Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121296 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
It’s been a long time since I cried. After Sadie died, I allowed myself to grieve for a day, weeping while Conway held space for me and the others took care of my kids. After that, I put my emotions in a box and got on with life. But this… this insinuation that I’m doing something wrong by wanting to carry on living… all those emotions come roaring back up.
I turn to walk out of the room before I lose control of myself and show Grace a load of weakness she won’t want to witness.
On the stairs, I catch the end of a hushed exchange between her and Conway, and louder voices as others begin returning for a dinner I don’t have the strength to prepare. I close myself inside my room and brace against the warm door, breathing hard as I flip between rage and sorrow.
Fuck.
A soft knock on the door makes me pause. I should be downstairs making sure the kids are okay, not wallowing alone in my room.
“Corbin.”
Grace’s voice is soft, and I look up at the ceiling, willing myself to hold it together.
“I’m fine. I just need a minute.”
“Let me in,” she says, and I blow out a frustrated breath.
When I open the door, she looks up at me with wide eyes and worry pouring from her. She’s washed the flour from her hands and somehow seems smaller, framed by my doorway. Without thinking, I step into her space and press my lips to hers in a bruising kiss. Her hands grip my shoulders with surprise, but she doesn’t push me away. Instead, her lips move softly against mine, and I groan, the burning of tears in my throat making everything raw and desperate. My arms wrap around her, clutching her close as the comfort of her soft body reminds me of everything I’ve missed.
Jesus.
I pull back, breathing hard, pressing my forehead to hers while I try to sort the mess of thoughts and emotions barreling through me. Her hands cup my stubbled cheeks. “It’s okay, Corbin,” she whispers. “You’re okay.”
I’m not. I’m really not.
“I’ll always love her,” I blurt. “That’s never going away, but with you… life feels possible again. You remind me that there’s still something left to feel… to build. And that it’s okay to want it.”
Her eyes search mine, and she swallows audibly as my words have landed hard. Her hand brushes mine, light as a whisper. “There are many ways to build something new.”
I don’t flinch, more determined in the face of her hesitation. I kiss her again, deeper this time, and she lets me haul her into my room and press her into the wall with my big, urgent body, needing to show her how much her being here brings me solace.
Grace is eager and responsive, gasping when I slide my hand beneath her shirt across her warm skin until I’m cupping her full breast and groaning. She brings her leg high around my hip, pressing her core to where I’m hard and straining against the zipper of my jeans.
Footsteps ascend the stairs, but I can’t bring myself to stop. She tastes too sweet, and the need thickening my cock is too urgent. Conway clears his throat; the sound is so familiar that I don’t even have to look up to know it’s him. I draw back, panting, resentful. After everything, can’t I claim a little something for myself?
“What?” I grind out.
“Mark left,” Conway says. “Levi followed him until he was off our land, but he’ll be back.”
“Fuck him,” I hiss, grinding against Grace, my anger blooming. “He hasn’t done shit for any of us, and now he wants to turn up spouting judgment. I won’t fucking have it. He didn’t even want to visit with the kids he says he’s so worried about. All of this is about the fucking optics.”
Grace’s hand strokes my neck, calming my anger before it takes over.
“Brody’s making dinner,” Conway says, his eyes drifting over us both.
Even though I’m mired in emotions left from Mark’s visit and the air is tense, I groan. Brody is the least capable when it comes to the culinary arts. Our only hope is that he might want Grace to consider his efforts edible.
“You take some time,” Conway says, tipping his hat at the front like he’s saying goodbye.
“Stay,” Grace says, surprising us both. Conway’s arm freezes mid-air.
I cup her jaw, tipping her face to mine and brushing my thumb across her bottom lip. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” She turns her face into my palm, kissing it softly. “I’m sure.”
If I was in any position to think, I’d spend time mired in the reasons for this offer to share her body. Is it motivated by her own desires or because she’s worried about me and wants to know I’m surrounded by support right now? And what about her heart? I have so much to give, bubbling below the surface, waiting for the right time and the right person, but does she?