Page 63 of Burning Embers
“One day, I’d love to paint you,” she says.
“Like one of your French girls?” I ask with a smirk.
She leans back, hand on my chest. “You’ve seen Titanic?”
I shrug. “Only about a hundred times. My foster sister, Melissa, was obsessed with it growing up.”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners. “So, you’ll know exactly how I want you when I do.” She kisses my chin. I stifle my groan. My body reacts to her in a way only she has the power to evoke.
I pull her into my ever-growing erection, and she moans. Colour taints her beautiful cheeks. Sliding off my lap, she goes to her knees, her hands fiddling with the fly of my jeans.
I still her with my hand, but she swats it away, her eyes darting up to mine. I raise my hands, watching as she undoes my zipper and pulls it open just enough to gain access.
“Up,” she says. I lift my arse, and she pulls my jeans and my boxers down to my thighs.
And then her mouth is on me.
I tilt my head back and close my eyes as her tongue and lips work the length of me, her fingers playing with my balls. It’s not long before I’m staring down at her, my fingers in her hair, urging her to go faster, deeper.
“Fuck,” I hiss through my teeth. “Stop, I’m going to come.” But she doesn’t—if anything, it urges her on, and she takes me deeper. I come fast; she milks me for every drop.
I pull my jeans back up but leave the buttons undone, and then pull her back into my lap. “You didn’t have to do that,” I say before kissing her.
“I know, but I wanted to.”
We sit silently for a bit—the only sounds our combined breathing and the creaking, sulking of the fridge in the kitchen.
“He wasn’t always that way,” she says in the darkness. Her fingers paint a pattern across my chest. “Marcus—he never touched drugs until he got a new job in the city.” I play with her hair as she continues. “It’s part of the reason we split up. I was never in love with him or him with me. But when he found out I was pregnant, he said he wanted to be part of her life, and that he would quit. He did…I thought.”
She looks up, her eyes meeting mine. “I know he’s been drinking again, but I didn’t know about the coke. I don’t want it anywhere near my daughter. I can’t trust him to take care of her if he’ll do it in my home and not even hide his indiscretions.”
“Do you want me to talk to him?” I ask.
Her eyes go wide. “No. I’m only telling you this in confidence. I’ll talk to him,” she says.
But I don’t like the thought of her having to. I know how volatile a vice like this can make someone, and I don’t want her being any part of it.
“I don’t like the idea of that,” I reply, honestly.
“And I love that you care, but I can handle this.”
I nod and kiss her forehead. Seeing the sacrifices she makes for Molly leaves me no doubt she can handle it.
But I don’t like it.
RACHEL
Olly doesn’t like the idea—I can tell by the tick of his jaw. But what else can I do? If Marcus doesn’t get his shit together, how does he expect to be a good father to Molly? She’s more aware now. She notices when she hasn’t seen him for a while. Or he shows up late.
“I didn’t mean to mislead you when you rang,” I say.
He grabs my hand and brings it to his lips. Every time he does this, my insides melt. “I understand, Princess.” He kisses the tips of my fingers one by one.
I want to roll my eyes. He always calls meprincess, but the more I hear it from him, the less offensive I find the term.
“It’s a lot to take on—all this drama,” I say. My stomach revolts at the possibility of him deciding I am more hassle than I’m worth. At the thought of him walking away.
I don’t know when he became part of my everyday life. Even when I don’t get to see him, he always texts or calls. It’s both refreshing and terrifying. The only constant I have ever known was my nan before she died, and Molly, of course. But not even my parents gave me what I needed the most.
