on her head, and then placed her in my arms. We spent the next twelve hours with our dead baby while the police conducted their investigations. It didn’t take them long to find the man who’d shot us distraught and psychotic in an alleyway, brandishing a gun and sobbing about shooting a pregnant woman. It also didn’t take them long to find out that he was paid to shoot us, although he wasn’t too clear on exactly who had paid him.
“I was mean to shoot a fucking dude,” he apparently told police. “There was meant to be a man asleep in the bed, not a fucking pregnant woman.”
He got twenty years in the state penitentiary for his crime. I got life.
Following the shooting, I sunk into a deep depression. Actually, it was more than a depression, it was almost as if I was catatonic. I looked back on those times now and realized that was the period where I lost myself and where Alex and I lost each other. While I turned inward, pushing him away, he turned outward and went seeking revenge. It was Alex who uncovered the link between the shooter and my father. It was Alex who told me that my father was the one responsible for the loss of our baby. He’d never liked Alex, had never approved of my relationship with one of the Sayers boys. They were known for their criminal connections, for their drug use, for their dysfunctional relationships. Their mother had died years ago, when Alex was just a baby, leaving behind five sons and a husband who mourned her death by throwing himself even further into criminal activity. Alex’s four older brothers spent their formative years in and out of foster homes before moving on to correctional institutions once they became men.
My father was mayor of the small town we lived in, and having a daughter associated with a Sayers was the worst thing that could ever have happened to him. For me, having my father responsible for the murder of my child was the worst thing that could ever happen to me.
“Gillian, stay with me.”
I looked up, pulled back from the place I’d been, to find Alex close to me now. I could feel the heat from his body even though we weren’t touching, we were so close. It was familiar and comforting, and I had to tell myself he wasn’t mine anymore, that ten years had passed between us. Even still, right now, it felt like it’d been only minutes.
“I’m here.”
I tilted my head back and stared up into his dark-green eyes. They’d always mesmerized me, always left me bedazzled and slightly off balance. They were like brilliant emeralds set into a tanned face. He’d aged over the years, but he’d aged in a strong, angular way, his face etched with lines, and a hardness about his jaw that hadn’t been there before. I wondered if his time in service had shown him that there were things in life worse than what we’d been through. If it’d taught him that there was greater suffering in the world, that there were others who hurt as much, if not more, if he’d found a way of moving on from the grief that had destroyed us. I hoped he’d learned all those things, and I was jealous that maybe he had, that he’d found some kind of perspective while I still lingered on the edges of our shared nightmare.
Reaching out a hand, he traced my jaw, his fingers feather-light over my skin. Closing my eyes, I gave myself in to the sensations his slight touch aroused. It was so easy, I thought to myself, as I leaned into his hand, so easy to forget and let myself be taken back to a time, a time before the horrible reality of what had happened to us ever existed.
“Gillian…”
He said my name almost as if he were in pain, and before I could react, his mouth was on mine. A thrill ran through me from head to toe and I only barely allowed myself to believe he was really here, that this wasn’t just another wishful dream.
Tilting my head back, I opened my mouth, encouraging him to deepen the kiss. His tongue reached in between my parted lips to tangle with my own. He tasted like mint and coffee and was familiar and new at the same time. I threaded my fingers through his hair and tugged on the short strands, drawing him closer as I stepped further into his embrace. This was real, this was everything I’d wished for and everything I’d missed in the last ten years, and I wasn’t letting go. I wasn’t sure it was a good idea. I knew I’d get my heart broken again, but in all honesty, my heart was so shattered already I didn’t mind risking what was left of it. I should never have watched Alex walk out of my life in the first place, never have shut him out like I did. I’d regretted the way I’d grieved for years, how I turned him away as my family closed ranks around me, choosing them over him.
His hand moved down, wrapping around my throat, his thumb scraping the base of my neck for the briefest moment. Then he moved it down further, over my collarbone, over my breast and around my back. He yanked me to him so I was smashed against his chest and yet another spark surged through my veins like hot oil. It had been so long since I’d been touched, so long since I had felt alive in the way Alex made me feel. Our lovemaking had always been magical, exciting, and on the edge. He had desires that leaned on the dangerous side and he somehow managed to draw out the passion in me like no one else could.
“Gillian…” This time when he said my name, he all but growled it.
I clung to him, and as our mouths slanted against one another, the desire and the heat grew in the pit of my belly. Then we were moving. I wasn’t quite sure where, but I knew I’d follow Alex anywhere. There was an urgency between us now and I needed him close. I needed to make up for the last ten years, for the absence stretched between us. It was like I’d only been half alive and now I needed him to breathe life back into me.
His hand reached beneath my shirt and fumbled with my bra strap. Stepping back, breaking the embrace for the briefest moment, I yanked my shirt over my head and then unsnapped my bra, discarding it somewhere on the floor. Alex locked his eyes on me, the dark-green orbs perusing every inch of my exposed skin, bringing a heated flush to the surface. Then he was back with me, his mouth on mine, this time pushing harder and demanding more and more from me as his hands moved over me, the rough pads of his fingers sending delicious sparks to my core and making heat flare from deep within me.
His shirt came off and something changed, something dark and desperate overcame us both and we suddenly couldn’t get naked quick enough. There were no words spoken as our mouths moved against one another and our hands reminded themselves how to touch one another. It was muscle memory, deeply ingrained, and even though Alex was older, even though he was harder and his body had lost the softness of youth, he was achingly familiar.
We fell onto my bed in a flurry of kisses, heavy breathing, and desperate need. Somewhere along the way I lost my jeans and he his, and then he was sliding a hand beneath my panties, his calloused fingers finding me hot and ready as he slid between my folds. Clinging to him, I closed my eyes and groaned audibly at his touch. His touch that I’d been waiting for far too long.
“Gillian…”
His thumb found my nub and pressed, drawing out another long sigh that he swallowed with a heated kiss. Then he slid his fingers further down and plunged one, and then two, into my heated core, knotting them together to increase the friction like he used to. His thumb worked my clit as his fingers continued to move within me until I felt myself edging closer and closer to that precipice.
“Alex…”
“Yes, Gillie. Yes.”
I fell apart, my climax washing over me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. He continued his assault on that delicate part of my body, sending sparks of desire throughout every nerve, every cell, and every fiber over and over again. His mouth caught my cries and then his lips were moving down over my throat, down the valley between my breasts and over my stomach to my belly button. There he lingered for a moment, his tongue darting out to tease for the briefest moment before he continued his path downward. My panties were yanked off and discarded, and I was still dizzy from the tumultuous orgasm I’d only just had when his mouth closed over me.
If I’d thought I’d been loud before then I was a megaphone now. His mouth was hot and there was stubble on his jaw I hadn’t noticed until it rubbed against the tender flesh between my legs. The combination of his rough jaw, heated mouth, and the way he licked, sucked, and tasted me had me spiraling upward again. I held onto him, arching off the bed as I felt another orgasm building. I knew what Alex was like during lovemaking and he would never let me get away without at least three or sometimes four orgasms. He would make sure I was sated, exhausted, and delirious beyond repair before he would let me rest.
“Alex, Alex, Alex…” His name became a chant on my lips. As his mouth worked me, I was taken again over the edge, this time crying out even louder as I came again, arching up off the bed to get closer to him.
He’d barely let me rest before he was looming over me once more, his eyes dark and smoldering as he stared at me. Hooking his arms under my legs, he lifted me up off the bed and then plunged deep within me in one solid, swift movement, filling me to the brink and making think I might lose my mind altogether.
“Stay with me, Gillian,” he whispered, and I nodded obediently.
Then he was moving. Unlike the way his fingers had touched me and how his mouth had kissed me, there was nothing tender or gentle about him now. He was rough, raw, and desperate, and he showed me that in every hard thrust of his hips, every time he sunk himself deeper and deeper within me. Throwing his head back, he continued his frantic, brutal assault on my body, and that spark began to burn from deep within me once me more. It came on quickly. The orgasm, which hit me with its violent assault, caught me by surprise. And then, as I was still lost in oblivion, I heard him call my name again and felt him thrust deeper and deeper, wracked by his own orgasm.
As we came back down from our frenzied height, I opened my eyes and stared at Alex.
He was here. He was really here. It almost felt surreal to have him in my life, in my bed, and in me. My bruised and broken heart felt a little less damaged just looking at the only man I’d ever really loved.
Lowering himself to the bed, Alex positioned himself behind me and yanked me close to him, burying his face in the crest of my neck and inhaling deeper.
“I think,” he murmured against my skin, “that I never ever stopped.”
I swallowed, not trusting myself to speak at first, too shaken from the moment we’d just stared. When I did speak, it came out in a squeak. “Stopped what?”
“Looking for you.” He paused. “Loving you.”
My heart stilled. My bloodied heart skipped a beat at his words. I tried to turn and look at him, wanting to see his face, see his eyes. Was that true? Was that really how he felt? How he’d felt all this time?
“I think,” I replied tentatively, whispering into the darkness, “that I never did either.”
But Alex kept his arm taut around me, tugging me closer, and nuzzled my neck once more, his lips moving over my skin. “Sleep, Gillian. Sleep. I am going to want more of you later. I promise.”
And I slept. Slept better than I had in a very long time. And the dreams, when they came that night, weren’t nightmares.