Built (Saints of Denver #1)(92)
“Zeb . . . touch me.” I pleaded with him in a hushed tone and continued to rock on him frantically. If he wouldn’t get on board I had no problem taking care of it myself. I glared down at him so he would get with the program and then sighed when his hand skipped along the smooth skin of my hip and headed for where I needed him.
He skimmed his light touch along my slippery folds and teased me as he told me to bend down and give him a kiss. I grumbled a little through my groan of satisfaction as he finally made contact. It was right there and it felt so good. He always made it feel so good.
My lips were just about to land on his, about to swallow up his moan as my body clamped down on him—hard—ready to break apart in the release only he could deliver when suddenly we both froze and scrambled apart like the other person had skin made of fire. Tiny footsteps and the bedroom door creaking open had us sharing a frustrated and bemused look as Hyde was suddenly at his father’s side of the bed.
“I had a bad dream.”
I pulled the comforter up to my chin and hoped that the light coming from the hallway wasn’t enough for him to make out the fact that Zeb and I were both flushed and sweaty.
“Did you really? Or do you just not want to sleep in your own room? We talked about this, little man.”
Even though I had handed Zeb the key to my house months ago, we had both agreed it would be best to wait awhile to uproot and move Hyde again so soon. As a result, it had been eight months of us bouncing around from my house to his condo and trying to get the little boy used to the idea of living here full-time. He and Zeb had been officially moved in for two weeks, and at least three nights out of the week Hyde wanted to sleep in bed between us. Zeb typically gave in, but I doubted that would be the case tonight. Adjusting an active sex life around an inquisitive five-year-old had proven interesting for both of us. Needless to say, the shower saw a lot of action and I had become extremely proficient at getting off while we were both still mostly dressed.
“My room is far.” His room was a level below the master suit and he had spent plenty of nights in it while Zeb and I were waiting to cohabitate. My personal opinion was that he missed having Poppy just down the hall. She had moved into her own apartment the week before the boys made my home their home.
“It’s not that far, Hyde.”
“Can I sleep with you guys tonight?” He was whiny and it was late, but Zeb still had a hard-on and his eyes were still blistering black with want.
“Not tonight, bud. You have to get comfortable in your room. It’s yours for the long haul. Remember how much work you and Sayer put into making it special just for you?”
He tried to peek over the bed at me, but I was hiding under the covers and behind Zeb’s much bigger frame.
“Yeah. I remember.” He stuck his little lip out in an adorable pout and I almost laughed at the way Zeb groaned. He shoved his hands through his hair, which was tangled and wild from my hands.
“How about I come in and read you a story? I’ll hang out with you until you fall back asleep.”
I could see the little boy considering it and finally he nodded. “Okay. Sayer, you wanna come hear a story?”
I snorted and tried to cover it with a cough. “Thanks, kiddo, but I’m gonna pass tonight. You go with your dad and I’ll see you in the morning.”
His eyebrows dipped over his tiny nose. “I do like my room. Promise.”
“I know you do, Hyde. Sometimes this old house makes noises and it can be hard to sleep. It’s fine.”
Zeb asked me to toss him the jeans I pulled off him a little while ago. He got himself situated and leaned over me so he could press his mouth to mine. The scrape of his beard across my face never got old. I loved how it felt now just as much as I loved it the first time I kissed him. I put my fingers on the new tattoo on the side of his neck that had a man holding a monsterlike mask over half of his face. Dr. Jekyll and his Hyde forever imprinted for the world to see. It was Zeb’s take on fatherly pride and I loved how him it was. It wasn’t Hyde’s name, but it was a more literal translation that the little boy would understand when he was older.
“I’ll be back.”
I giggled a little and snuggled farther into the covers. “I’ll be here.” I wasn’t going anywhere no matter how many earth-shattering orgasms might be interrupted.
I watched my shirtless, tattooed, ripped, gigantic, and now sexually frustrated man handle his son like he was glass as he guided him out of the room, and thought about how foolish I had been to be scared of all the space he took up. With him being everywhere, there was no room for any of the bad things to fit anymore. Every day he made me feel like I was worthy of him, and that he was worthy of me and we were both worthy of this life and all the great things in it. I might not have earned it all just yet, but I wasn’t scared of spending the rest of my life working toward it.
And it was work. There were still times I wanted to slip into old habits, to shut down and freeze everyone out because I was overwhelmed with the amount of feeling and love that existed in my every day. I fought against it and I fought hard. My boys and I deserved better.
Talking about things helped as well. When Poppy first moved out she had started going to a therapist to talk about her abuse and her past. The one-on-one sessions hadn’t really helped but she found a women’s group of abuse survivors, and hearing other women tell their stories, seeing some that had had it far worse than she had, made all the difference in helping her make strides toward living an independent life again. Watching her be so brave helped me be brave and it helped name the horrific emotional abuse that I had survived at my father’s hands.