21. Claire

21

CLAIRE

Dinner was strained to say the least. It used to be my favorite time with Michael, sitting down at the end of the day and just talking about whatever. But today, everything that stood between us was like a barrier. Neither of us knew what to say. I was consumed by thoughts of Isabelle—if I would ever see her again or if this would be the end for all of us.

Not to mention that we still hadn't figured anything out about where we went. I wanted Michael desperately. I longed to feel his arms around me again. But his wives were still between us. How did I forgive such a betrayal? How did I move on with him knowing that I was the other woman?

He loved them, that much I was sure of. Even if Larissa was only in his life for a short period of time, he still had something with her. And what about Grace? He had two children with her. They were legally married, whereas I only thought I was married to him. It was a mess I couldn't even begin to wrap my brain around.

"You're thinking awfully hard over there," he grumbled, wrapping the spaghetti around his fork.

"It's kind of hard not to."

"What has you the most upset?"

"You mean, after thinking about your wives, your children, our missing daughter, our mortal enemy, or the fact that you've moved me out of my bedroom?"

His jaw hardened as he picked up his wine glass and swallowed what was left. "We're not staying in there."

"It's my bedroom."

"It's where they attacked you," he snapped. "It's where—" He bit out a curse, shaking his head. "It's where I let you down."

"I don't blame you for them coming after me."

"They wouldn't have raped and tortured you if I hadn't slept with Zavala's sister."

I flinched at the blunt description of what had happened. Both I would recover from, but the pain of his infidelity cut deeper than the aftermath. What they did to me was horrible and something I wasn't sure I would ever get over. However, knowing the man I loved could so easily sleep with another woman if he thought it would get him what he wanted made my stomach churn.

It was a different kind of hurt. The physical pain could be pushed aside, but the emotional torment of knowing the man who was supposed to love me above all else had betrayed me so deeply. When he slept with Zavala's sister, he was so caught up in trying to save our daughter that he didn't see that I would become the sacrificial lamb. The fact that he hadn't intended for me to be hurt was the only reason I could place the blame solely on the men who attacked me.

"I'll never forgive myself for what I did to you," he said quietly, staring at his empty wine glass. "I know I broke more than can ever be fixed, and I don't blame you for not trusting me. I wish I could go back, but I can't."

Tears filled my eyes as I thought of all we'd lost. The scars on my heart might never go away. What if when all was said and done, there was no way to bring us back from the damage that had been inflicted? Could I really go on with my life knowing that I may never have the man I loved by my side? I hated what he did. I hated all the lies and deception, but if I was going to move forward with my life, I needed him by my side. I could forgive him or be miserable with only my anger.

I'd had enough heartbreak. I didn't think I could take any more.

"We can't go back," I whispered. "What's happened…we can never undo the damage, but we can move forward."

Hope lit his eyes as he looked up at me. I could feel his pain as he sat across from me. "How do we do that?"

"We choose to look at our past as mistakes that we learn from."

"Can you do that? Can you forgive me?"

My throat felt thick with emotion as I stared at the man I loved. "I have to. I've spent five years without you, and I was miserable every day."

"You could find someone else," he said hesitantly. "Someone who didn't make you cry—who won't make you cry."

"And what would he look like?" I slid my hand across the table and clasped his in mine. "I'm fifty-six years old. I've lived this crazy life with you. Some of it has been good and some has been bad. But through it all, I've only ever loved you. I'm not interested in seeing if there's someone better out there. I already know there isn't. And I'm sure you'll make me cry again," I chuckled. "But you also make me laugh. And you love hard, even when you're being an ass. I know you won't break my heart again."

"Fuck no," he breathed heavily. He shoved his chair back and was down on his knees in front of me in seconds. He lifted my hands to his lips, pressing kisses to them. "I swear to God, Claire. I will never willingly hurt you again. I knew the moment I did it —" I felt hot tears trail over my skin as he pressed his lips to my hand again. "Fuck, I hate myself for what I did. I was so stupid."

"It's over. It's in the past. Let's leave it there."

He sat tall, sliding his hand around my neck as his lips brushed against mine. "I fucking love you."

"I love you too." I melted into him, kissing him back as I had the last time we were together. My spine tingled and my fingers trembled as those old feelings came rushing back, mixing with the need I felt now. I wasn't sure I was ready to go there, but I wanted to feel like I had years ago, before life had torn pieces of my soul from my body and I lost all faith in humanity.

"Michael," I whispered. "Make love to me."

I saw the questions in his eyes, the desperation mixed with uncertainty. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "I need this. I need you to—make me whole again."

He stood, lifting me with him. His arm slid beneath my legs as he scooped me up, carrying me over to the fireplace. He set me down, brushing his hand up my leg as he gently kissed me. I trembled as his hand brushed against the apex of my thighs, softly rubbing against my clit. My breath hitched as those old memories threatened to invade.

I swallowed hard, trying to force them from my mind, but the overwhelming need to shove him away made it impossible for me to ignore. A strangled moan left my lips and he immediately pulled back, cupping my cheeks in his hands.

"Look at me, Claire."

I couldn't open my eyes. I was terrified of what I would see.

"Claire," he whispered. "Baby, look at me."

With shattered breath, I opened my eyes, staring at him through watery eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. It's me. It's only me."

I nodded again, trying to remember that.

"Baby, I would never hurt you."

"I know that, but?—"

"No buts. This is me. I love you more than anything else in this world. I will only ever touch you with love. You are the most precious thing in the world to me."

"But…what if I'm broken?" I cried.

"You're not broken." He brushed the hair back from my face, staring into my eyes. "You just need time."

"It's been five years. I can't escape them."

His lips brushed against mine. "I should have been here. I should have chased away your demons."

"What if they never go away?"

"They will. I'll slaughter every fucking one of them. Nobody will ever hurt you again. I swear on my life, I will protect you. I will help you learn to be free of them."

I wanted that more than anything. I was tired of being scared to go to sleep. I wanted to feel his arms around me and not be scared of what might happen. "Show me."

His kiss was slow and deep, loving and wonderful. He kept his hands on my back, never moving them lower as he pulled me off the fireplace and on top of him as he sat on the floor. Straddling his lap, I could feel him growing harder underneath me, but he never made a move.

His tongue slid over my neck, kissing a scar I'd gotten that night. "You're so fucking beautiful."

"Not all of me," I admitted. What if he didn't like what he saw? What if it disgusted him?

"How is that possible?" His fingers slid to the hem of my shirt and he slowly lifted it. The worst of the scars were on my stomach, slashing across in haphazard slices. Though they'd faded, they were still hideous. But he wasn't looking at my scars. He nuzzled his nose between my breasts, groaning as he licked from the swell of my breasts over to my right nipple. I gasped as he gently bit the nub.

"Still my favorite fucking thing."

My breasts sagged from age and breastfeeding. It didn't seem like a big deal the last time we had been together. We'd grown old, sleeping in the same bed almost every night. With time, it didn't even faze me. But after so many years, I was well aware of just how much gravity took its course.

His fingers slid around to the clasp at my back, but I stopped him. "Don't."

"Let me see."

"They're not what you remember."

"Neither am I. Do you still want me?"

"Of course, but?—"

He undid the clasp and slid the straps down my arms. I held my breath as he removed my bra, staring at my sagging breasts. But instead of disgust or mild interest, I saw his eyes heat with desire.

"Fucking perfect," he growled, latching on to my breast. "Fuck, just as good as I remember."

I gasped as he sucked my nipple hard, his other hand coming up to cup my other breast. His thumb flicked back and forth, and suddenly, it was like the last time I was with him. My head dropped back as I let myself enjoy the feel of his hands on me.

"Michael," I whispered breathlessly.

"So fucking perfect, Claire. I need more."

He slowly rolled me over. For a moment, I thought panic would take over, but he moved off me, dragging my pants down as he placed open-mouthed kisses all over me. The panic soon receded as he spread my legs, kissing his way up one leg, bending it out as he neared my upper thigh.

"No," I said quickly, pushing him away. "I haven't?—"

"Haven't what?"

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "I'm not…clean. Down there."

If anything, the intensity in his eyes grew. "Fuck, you're not shaved?" I shook my head. "Fucking hell, you're gonna kill me." He snatched my panties, pulling them down slightly as he peeked inside. A loud growl emanated from his chest as he leaned forward and shoved his nose against me, inhaling deeply.

"Fuck, I love it when you look like this."

"You wouldn't prefer me shaved?"

"And look like a little girl? Fuck no. I love you with a full bush. Gives me something to tug on." As if to prove a point, he grabbed a small amount and gave a firm tug. "Fuck, I think I'm gonna come."

I choked on a laugh as he plunged his face between my thighs. His tongue slid through my folds an instant later, making me cry out in pleasure. I slid my fingers through his hair, holding on tight as he feasted on me. Years of mental torture were erased in a single stroke as he replaced those bad memories with good ones.

"Michael!" I cried out as his tongue prodded at my clit. After years of no sex, I came hard and fast, barely able to stop the earth-shattering quiver that raced down my spine as my whole body convulsed in his arms.

He slid up over me, kissing my stomach, over the scars and up to my breasts along the way. When his lips finally sealed over mine, I felt boneless and sated. My chest heaved with the intensity of my orgasm, which he promptly attended to, kissing me everywhere.

"I almost forgot what you look like when you come," he grumbled. "The way you get that look in your eyes and the way your breasts perk up for me. It's like they're inviting me for a second round. I think I need more."

"What—" I cried out as he dipped his head back between my legs and spread my lips. His tongue slid inside me, followed by two fingers. He pumped slowly in and out of me, warming me up for his thick cock. I still remembered how he used to slowly enter me one inch at a time, taking way too long to fuck me because he knew his girth would stretch me wide.

He spread my other leg out, nuzzling his shoulders up against my thighs as he lifted my hips and pressed his face right up against my pussy. I wrapped my leg around his neck, pulling him even closer. I could feel his mouth vibrating against me as he groaned and enjoyed every last taste.

Black spots dotted my vision as a second orgasm built inside me. I tried to reach for him, to get him to slow down, but I knew he wouldn't. "Michael!"

"Say it again, Claire. Fucking call out my name."

"Michael, I'm coming!" I shouted, nearly falling apart as he shoved two fingers back inside me and thrust in and out repeatedly. My body clenched around him, but he didn't slow. My hand shot out, desperate for something to cling to. Then he was there, laying beside me as he continued to fuck me. His lips met mine is a bruising kiss, taking me.

Devouring me.

"Please," I whimpered.

"Fucking anything you want, Claire. Just tell me and it's yours."

"You. I need you."

Instead of tearing off his pants and thrusting inside me, he slowly slid his fingers from my body and trailed a wet path up my body until he circled my nipple.

"I love you, baby." His nose brushed against mine as he kissed me. Then he pulled me against his body and sighed, lazily strumming his fingers over my stomach. My eyes drifted closed as his body heat enveloped me. Exhaustion took over and yawned loudly, resting my head against his arm. I felt his lips press against my temple before a blanket was pulled over my body. In minutes, I was sound asleep.