More Than I Could (57)

“I didn’t know Monica, but I know she’d be proud of what a good dad you are. I’m sure she rests easier knowing you’re taking such good care of her baby.”

My heart grows heavy as I think about my daughter’s mother—a woman I barely knew. Why did she try to go it alone? Did she struggle? Was it hard for her?

Was she going to tell me?

“You know,” I say around the frog in my throat, “a lot of people think I should be angry with Monica.”

A long, quiet moment passes between Megan and me.

“Are you?” she asks finally.

“I get it. I mean, she withheld my child from me. That’s cruel. I missed so much of Kennedy’s firsts. I was deprived of all the excitement of having a kid.” I look at her and grin sadly. “And I think I would’ve been excited … after the shock wore off.”

She smiles back, stroking my leg tenderly.

“But how can I condemn Monica?” I ask. “I don’t know what she was going through. I don’t know her situation. All I know for sure is that she kept our daughter healthy. Ken was happy when I met her—all things considered. Monica kept Kennedy safe.” I blow out a tired breath. “I’ll never get answers about why she made her choices, so I choose to feel grateful for everything she did right.”

“That’s an amazing way to look at it.”

“Well, that’s really the only way to look at it, right? I mean, I want Kennedy to grow up and know that so many people love her. I want her to feel supported. To know her worth and value. If I have a chip on my shoulder about her mother—someone who I know Kennedy’s going to have questions about and be curious about—that defeats the purpose.”

“Does she ask about her?”

I move my shoulder and wince. “No, not a lot. But it’ll come. And when it does, I want to look at her and tell her how much her mother loved her, how she was the center of her world. But how can I do that if I’m secretly pissed at Monica? That doesn’t serve Kennedy, nor does it serve her mother’s memory. The stories I tell her about Monica are the only things Kennedy will ever know about her, and I’ll be damned if she thinks anything other than the best.”

Megan crawls across the bed and lays beside me once again. This time, she holds me tighter than ever before.

The peace that comes with having her in my arms is dangerous. But I can’t deny that if time were paused right now, I wouldn’t be upset about it. It feels pretty damn good with her by my side.

“You’re a good man, Chase Marshall. Even if you are a grumpy cat.”

The memory of her calling me that in front of my mother makes me chuckle.

“Now, enough of this sad shit,” she says. “How are we going to handle this now? I mean, we have to be respectful of Kennedy.”

I kiss her head again. I love that you consider my child.

“The ball is in your court,” she says.

“Well …” I contemplate my options. “I guess the only thing I want to avoid is Kennedy thinking that something is happening between us. You and I are adults, and we know what this is.” And that you’re leaving.

The thought is a punch in the gut, but I move on.

“So I guess if we can keep our distance in front of her,” I say, thinking quickly, “and make sure she stays our priority, then we can figure out how to get time together.”

Her hand slides down my stomach, resting on my cock. “I think that’s a good plan.”

“One more thing. I will have to go out of town overnight for a couple of nights this week. Probably Thursday or Friday. Just giving you a heads-up.”

“Okay. No problem.”

“Oh, there’s a problem,” I say, ripping the blankets off us. I take her hand in mine and wrap it around my hardening cock. “You touched it. Now it’s your problem.”

She looks up at me with a devilish grin. “That’s a problem I can solve.”

Thank God.





Chapter Twenty-One





Megan




“Where are your condoms?” I ask, then lick him from base to tip.

He hisses through his teeth. “Drawer to your right.”

I tease him, swirling my tongue around the head. He watches me with a heated gaze as I pull him out of my mouth with an audible pop.

Leaning over the bed, I slide the drawer open. Chase’s hands cup my ass before his fingers slide down my slit and dip into my opening.

“Shit,” I gasp, looking desperately for a condom. I lift my hips and spread my knees to offer him better access. That feels so fucking good.

He plays in my wetness while I search in the darkness.

“Chase, I can’t find any,” I say. “Are you sure they’re here?”

“Yeah. Dammit.” He draws his fingers slowly away from me and then leans over me, flipping on a lamp. He peers into the drawer. “Oh, fuck. I think I’m out.”

I glare at him. “Tell me you’re joking.”

He falls back on the bed and covers his face with his hands.

My pussy throbs. My breasts are engorged. He’s flipped a switch to my libido, and I can’t turn it off. Only he can satiate me.

And he’s going to have to.