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They are intense enough to make me want things I never thought I wanted.
“I'm starting to believe we all deserve a second chance at life.”
She looks up at me and gives me a small shy smile. “I hope you're mine.”
“I know you're certainly mine.”
My lips search for her without delay. The confession leaves me thirsty for her.
Kristine answers me with determination. Her lips surrender to the passion of the moment as my hands slowly slide over her shoulders and down her back to remove her dress.
The fabric falls, and she is left standing, facing me, in only her bra and panties.
I calmly remove my shirt and draw her to me. Her delicate hands settle against the lines of my abdomen, and I feel her sigh as I kiss her neck.
My hands move down and caress the softness of her ass. Her nipples begin to stiffen as our touches becomes more intense, and I feel her tongue demand my attention.
With firm movements, I lift her up. Kristine wraps her legs around my hips, and I slowly take her up to the master bedroom, where I lay her down on the dark sheets, stretching out on top of her while pressing my body against hers.
Her moans begin to become steady, rhythmic, and synchronous, like the melody of classical music still playing against the walls of the room below.
And all the while, she opens for me. Her hands, with desirous, longing fingers, tangling with mine. The graze of her voice, with her steady moans rising as I explore her body.
Kristine pushes herself against me. The fears, all the fears waiting outside the room, are distant from us, for the moment.
I know that at dawn those fears will reappear, but right now, they are only distant shadows that recede with each new brush of my tongue against her body. Of her hands around mine.
I cover myself and rest between her thighs, locking our gazes.
“Open for me, love…”
I fill her knowing I'll do anything to keep them away from her. Anything to protect her, because this is my second chance at life, and it's her.
CHAPTER NINE
KRISTINE
I barrelthrough the sliding doors of JFK International, my heart pounding in sync with the clacking of my heels against the polished floor.
The mingled scents of coffee and jet fuel hang in the air, a sharp reminder of the bustling world I've stepped into. My fingers tighten around the handle of my purse, the leather a grounding point as I scan the swarm of travelers.
My mind races as I weave through the crowds, dodging rolling suitcases and clusters of people in idle conversation. The decision to leave Asher with my parents hadn't come lightly, but Brandon's reach doesn't extend to their doorstep. He wouldn't dare set foot there, not with my father's unwavering gaze upon him.
I take a sharp breath, feeling the sting of recycled air filling my lungs. Asher misses me—I can hear it in his voice whenever we talk. And I miss him more than words can express.
The apartment has been too quiet, too empty without his laughter and boundless energy. My mother understood this, felt it too. Hence, she's sending him back to me, promising to stand by my side when we face Brandon in court.
A digital board flashes arrivals and gate numbers as I glance up, seeking confirmation. My pulse quickens seeing his flight has landed. He's here—somewhere beyond security checkpoints and baggage claims.
My stomach knots with anticipation and anxiety, a tangled mess that mirrors the complexity of my emotions. Brandon's shadow looms over us even now, threatening to snatch away these precious moments with my son.
But as much as fear claws at me, the joy of having Asher back drowns it out. I've felt adrift without him, like a ship without an anchor in an unforgiving sea.
I pull out my cellphone and call his phone.
“Mommy!” exclaims Asher.
"Sweetie!" My voice cracks with emotion. I can't wait to hold my baby in my arms. "Put Miss Gayle on."
