Don't Speak (A Modern Fairytale, #5)(107)
Finally, at six thirty, after too much pizza and a cupcake each, they all snuggled on Laire’s bed together—Laire and Erik side by side against the headboard, and Ava Grace in the triangle of space between their legs, her head on Laire’s lap—watching Up.
Certain that Erik had never seen it before, Laire surreptitiously watched his face in the beginning. She’d never been able to watch the first ten minutes of Up without crying. The story of a man and a woman who’d been very much in love had always hit home with her, and when the wife, Ellie, died, leaving the man alone, she couldn’t help the waterworks. To her immense satisfaction, Erik sniffled once, tightening his jaw when Ellie miscarried and again when she passed away.
Halfway through the movie, Ava Grace was fast asleep, snoring softly, and Erik turned to Laire.
“Want to watch the rest?” he whispered.
She shook her head. “I’ve seen it a million times.”
“You could’ve warned me about the beginnin’.”
She grinned. “Sad, huh?”
“So sad. Lovin’ only one girl and losin’ her.” He paused. “I know how that feels, Laire.”
“Pretty awful,” she murmured.
“Agony.”
Ava Grace stirred between them, and he looked down at her. “She’s wonderful. You’re an amazin’ mom.”
Judith and Patrick had always been forthcoming with supportive comments about Laire’s parenting, but after losing Judith and moving away from Patrick and Samantha, she felt the loss of that support. She was grateful for it from Erik.
“Thank you.”
“Do you want more?” he asked. “Kids?”
She nodded. “Someday.”
He smiled at her, a little sadly maybe, then looked back down at Ava Grace. “Should I carry her to her bed?”
“That would be great. She’s getting so heavy. We have more Champagne. Maybe we could . . .”
“. . . take it to my room?” he suggested, his dark eyes blackening.
She felt the sudden warmth in her cheeks and nodded. “I’d like that.”
“Me too,” he said, sliding off the bed, then reaching down for Ava Grace. He picked her up easily, cradling her in his arms as he walked around Laire’s bed.
Laire pulled back the sheets on Ava Grace’s bed, and Erik bent to kiss her forehead before placing her gently on the sheets. And Laire, who watched this gentle, beautiful gesture with her heart in her throat, couldn’t keep her eyes from watering. Please want us. Please, please, please want us. Please understand why I kept her from you. And please want us anyway.
He drew the covers back up over her sleeping form and turned off the bedside light, turning to Laire. “Ready?”
Now or never.
She nodded. “I am.”
***
Spending time with Ava Grace had been wonderful, and watching a movie, snuggled up on Laire’s bed like a little family, had been warm and cozy . . . but his body was on fire for her, and he was relieved when they decided to cut the movie short and spend some time alone.
Just as they approached the door to his room, she asked him for a minute so he went back to his room and lit the candles he’d borrowed from Utopia Manor today, then sat down on the edge of the high, Colonial-style bed to wait for her.
He didn’t know what was going to happen tonight, but he was wild with want and knew what he hoped for: one, to be buried cock deep in Laire’s sweet body five times before sunrise, and two, to hear her say that there was still a chance for love to grow between them—still a chance for them to be together.
He tried to temper his expectations and hunger with reality—they’d only just reconnected. It could take a while—days, weeks, months even (please, God, not months)—until they were comfortable enough to share themselves with each other again.
That said, if there had ever been a decision for Erik to make, about whether or not he would pursue Laire for the long haul, there wasn’t a shred of ambiguity in his mind now. In the space of two days, every ounce of love he’d kept on ice for six and a half years had thawed out completely until he burned for her. He was every bit as much in love with her now, today, as he’d been the day he arrived at the hospital to see her. They’d hurt each other, yes, but not on purpose, not with malicious intent. She’d been a frightened girl, scared of losing her only parent, lashing out at him for his share of the blame. And he’d been a foolish boy who lied to his mother instead of just telling her the truth and dealing with the consequences.
Now they were adults. All grown up and, he hoped, ready for forever together because he didn’t intend to live his life without Laire ever again. He’d already tried that, and it had been an unparalleled misery. There was life with her, or there was hell.
The door squeaked open, and he looked up to see that she’d changed from jeans and a T-shirt into a simple black cotton dress. It had a plunging neckline and hugged her slight curves—the swells of her breasts, the little belly and slighter wider hips that were new to him, probably left over from her pregnancy. She’d taken down her hair, which she’d worn in a ponytail during dinner, and it trailed, strawberry red and straight, down her back as she approached him.
He spread his legs so she could walk right up to him, into him, eye to eye, breast to chest, sex to sex. He held out his arms as she invaded his space, pressing her body against his, and he wound his arms around her, enveloping her in a strong embrace.