Let Me Know (7 page)

Chapter Seven

Amber

When I was younger, and believed in Santa, I would wake up at four every Christmas morning. I would then sneak into Michael’s room, and we would tiptoe downstairs to check out the presents Santa had left while we slept. I never had to wake my brother. He was always waiting for me.

Like the little girl I used to be, I wake to find my alarm clock glowing 4:00 a.m. While I’m no longer the girl with the brother eagerly waiting for her, I’m still the girl who sneaks downstairs to peek at her gifts.

And in this case, Marcus.

We haven’t had a chance to be intimate since he arrived less than forty-eight hours ago, beyond small, chaste kisses or hugs. After almost losing him, I’m happy we can have even those. But they haven’t been enough to stop my nightmares.

The only sound greeting me as I creep downstairs is the soft thud of my bare feet against carpeted steps, and the slight rustle of my pink satin robe. Underneath is one of my gifts to Marcus: matching pink satin panties and bra.

The soles of my feet touch the cold tile floor and I pause. Once I’m positive Mom’s mom senses haven’t kicked in, and she’s realized what I’m up to, I tiptoe toward the guest room and inch the door open. The room is dark, other than the faint glow from the Christmas lights next door.

As my eyes adjust to the darkness, I spot Marcus sleeping. I stand in the doorway, wondering how I got so lucky. If I hadn’t been failing my math class last term, I might never have given him a chance. A chance to prove he’s more than the sexed-up guy everyone assumes he is. While I might not be thrilled that so many girls on campus are intimately familiar with his body, a warmth floods through me at the thought that he’s
mine
.

“Are you planning to stand there staring at me,” Marcus murmurs, “or did you have something else in mind?” His tone is teasing and edged with a desire to do things to my body. Things that will leave me beyond satisfied. My breath hitches and I struggle not to melt away.

He sits up and his bedding bunches around his hips, exposing his hard chest and abs. He clicks the bedside lamp on. A soft light snuggles around him and leaves the guest room in shadows. The intimacy created sends a ripple of excitement through me.

The room hasn’t changed much since Dad lived here. Unlike the rest of the house, which is modern in design, this room contains antiques. The bed, dresser and side table are made of dark maple, and look to be a hundred years old. At least. The armchair looks more modern, but not by much.

I step closer to the bed, shutting the door quietly behind me. “I thought I heard Santa,” I whisper, then climb onto the queen-sized bed and crawl over to Marcus.

Still on my knees, I straighten and my robe slips open, revealing my bra and panties.

“Well, lucky for me he’s already gone.” Marcus slides the robe off my shoulder, his calloused fingers brushing against my skin. I suck in a soft breath, too quiet to be heard.

He does the same to the other side and the fabric cascades onto my legs. His eyes never leave me as they consume every inch of me. “Looks like he left me a present. I must have been a
very
good boy this year.”

I roll my eyes. “You need to work on your pickup lines.”

His finger traces the skin along the inside of my bra strap, and continues its way under the satin fabric of my bra. Heat pools between my legs.

“No. I don’t think I do,” he says. “You’re the only woman I want. The only woman I need. And right now, I need you more than you could ever imagine.”

My gaze drops to his boxers and the unmistakable hardness. I laugh softly. “So I see.”

Marcus grins. “That’s not quite what I meant. I mean I want to hold you and kiss you.” He plants a feathery kiss on my lips. “Though I’m not opposed to burrowing deep inside you.” Another teasing kiss. “And making sure you’re mine.”

I climb onto his lap and straddle him. The molten heat between my legs presses against him and a throbbing ache pleads for me to relieve it. “I’m already yours and you’re mine.” I crash my lips against his and rock against him.

He moans against my mouth, the sound drowned out by my own moan and the headboard knocking against the wall. I inwardly cringe, no longer rocking against him. God, I hope Mom’s still asleep and didn’t hear it.

Our tongues slide and stroke and reacquaint, while my fingers tangle in his silky hair. The faint smell that is all Marcus wraps around me, grounds me, makes me feel safe.

His mouth moves away from mine and his day-old facial growth scrapes along my jaw with his lips leading the way. His hands glide across my back to my bra. He unhooks it and tosses it on the floor.

His gaze sweeps over my body, his hazel eyes making me feel beautiful, strong, ready to face almost anything. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

I smile shyly. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I whisper and my fingers trace the ridges of his stomach. I rub the building throb between my legs against his hardness, careful not to cause the headboard to bang against the wall again.

“You’re killing me, Kitten,” he groans, the sound only loud enough to be heard by me, then turns me so I’m lying on the bed. His mouth covers my nipple, and he alternates between sucking and teasing me with his tongue. My other nipple aches for his attention.

My entire body aches for his touch.

As if sensing what I need, he moves his mouth to cover the other nipple and thrills it like he did the first. I swallow back a moan. Watching my reaction, he skims one hand down my stomach and along the waistband of my panties. His gaze never leaves mine.

His fingers inch between the fabric and my lower belly, and keep going until they slide between the slick folds hidden beneath my underwear. They gently circle the throbbing mound and my body jerks, greedily wanting more. The movement, once again, sends the headboard banging against the wall.

We both frown at the offending wooden furniture. Marcus grabs the pillows and tosses them onto the floor, then pulls the duvet off the bed and creates an oversized nest.

Not missing a beat, he makes himself comfortable on the floor. And after I join him, he continues his exploration of my body, his finger easing inside me. I bite my lip to keep from making a sound louder than a soft whimper. Two can play at this.

I slip my hand into his boxers and wrap my palm around his shaft. He inhales sharply, and I smile as my lips find his. We deepen the kiss, then I pull away and gently push him back, my hand on his chest. His heart flutters rapidly against my palm, matching the pace of my own. I smile.

“Do you have condoms with you?” I ask.

“They’re in my bag.”

I fish through his bag on the floor next to us. Once I find a couple of foil packages, I remove my underwear and toss it on the floor next to my bra. With one hand, Marcus practically rips his boxers off and waits for me to straddle him.

The moment I do, one of his fingers is inside me again, tormenting me, pushing me to the edge. A second finger joins the first, and I can barely rip open the foil packet. I teeter there, ready to fall.

Not wanting to fall without him, I roll the condom onto his thick length. It’s not the first time I’ve put a condom on him, but I feel clumsy doing it. I bite my lip as I focus my attention on the task. Marcus chuckles and his hand guides mine.

Without hesitation, I mount him. I think part of him prefers it this way, and it has nothing to do with his shoulder. He fears I’ll get scared while we make love and flashback to last spring, and it will somehow drive me away. My being on top gives me a greater sense of control. Though I don’t think it matters. As long as I focus on the amazing man making love to me, filling me with an immense amount of joy, I’ll be okay.

I push us further to the edge. Sensing I’m about to come and scream out his name, he pulls my head down. His mouth is on mine seconds before my body clenches around his length, seconds before I can make a sound beyond a muffled moan. He comes moments later, our lips still as one.

Even though I want to stay this way for a bit longer, as I regain my senses, I climb off him and collapse on the bed. He gets up and tosses the condom in the garbage before returning the duvet to the bed and covering me with it. He then relaxes under the covers with me curled around him. I make a mental note to remove the condom from the trash before anyone finds it. Especially Mom. I started the pill earlier this month, but I’ve got a few more weeks to go before we’re safe. Then I won’t have to worry anymore about hiding the evidence.

“How’s your shoulder?” I ask.

He tenderly kisses me. “I’m fine. At least I am now. Merry Christmas.”

I kiss him back. “Merry Christmas.”

We lie here for a few minutes, a tangle of limbs, both lost in each other, not wanting to move anytime soon. And we don’t have to. Mom won’t be up for another four hours. I just have to make sure I’m in my room before then.

“Tell me about your Christmases,” Marcus says. “What were they like?”

I smile softly, caught up in the memories. “Wonderful. My brother and I would sneak down early and check out the presents Santa left us. Emma and Trent used to come over after lunch and we’d hang out. Then my grandparents would come over for dinner and Michael and I would stay up late.” As hard as I try, I can’t keep the sadness out of my voice. My grandfather died several years ago, so I’m used to his not being around for Christmas. It’s Michael and Trent’s absence that is new and fills me with an unwelcome heaviness. If Marcus weren’t here, I have no idea how I would survive.

I snuggle closer to him and smile. Even though we were forced to be quieter than usual, the sex was amazingly hot. Hot enough to say what happened between us is now one of my favorite Christmas morning memories.

“Tell me about you and Ryan. What were your Christmases like?” I stroke the side of his face. This isn’t just my first Christmas without Michael. It’s Marcus’s first Christmas without his brother. It’s why I wanted him to be here with me during the holidays. No one should be alone today when they’re filled with this much pain. And although Marcus pretends to be stoic when it comes to Ryan, I’ve noticed in the past week he, too, is experiencing the same heaviness.

He smiles, the emotion behind it filled with neither happiness nor sadness. It’s more an act of comfort, for him, for me, because what he has to tell me won’t be something out of
It’s a Wonderful Life
.

“Ryan and I were lucky, when I think about it,” he says. “Mom and the step jerk enjoyed getting drunk and hanging out at the local casino. We learned at a young age Santa doesn’t exist. Or at least he doesn’t exist for kids with parents like mine.”

“That’s horrible.”

He shrugs. “It was hard, especially when Chase did believe in Santa. At first Ryan and I figured we had done something to make Santa mad at us. It hurt but we survived. Then we wised up and I realized Chase’s parents were giving him and his sister the presents, not Santa. I used to lie to him about what Santa gave me so he wouldn’t discover the truth.”

A pain hammers my chest at his words, and I want to reach out and hug him. Not the man before me, the man who was broken as a child and used it to make him stronger. I want to hug the child he used to be. The one whose innocence was destroyed because he and Ryan got the crap end of the deal when it came to parents.

“Part of me looks forward to one day having kids, you know, so I can have the childhood experiences I missed out on.” He kisses the end of my nose. “So I can hear them sneak down at four in the morning—” he brushes his lips against mine “—to see what Santa left them.”

I laugh, the sound quiet so not to risk waking Mom. “The point of sneaking is so the parents don’t know what you’re up to.” Until now, we’ve never discussed our futures. We’ve been living in the present, with me trying not to dwell too much on the upcoming trial. Hearing him say that he one day hopes to have children gives me a warm feeling. What his mother and stepfather did to him didn’t completely break him. If anything, I can see him becoming a more loving father because of it. An overly protective and loving father.

“It doesn’t matter. And as you can tell—” he pats my butt “—no one can sneak past me without me noticing.”

I give him an impish grin. “I’ll keep it in mind for next time.”

“Hmm. I can hardly wait.” He kisses me deeply, making me forget about everything else.

* * *

I open my eyes and blink the room into focus, my mind still fuzzy from the pleasant dream I woke up from.

A lazy smile stretches across my face as I snuggle against the warm body behind me. The rich aroma of coffee nudges its way into my awareness.

The smile vanishes and I sit up abruptly. What the hell was I thinking when I decided to stay in bed a little longer with Marcus, after we made love a second time?

I guess I was thinking I wouldn’t fall asleep and wake up while Mom was in the kitchen making coffee.

Marcus stirs. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“Shhh,” I whisper. “My mom’s up. She’s in the kitchen.”

“Shit!”

Shit is right.
I scramble off the bed and search the floor for my clothes. Or more specifically, my underwear and satin robe. I can’t even pretend I’ve been up for a bit and came to say “hi” to Marcus. And it’s obvious we weren’t chatting about math.

Marcus climbs off the bed and pulls on his boxers and jeans.

“I’ll sneak upstairs and have a shower.” I give him a quick kiss. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

Before he can say anything, I inch the door open, poke my head out to make sure the coast is clear, and scurry down the hallway to the kitchen.

I peek into the room. Mom’s standing at the sink, filling a glass with water. In front of her, a large window overlooks the backyard, and in the dark it’s a perfect mirror.

Since she’s still looking at her glass, I make a break for it and run toward the staircase. Once I’m in the main foyer, my bare feet slap against the tiles. I don’t stick around long enough to find out if Mom can hear them. I charge up the stairs, thankful for my extra-long legs.

I grab clean underwear and my black sweater dress and tights from my room, and head to the bathroom, desperate to hide from my mom. Humiliation twists in my gut at the possibility she spotted me making my not-so-heroic escape.