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Arrow smirks. “I don’t think this card is for me.”
Mom cocks her head to the side, considering. Then blinks, the tears springing back to life. Then she nods, twisting the card and turning it to face me.
“You’re right, Arrow,” she says with conviction. “It’s Lark who can differentiate between fantasy and reality. Lark will discover what she is and who she is, when the time is right. She would be wise to listen to her own heart.”
I pull her into my arms. I don’t understand her in so many ways, but I know, deep down, that she’s always had the best intentions.
I’ve watched her my entire life, pulling up her bootstraps and making our lives whole and beautiful. She made a business out of her own two hands. She also made every effort to help me learn how to move my body, across the stage or around a room.
Any elegance or grace I possess it is because I had her as my guide. Arrow and the other men may have had Mother Earth, but I had her.
I am proud to be hers. Even if she infuriates me. Even if she has lied to me.
She’s not a goddess from some mythological realm. She is here, present, and real. She is my mother even if my bones are not her bones, even if my blood is not her blood.
19
Arrow
Her room is like a cloud. Pale blue walls and white pillows and blankets. A worn wood floor covered in a soft creamy shag rug, and a lamp on a bedside table that casts the warmest glow across the room.
“That was kind of … intimate,” I tell her. “I feel honored to have witnessed that moment.”
“Thanks for encouraging me to forgive her. We’d been at a standstill for so long … it’s like I needed someone else here to help break the ice.”
“You did good, Lark,” I tell her, drawing her into my arms. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers, her tongue rolling over her lips, excruciatingly slow. “The last few months have been incredible. The best and worst of my life. I’m so glad I wasn’t alone for any of it.”
“You never have to be alone again. Lark,” I tell her. “We’re yours as long as you’ll have us.”
She steps away and pulls the curtains closed. I inhale, wondering what the guys will think. I know they are out there, watching. Waiting.
“I want you to...” She runs a hand over her breast, her fingers on the buttons of her blouse.
“What?” I ask, breathless.
“I don’t want to go out dancing tonight. We dance every damn day. And I don’t want to gamble, I just want to be with you. All of you. And right now, I want you to get me ready for the rest of them.”
My cock grows hard in my jeans. God, it’s all I want. To touch her, to run my hands over her bare body. To explore every single inch of her.
“Please,” she asks again.
This time I can’t hold back. I pull her to me, her body melting against my own. Her skin is so soft as our lips meet. This time though, we’re alone. And the kiss is different. Deeper. Passionate. And I feel my cock pressed against her belly and I wonder what it makes her think. If it scares her, knowing how big I am and how small she is.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” I groan in her ear.
“Then go slowly,” she whispers, her head falling back, exposing her neck. I plant kisses down the length of it, then pull back her blouse, past her shoulders, unclasping her bra and cupping her breasts. They are small. Like those of a dancer, and I run my thumbs over her hard nipples as she whimpers in delight. Lifting her from the floor, I carry her to the bed and lie her upon it. Then I tug off my own shirt and pants. I keep my boxers on and kneel on the bed, easing off her jeans.
I clench my jaw as I take in the tiny lace panties she wears. “Please,” she asks again.
Nodding, I move my fingertips under her waistband, gently moving them past her hips, her thighs, her ankles. Her pussy is beautiful, a small strip of dark hair leading to her lips.
I move my hand between her thighs, easing them apart, wanting to touch her, feel her heat.
My fingers press against her and her back arches. Her body is so piqued and ready, so full of want, that as I move my thumb over her swollen clit she moves a hand to my wrist, stopping me.
“You’re going to make me scream,” she says, her eyes suddenly wide.
I smile. “Then bite your fist, Lark.”
She presses her knuckles to her mouth and I move my finger faster, then faster still. Her clit is hard and her pussy slick. I slip a second finger in, flicking inside of her with the slightest amount of pressure.
