Page 52 of Trusting You
To be sure, the Captain was a pain in my ass, but he was a damn good father.
I wanted to tell her no one would ever hurt her again. That I would protect her with my life. That with me around, nothing would ever upset her again. That I would vanquish pain, loss, and grief like a knight in shining armor. But I knew that wasn’t realistic, nor did she want it. She wanted casual.
“It’s not dumb. It makes sense. But that’s the thing. You have me now. I will share the burden with you. I will help you carry that loss and I will always have your back.” I wrapped her up in my arms, savoring her sweet scent and the way she allowed herself to sink into my chest. I wanted to protect her heart. And I would. If she was willing to give it to me.
A few minutes passed, and she began to relax. I could feel the tension melt off her body as we sat here in silence.
“But my cock is way bigger than his, right?”
She lifted her head off my chest and smiled at me. “Oh yes. Way bigger.” She wiggled her hips more, making my erection ache.
“And he never went down on me,” she added.
“Wait. What?” I shifted her off my lap so I could look her in the eyes and give my aching cock a moment to breathe.
She nodded.
“That is a crime!”
“He said it tasted weird and it made his neck hurt.”
“That bastard. You have the sweetest pussy on earth. I can’t believe he made you feel like that. I want to punch that asshole in the throat.”
“Stop. I don’t care. He was terrible at it anyway. I had to fake it so it wasn’t worth the effort.” These words scrambled my brain. How could any man have the most beautiful woman on earth in his bed and not die trying to please her? It was inconceivable.
“Okay. We are fixing this right here.” I pulled her to the edge of the couch and started to unbutton her jeans.
“What? Here? On the couch?”
“Yup. I obviously have to make up for your previous terrible experiences. I am going to make you come so many times you forget about that asshole. And trust me, my tongue is more than up for the challenge.”
27
Cecelia
I was still smilingas I walked briskly down Main Street toward High Tide Coffee.
The sun was shining, it was cool with a light breeze, and everything seemed good. I had a job, my family, and a really hot guy who spent all his free time giving me life-changing orgasms.
I reached into my backpack and pulled out my camera. I had taken it to get professionally cleaned at the camera store last week and was happy to find it was still in perfect working condition. I snapped a few photos of my coffee, the harbor, and a huge flock of seagulls perched on the boardwalk. It felt good to have the camera in my hands again—the weight and feel of it, the heightened senses of seeing things through its lens.
I couldn’t remember when I stopped taking photos. It was after college, I think. I had just landed my first entry-level corporate job and was bartending on weekends to make my impossible Brooklyn rent. All of a sudden, the architecture, the energy, and the feel of the city didn’t excite me anymore. I didn’t race home to get my camera after a long day to capture a gorgeous sunset or rain bouncing off the city streets. The camera collected dust, and I ended up packing it up and sending it back to my mom’s house along with a bunch of other things I couldn’t use in my tiny city life—old clothes, artwork, books, kitchen gear, and impractical shoes.
But for the first time in ten years I felt inspired. I looked around my everyday life and I saw beautiful moments that I was compelled to capture.
Things had certainly turned out differently than I had expected. Havenport wasn’t the prison I had envisioned. I had been astounded by the community and the love its citizens had for one another. They had accepted me back immediately and made me feel welcome. The town had come together to support the brewery and, by extension, Liam and me.
I thought I loved New York. I thought I loved the anonymous big city atmosphere and the breakneck pace, but standing in the sunshine while breathing in clean ocean air was pretty freaking great too.
As I sat and sipped my coffee, my mind wandered to last night with Liam. We promised each other we were going to take it slow and then ended up ripping each other’s clothes off and fucking on his couch. Then we decided to clean off, and I went down on him under the drizzle of the rainfall showerhead. He made me feel delicious, desired, and totally insatiable. I wanted him all day, every day, in every conceivable position. I wanted to fall asleep with him and wake up next to him every morning. How was I going to survive this? How was I ever going to leave this man? The thought made me sick to my stomach.
I’d spent years lying to myself, and I’d like to think I was pretty good at it. But even I couldn’t deny the fact that I was falling in love with Liam Quinn and it was terrifying. My mind, my body, my soul craved him every moment of the day. When I was with him, all my neuroses and anxieties faded into the background and I could just be myself.
And I knew that I was becoming a better version of myself. I was more confident, smarter, and more ambitious. He was making me better. My entire life I had assumed that men would drag me down and that being in a relationship was a sacrifice. I thought I would have to change who I was to make a guy like me and want to keep me around. I thought I had to dim my light to make room for a man. Turns out I was wrong. The right man made my light shine brighter than ever.
But this was a dangerous path. Could I leave him? Could I leave Havenport? I was beginning to feel like I belonged here—with my family, at the brewery, and in Liam’s bed. I loved seeing Nora and my family every day. I loved my morning run down by the docks with a stop at High Tide for an Americano on the way back. I loved that I was taking photos again, that I was meditating and reading and spending quality time with the people who were important to me.
Me, the person who had never fit anywhere—the person who had to contort herself to fit—might have finally found her place.
