Sugar on the Edge (24 page)

She had me groaning like a ravenous animal when I came, gripping her hips and grinding her down hard on me as I unloaded.

“Sweet,” I had growled.

When we both stopped shuddering, she nuzzled my neck and whispered, “I’m going to call you Filthy.”

She leaned back and looked down at me with tenderness and humor wrapped up in a pretty bow, and I felt my heart turn over in my chest.

“I’m the filthy to your sweet?”

“You’re many things to me,” she murmured before kissing my lips. “But filthy is my favorite.”

I took Savannah whenever I wanted, and she never once said no. On the contrary, her eyes always fired hot and she gave in to my every desire. And yes, I was playing out all my desires from laptop to flesh, but I’d be ten times the fool if I didn’t admit to myself that there was something more going on inside of my not-so-fictitious manuscript.

Honey and Max were transforming. His eyes no longer hungrily roamed over every piece of womanly flesh that came his way. No, they stayed glued to Honey the entire time, and hers to his. They developed a bond, which stretched, forged, and ultimately cemented through their darkest days together. In the worst of times, they were each other’s anchors. In the best of times, they became each other’s light.

My own sanity worried over this change, because it was an absolute divergence from the plot that I had promised my publisher. Max was a stud… most of his appeal centered in the loner, alpha tendencies he displayed throughout my first novel. Men wanted to be him because he fucked his way across the United States. Women wanted just one crack at the pleasures he promised.

But now… now he was monogamous and entrusting his heart to just one woman, and it worried me to no end that perhaps my own heart was becoming too deeply immersed in the sweet beauty of Savannah Shepherd. For the first time, in a long time, I yearn to walk away from the bitterness and pain of my past life, and move into something that was good, sweet, and without tarnish. I crave the light that Savannah shines on me.

Her smile calms, her soft touch unmans. Her laugh fortifies, and her brazen look overwhelms me.

I’m falling in deep with her, and rather than trying to claw my way out, I find myself wanting to tie anchors to my feet so that I can submerge in just a little further.

This was something I promised myself I’d never do again, so brutal was the hurt I suffered from Amanda’s hands. Yet even as I repetitively warn myself that I’m treading on thin ice by laying my heart on the line, I can’t help but seek her out over and over again.

Standing up from my desk, I roll my neck from side to side, loosening the tension that took hold from my thoughts and worries. Glancing at my watch, I decide to go for a run. Savannah is out at the grocery store and picking up my mail from the post office. I have time to get a run in and a shower before she returns, and then I think I’ll sit in the kitchen and ogle her while she cooks us dinner.

When I return from my run, Savannah is in the kitchen, a vision of domesticity as she mixes a red sauce on the stove. She lifts the lid of another pot and gives it a stir.

“Hey,” she says cheerfully. “You had a ton of mail at the post office, but I’ll sort if after dinner. I probably need to check it every day just to stay on top of it.”

I walk up behind her and slip my arms around her waist. Nuzzling her neck, I tell her, “You’re not working after dinner.”

Savannah tries to wriggle out of my grasp. “You’re all sweaty, Gavin. Gross.”

“Come take a shower with me then,” I urge her.

“Can’t. Pasta will be done in about five minutes. Go take a quick shower and then come eat,” she tells me firmly, managing to slip free. I think briefly about pulling her to the floor and getting her sweaty with me but instead, I swat her on the ass and jog up the stairs.

After a quick shower where I ignore my aching cock, because just being pressed up against Savannah is enough to get me massively turned on, I return down to the kitchen in a pair of old sweatpants and a T-shirt. She’s straining the pasta and humming to herself.

“Want some wine with our dinner, Filthy-boy?”

I grin at her nickname and walk over to my wine rack. Pulling out a bottle of Cab, I open the drawer for the corkscrew. Savannah pulls two plates out of the cupboard and dishes up a heaping pile for me that she drizzles with a garlicky tomato sauce. She then serves up a much smaller plate for herself, and I pour two glasses of wine.

We sit beside each other, making small talk, our knees bumping companionably against each other. I find I like her in my kitchen, in my house, sitting next to me, slurping noodles. It’s so simple, yet so complex, because my meals have all been enjoyed in solitary fashion for so long. Yet I can’t deny the feeling of peace and fulfillment I get just by having her here.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Savannah says as she twirls pasta around her fork. “Who is that adorable little boy in the photo on your desk?”

My own hand freezes mid-twirl, and my head spins slightly. I wasn’t prepared for Savannah to ask me about Charlie, yet my beautiful little boy isn’t exactly a secret. While it’s true he sits in my office with me day in and day out, the only reason he’s secluded there is because that’s the only photo I have of him and I want him near me while I work. All the other photos of his smiling face are now sitting in dusty boxes at my dad’s house in London.

I remember Lindie once asked me about Charlie, and I snarled at her so viciously that she turned pale and immediately started yammering apologies. I told her to mind her own fucking business and stormed out of her office.

Charlie is to me what pain, regret, and misery are to a broken man, and sharing his story with Savannah could spiral me down a hole that has taken me months to climb out of. Yet, Charlie is also sunshine, toothless smiles, and warm baby kisses. He holds the largest chunk of my heart and that should be celebrated.

There’s no denying that Savannah has a piece of my heart as well. She squirmed her way in, set up residence, and has no chance of leaving any time soon. Maybe it’s time for both pieces of my heart to get to know one another.

Clearing my throat, I set my fork down and turn to face her. “That’s Charlie… my son.”

Savannah’s face lights up in a smile, and she pushes at my shoulder with her hand. “You have a son? No way. I can’t believe you never told me.” She turns all the way on her stool to face me and leans forward with excitement, her dinner completely forgotten. “Tell me all about him and spare me no detail.”

Oh, Sweet… you don’t want these details, but I’m going to give them to you anyway.

And because I know what I’m getting ready to tell her is going to wipe that smile right off her face, I raise my hand and stroke her cheek, even as I say, “He’s dead, Sweet.”

Savannah’s face pales and her beautiful brown eyes fill with crystalline tears. Her hand comes up to cover her mouth, and she lets out a half sob. “Oh, Gavin. No. No. Please no.”

My heart twists painfully, not only because it still hurts to say my beautiful baby boy is dead, but also because I see Savannah has taken on all of my agony onto her delicate shoulders. I nod my head at her, giving her the only thing I can… a sad smile.

“Oh, baby,” she breathes out as tears stream down her face.

She launches off her stool and scrambles onto my lap. My arms come around her to hold her in place, and she cups her hands to my face. “Oh, no, no, no,” she murmurs as her lips touch my forehead. Then my eyes, then my cheeks. She nuzzles her face into my neck, placing warm kisses along my skin that are immediately drenched in her tears, and then she buries her face against my collarbone and cries.

My heart swells with her suffering for me, and the bitter ash of telling her that Charlie is dead is replaced by an immense need on my part to help alleviate her own suffering.

Standing up from the stool, I carry her into the living room and sit on the couch, cradling her on my lap. “Shhh,” I croon to her and let her cry herself out while I stroke her back and her hair.

While she pours out her sadness on to my shirt, my gaze travels over to the fireplace. I look at the four framed photos of the Corolla horses that she hung the other day. I had come down from my office to eat some lunch and immediately noticed them. She gave me a shy smile, and I kissed her deeply to show my appreciation.

Studying them now, I find I like them very much in my house. Because Savannah gave me something of hers that was personal. Just as I just gave her something of mine that was personal.

Savannah shifts in my arms and pulls back. She looks at me with tears still swimming in her eyes and says, “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

I lift my hand and place my fingers against her lips. “It’s okay you asked. He’s not a secret. What happened to him isn’t a secret.”

She kisses the pads on my fingers, then grabs my hand and kisses my palm… my wrist, before placing her hand against the beating heart in her chest. “I can’t even imagine.”

I lean forward and touch my mouth softly to hers, and she takes in a stuttering breath. “I’m glad you asked. It’s something I want to share with you. I want to share him… with you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Savannah,” I say as I cut her off. “You’ve turned my world upside down in the few weeks I’ve come to know you. There’s never been anyone that I’ve wanted to share Charlie with. Only you.”

Savannah settles on my lap, places her cheek to my chest, and strokes my arm. “Tell me then. Tell me about your sweet boy. Tell me how he lit up your world, and then left you in darkness. Share it with me and let it unburden you.”

“Oh, God,” I whisper as I lean down to kiss her on the head, squeezing her tight. “How do you always know what to say to me?”

Her hand slides up my chest and rubs me over my heart. “Because I’ve seen what’s inside of here. I’ve felt it… beating true and strong. I feel it when you make love to me, and when you’re fucking me, and when you’re everything to me in between.”

“So sweet,” I murmur with my lips against her head.

I decide to tell her every bit of it, starting from the beginning… starting with Amanda.

The woman that killed my son.

My heart is breaking. Literally breaking in half, then the two massive pieces are toppling over within my chest, where they fracture further and throb with pain for Gavin. My lungs feel constricted and my head is pounding as fearful blood surges through me.

“I met Amanda during my last year of university. It wasn’t love at first sight, but it was certainly complete and utter fascination for me. She was a poet… you know, one of those dark types that dressed in black from head to toe, smoked cigarettes, and quoted from Poe and Donne in her normal conversation. Her eyes were perpetually sad, and I used to think it was because she wrote sad poetry all the time.”