Page 55 of Sterling Clay

Clay’s brows crease deeply. “I’m not trying to save you. Where the hell did you hear that?”

“Savior complex.” I smirk.

Clay sighs heavily, lowering his shoulders, but his gaze remains on me, eyes firm. “That is not what’s happening here.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t know what is happening here,” I mock his tone, dropping my arms and reaching for the railing behind me.

Clay steps closer to me, filling the space between us. “What’s happening is a beautiful woman saved me in a storm one night. She took care of me. She helped me get better when I was sick. She cooked me dinner because she’s kind. And I asked her to stay with me because I want to keep her near me.”

My eyes widen, hands tightening on the porch rail to hold me steady.

Clay runs a hand over his hair. “Since I was in my twenties, I’ve done nothing but work. Save my siblings. Save the Seed & Soil. Feed a stray cat. Give a man a job. Save, save, save, Mavis. And for once . . .” He holds up a finger. “It feels like someone is saving me.”

“How?” I whisper.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me? How I crave what happened last weekend? Earlier tonight? You telling me what to do?” He exhales. “I don’t have to make a decision. You take the lead and I fall in line, and it’s blissfully mind-numbing to only concentrate on pleasing you.”

My shoulders relax, hands loosen on the railing. “Clay. Honey.”

“And that.” He points at my face. “That look in those dark eyes. That sigh in your voice. And when you call me honey.” He swallows. “Jesus, Mavis. It takes all my strength not to blurt three little words at you and scare the fuck out of you. And the last thing I want you to do is disappear again.”

“I didn’t disappear,” I whisper, but I had been gone.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” Clay continues like he’s on a roll he can’t stop. He places both hands on the back of his head. “I’ve crushed on you since the first day you walked through the doors of the Seed & Soil. How fucked up is that? Wanting a married woman.”

“I wasn’t married,” I remind him.

“I know that now,” he blurts louder. “And now you’re back and it takes all my willpower not to touch you all the time and kiss you in front of your kid because I know you don’t want any of that. You need time, Mavis, and I’m standing here, willing to give it to you.” He drops his arms. “Just, please, don’t run. Don’t move out.”

I stare at him, absorbing all he said. Laying out his feelings, both past and present.

“I wanted you, too. It didn’t feel right, but the moment you smiled at me the first time I saw you, something lit up inside me.” I clench my fist to my chest. “But I knew my place. I was in a relationship, for good or bad. I was with Wesley. And Dutton . . .” I swallow around his name. “We thought we needed Wesley. But I don’t want to feel that need for someone again. I don’t want to feel like I have to be saved.”

“I’m not saving you, butterfly. You’re saving me.” Clay’s voice strains, his plea desperate while reassuring. His hands wrap around my upper arms, and I sense him fighting himself. He wants to pull me close, but he’s respectful that I need space.

I need to call the shots.

And I don’t want distance between us.

“Dammit, Clay. Kiss me.”

His mouth crashes on mine so quickly, I bend backward over the railing from the force. Then he’s maneuvering us so my back hits the column of the porch. His mouth melds to mine, leading me, teasing me. His tongue slips against mine before his teeth nip my lower lip. Then he opens wide again, drinking me in while I’m equally thirsty for him. I know what he means about mind-numbing pleasure. The kind that makes you focus on him and me, and us together. Nothing else matters. Nothing.

“I only want you thinking about earlier.” He mutters against my mouth. “The way I touched you. The way you sucked me. How we feel good together. We feel right.”

“Yes,” I whisper before our lips collide again. Clay’s hands cup my backside, tugging me tighter to him. My hands wrap around the back of his head holding him to me. If it were possible for him to lift me against this column at my back and enter me without making a public display of things, I’d beg him to do it.

Instead, the screech of the screen door and the familiar cry of “May-May” in a frightened voice has Clay and I breaking apart.

Within seconds, Dutton crashes into me, face burrowing into my belly. I cup the sides of his head, gently pushing him back so I can look at him. A new sensation rips through my body. Fear. “What happened? Why is your head wet?”

Dutton is sobbing hysterically, his face soaked with more than tears. Water saturates his hair. He refuses to look up at me, leaning his head for my stomach again. I wrap my arms around his head tucking him tight to me and glance up at Clay, who looks equally concerned.

Glancing toward the door, I see Winnie stands a few feet away, Ford behind her with his hands on her shoulders. Winnie looks like she’s crying as well. Behind him, Knox is pushing a man through the screen door and toward the porch steps.

“What the fuck, man?” The guy counters Knox’s aggressive shoving. I cover Dutton’s ears as if hearing a swear word compares to whatever has him so worked up.

“Talk to me, baby,” I beg of him, curling my body forward, around him, like I can protect him from everything evil in this world.