Sidebarred: A Legal Briefs Novella(14)

“I know. I know that.” I stare into her eyes. “But I would still pick you.”

Is that as f*cked-up as it feels? I raise the glass to my lips, draining it empty, trying to wash the feeling away.

And my whispered words slice the stillness of the moment. “All of this only works if you’re here. It begins with you, it ends . . .”

I’m not good with flowery, romantic kinds of words. But she makes me wish I was.

Because she’s more than my wife—more than the owner of the * that has me so very whipped. She’s my love, my home, the solace to my soul, the keeper of my heart, the center of my entire f*cking world. The only reason I really believe in my own goodness is because I see it reflected in her eyes.

“Without you, I don’t know how . . . I don’t know what I’d do.”

A sad smile haunts Chelsea’s rosy lips as she rises and plants herself on my lap. My arms automatically wrap around her.

“I know what you would do.” Her fingers comb through my hair soothingly, rubbing at the base of my neck. “You would hold all the kids at once, because your arms are big enough to do that. And you’d let them all sleep in the bed with you, so you could be right there if they needed you. Then, after a few days, you’d lead them through it—get them back on schedule. Back to the routine. You’d still be broken inside, but you would tape yourself together because you’d know that’s what they needed.” Her warm lips press against my jaw and her breath tickles my neck. “Life would go on. And after some time, you’d meet someone. A kind woman. Smart. Maybe a lawyer who always wanted kids but never found the time.”

“Jesus f*cking Christ, Chelsea,” I curse—because I don’t want to hear this.

“She would fall in love with you so easily. And with them. And it would all be okay. It would be a good life—a different life, but still good.”

My eyes burn behind my eyelids, because I don’t want any part of that f*cking life. She’s right, in a way—I would go on—just like I’d want her to. You don’t have a whole lot of choice when you have kids—when you love them like you’re supposed to. You suck it up. Move heaven and hell to make sure they’re all right.

But it’d be a waking nightmare for me—every horrible second without her.

My hands press her closer. Melancholy fingers scrape her back, her thigh. “Don’t ever leave me. Promise me you’ll be with me always. I know it’s not a promise you can make . . . but do it anyway.”

Chelsea punctuates each word with a gentle kiss—to my forehead, my nose, my jaw, my cheeks, my closed eyelids. “Never. I’ll never leave you, Jake Becker. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever. Ever . . . never.”

When her mouth settles on mine it’s like lighting a match. Sparking a needy, frantic fire. Because I have to feel her—alive and vibrant—beneath me, surrounding me.

I should take her to our room, but I don’t. I should slow down, but I can’t.

All I can do is set her on the table and strip the fabric from her body with trembling hands. Kiss her like there’s never been a tomorrow, lick her skin and swallow her moans.

I grip the back of my shirt, pulling it off, and my pants follow. My fingers rub and delve between her legs, feeling sleek, slippery wetness, and then I’m pushing inside her. That first thrust—the slide of her smooth, tight walls against my hot, hard cock. Fucking unreal. Like it’s always been with her. Like it always will be. Her body welcomes me, then clamps down like it can’t bear for me to leave. And just like every time before, the thought flits through my mind, that nothing will ever feel better than this—it’s as good as it can ever possibly be.

And just like every time before, I’m proven so f*cking wrong.

My strokes are steady and long, more demanding, harsher than they should be. I cradle Chelsea’s head in my hands, my fingers pulling her hair free so it cascades down her flawless back. Her feet lock around my waist, pulling me closer, and our chests meld together. The solid swell of her stomach, where our child sleeps, presses against my lower abdomen. Chelsea tilts her head back, holding on to my gaze for as long as she can—until it’s too much. And the feverish, rising, f*cking sublime pleasure forces her lids to close and her lips to part.

I curl over her, my hand tightening in her hair, my hips driving faster.

“Jake . . . Jake . . .” She comes hard, her muscles contracting, the gasp of my name on her perfect lips.

Then Chelsea goes slack, cradled safely against my chest. I slip my hands under her ass, lifting her off the table—plunging inside her again and again with wild, barely controlled abandon. Her hands cling to my shoulders. Trusting me, taking me, giving me everything I could ever need.

My hips circle, drag, and then with a final thrust and ragged groan, I come so deep inside her.

For several long moments, my lips rest against the top of her head, smelling the sweet clean of her hair, while her hands trace up and down my spine. The storm of guilt and apprehension churning in my gut quiets. Because that’s the power she has, this lithe wisp of a woman—her voice calms me, and her touch gives me peace.

Chelsea’s face lifts to mine, wearing a drowsy but satiated grin. “Better?”

I play with her hair. “Yeah. Better.”

“Good. Now I need another bath. You got me all dirty.”