TWELVE
JAMESON
I finally managedto pull my wife away from the main room and get her alone.
My hands were in her hair, my lips at her neck as I pulled her into my chest, and just breathed. We hadn’t had any time to really process what had happened yesterday; even after arriving, we had focused on the kids and catching up with the threat. Even as we laid in bed last night, our kids were in the same room, so it wasn’t like I could really process with her. Not in the way I needed to.
“Jamie, what’s going on?” Pen whispered in my ear while my mouth was still marking her throat.
My eyes nearly watered as I recalled the way that moment felt, when I saw that rider in the middle of the road with his gun aimed at our truck. How in that brief moment I imagined her being taken from me. How I had to swallow the fear that she might be hurt and just act. All night, I had that moment frozen in my mind, and the terror that lingered of what would have happened to me, or the kids, if she wasn’t here anymore.
Even now, it made me physically shake at how helpless it made me feel.
“I just needed a second to hold you…”
Pen leaned away from me while gripping my wrists. “You’re shaking, Jameson. You never shake.”
I tried to give her a smile, but instead I just pulled her face up and pressed my lips to hers.
We were in the basement, where our little family had been placed, but there was a laundry room with a door that locked. I started walking us backward and toward it when Penelope stopped me, searching my face.
“Talk to me.”
Our foreheads pressed together as I let out a shudder. “I can’t get it out of my head. The image of him aiming that gun at us. At you. I need to touch you, feel you. Know you’re with me.”
Her hand came up to stroke my back in a soothing fashion. “I’m always with you.”
“Don’t say that, baby…please, because all it does is remind me of those funerals we attended where we tried to encourage people grieving that their loved ones are always with them.”
She must have understood what I was trying to say, or at least get at because after a few silent seconds, she gripped my hand and walked with me back to the laundry room.
I shut the door and flipped the lock.
She glanced at the washer. “Take what you need, Jamie. Honestly, I need it too. I’m good at shoving it down for the kids, but I’m still seeing it too. Still flashes in my mind when I close my eyes.”
Nodding, I started unbuttoning my jeans, and my wife let out a small sigh.
“I don’t know how long we’ll have.”
“It’ll be enough,” I whispered, moving closer to her. Our lips met, and within seconds, our tongues moved against each other in a caress that silently spoke of our fear. Our trauma. The sliver of safety we lived within, the shadow that seemed to be cast over our lives with every waking breath. And yet, this was the life we wanted to live, our family. Our choice, and we’d never walk away from it.
My wife was in a simple pair of black leggings, with a long-sleeved shirt that gaped at her collarbone, but was long enough to cover her ass. Under it, she wore her favorite bra. I’d never told her it was my favorite of hers too. Not because it was sexy, or anything else but because it was something she loved, and I loved anything that made my wife feel at home in her own body.
I tugged at her leggings, pushing them down, until they were a pool of fabric at her feet. She stepped out of them then looped her arms around my neck.
My hands went to her ass, as I lifted her to the washer.
“Cold.” She hissed against my lips.
Shit, I should have thought of bringing in a blanket or something for her. I slid my shirt off and then lifted her, so she was sitting on it. Her hands came up to cradle my jaw as she pressed a gentle kiss to my lips.
“I love you, Jameson King.”
Emotion clogged my throat as the events from yesterday flashed through my mind once more. I pushed them away and kissed her back, then replied, “I love you, Penelope King.”
Our kisses transitioned from sweet to desperate quickly. She buried her fingers in my hair while mine traced her thighs. Her skin was silky under my touch, and I was completely obsessed with how she tasted. Even ten years later, I was fucked when it came to her. She undid me in every way.
With my hand at her back, I helped her recline, while angling her so that her hips were lifted, and within reach of my mouth. I locked eyes with her as I lowered my face between her legs and began pressing gentle kisses into the sides of her thighs.