The hurt lashing my insides is like a knife severing a nerve or, in this case, the last minuscule thread of hope I so tightly clutched onto that one day she would love me. Love was the only thing I had ever really asked of her, but what she gave me tonight was the exact opposite. The pain twisting in my heart is an ugly, writhing thing. Worse than the pain in my broken and bloodied body. It’s a deep, gnawing ache. A bottomless pit in my stomach churning, churning, churning.
I can barely breathe through it.
Aren’t mothers supposed to love and protect?
This time, when I weep, it’s for the woman who betrayed me. Between my stuttering, hiccupping sobs, I allow myself to say it one last time.
“Mom.”
Alek
“I’m acting like a mother hen. There’s nothing to worry about.” Despite my grumbled words, I rake a hand through my already ruffled hair and sigh as I drive down the darkened street. Luke said he was coming home—it feels right to call my home his home now—and it shouldn’t take an hour to get there. Fifteen minutes, tops.
His phone is going to voicemail.
He’s fine, I admonish myself. Luke’s an adult who can take care of himself. He probably decided to stay a little longerat the office. I’ve noticed he tends to get hyper-focused anytime he begins a new project so that must be why he’s ignoring my phone calls.
Maybe I’m just feeling a little on edge because I’ve been thinking about, well…
Him.
Topping me.
While I normally prefer being the top, I occasionally enjoy switching it up. And lately, I’ve been wondering what the stretch of Luke’s cock would feel like. The thought of laying back while his slightly timid, but always eager, hands explore and worship makes me squirm in my seat. My skin prickles with awareness, a low buzz of arousal heating my blood as I imagine guiding him through it. He would take his time prepping me, drizzling lube along the crack of my ass while carefully pushing in one then two fingers. I would have him lay back, moaning and whining while I seat myself on his cock, those emerald irises glazing over with pleasure.
Or perhaps I would have him take me from behind. I would tell him to take me nice and slow, then draw out our orgasms, telling him not to come until we’re both ready. And because he’s such a good boy, he would follow my instructions beautifully.
Would he like that?
The idea is…intriguing.
Ping.
The alert of an incoming text distracts me, and I nearly jerk the wheel in my haste to grab it. I growl my frustration when Caleb’s name flashes across the screen. Not that I don’t love talking to my son, but he’s not the one I’m needlessly worried about right now. Even as I round the corner near work, the torrid rain now having stopped, I’m already preparing myself for the bratty, snarky comments whenLuke peers over his shoulder and realizes I just couldn’t stay away any longer.
I grin, and for a moment, I wonder if I should treat him to a dose of his own medicine. Maybe I should record myself jerking off right here in the car and send it—
“Luke! What the—”
Slamming my foot on the brake pedal, my car comes to a jolting halt just inside the parking lot entrance of Cedarwood Book Design. The sight I’m greeted by makes everything inside me go cold and numb. A limp, rain-soaked body sprawled on the pavement with blonde hair cascading down his shoulders. Somehow, despite the way my chest heaves and my fingers shake, I manage to throw my car in park and leap out. An odd sensation takes over as I race toward his body, like I’m in a tunnel and everything outside of him is white noise. I’m screaming his name, but I can’t even hear the sound of my own voice.
My God, he isn’t moving. He’s the love of my life, and he isn’t goddamned moving. Why isn’t he—
“Alek.”
My name is nothing more than a whispered croak and, for a brief second, I’m swept away by a tide of relief. But as my knees crumple onto the pavement beneath me, the sight of his broken body makes me want toscream. My stomach plummets, the free fall sensation making me want to puke.
“Sweetheart,” I choke out, my voice cracking as I raise trembling fingers to touch him. At the last second, I pull back, because I don’t know where I can touch him that won’t hurt. He blinks up at me, a dazed expression on his face that makes me think he’s barely clinging to consciousness. His lip is busted, blood oozing down his chin. One eye is black and nearly swollen shut. From what I can see in the dim light of the parking lot, his clothes are soaked through in a mixture ofrain, blood, and sweat. Any exposed skin is covered in bruises, a couple fingers on his left hand are bent at unnatural angles, and he’s cradling his right elbow.
I think I’m going to be sick.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’m here, okay?” I murmur soothing words, stroking his hair with one hand and dialing 911 with my other hand.
“Knew I was safe as soon as I saw you,” Luke murmurs, his lips trembling.
God, I wish I could take his pain. I wish—I wish it were me lying broken and bloodied on the ground. He doesn’t deserve this.
As soon as the 911 operator answers, I’m barking orders into the phone. To her credit, she doesn’t take offense to my brisk tone, nor does she bristle when I demand the ambulancehurry the hell up. When she insists I remain on the line while we wait for police officers to arrive, I refuse—not wanting anything to distract me from Luke—and hang up.
