NINETEEN
Eden
I WAKE TO the most amazing smell–bacon, one of my favorite foods.
I turn onto my side, my body tender and weak in the best possible way. I smile. I can’t seem to help myself.
My eyes search for Cole. I know he’s still here. I can feel it in my chest, in my soul, like a warm breeze.
I smile even bigger when I find him. Cole is standing in front of the stove, bathed only in candlelight and the faint bluish glow from the gas burner. He’s naked except for the strings of an apron tied around his waist. For the most part, that’s all I notice. I can’t take my eyes off his incredible butt. God, it’s amazing! Firm and narrow, the cheeks rounded just the right amount, the dents on either side pure, masculine perfection.
I hear the pop and sizzle of hot grease, and I push myself into a sitting position and rest back on my heels. I’m not sure what I’m hungrier for right now–the bacon or the man cooking it.
My body heats as though I’m close to the stove, as though I’m close to Cole. All I have to do is look at him and…
I groan. It’s unintentional. Practically pulled out of me when I squeeze my legs together to quell the throb of desire that pulses in my sex.
Cole’s head whips around and his eyes fix on me. I see the dark, fiery look in them. He’s hungry, too.
He turns back around, stabbing strips of bacon from the pan and setting them on a paper towel to drain. He cuts off the eye and brings the whole plate, paper towel and all, into the living room.
I smile when I see his front covered by an apron. A tented apron at the moment. A blush stings my cheeks. I can’t believe something that size fits inside me.
Another squeeze at the memory of what it felt like to have him buried so deep, his body slamming mercilessly into mine.
“If you don’t stop that, all this bacon will go to waste and we’ll starve to death,” he warns in his silk-and-gravel voice. Just listening to him talk could get me all worked up.
I try to curb my enthusiasm. “What’s with the apron?” I ask, taking the proffered plate.
“Didn’t want my junk splattered with hot grease. Can you blame me?”
His expression looks horrified. I laugh.
“No, I suppose not. I didn’t even think of that, actually.”
“That’s because it wasn’t your junk in peril,” he explains, taking off the apron and tossing it over the chair before he sits down beside me and takes a strip of bacon.
He snaps off half the piece in his mouth before offering me the other end. My lips part willingly, trembling only slightly when I see his eyes focus on them as he chews.
I wish he wouldn’t look at me that way.
I also wish he’d never stop.
It makes me a little self-conscious. But it also makes me a melty, gooey mess, which I love.
We watch each other as we chew the salty meat. Cole reaches for another strip, this time trailing the crispy end around my nipple. I inhale sharply, glad that I wasn’t swallowing or else I’d have choked on bacon bits.
His eyes follow his movements and they get all dark and voracious again. I feel like I’m on the menu. And I wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Do you like my bacon?” I ask breathily, grinning behind my rising passion.
“Your bacon is the most delicious bacon I’ve ever tasted. I could get addicted to it if I’m not careful.”
“By all means,” I reply, fighting back a groan when Cole swipes my salty nipple with his finger and brings it to his mouth. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”
“Are you sure? Because I have a huge…appetite.” As he speaks, he brings the piece of bacon to my mouth and I let him lay it on my tongue.
As I close my lips around the flat slice, Cole reaches between my legs and slides a single finger from his other hand into me. The flavor on my tongue, the slight pressure of his touch…the combination dances over my senses, one accentuating the other.
Cole’s gaze is riveted to mine, searing into me like his finger. In and out, in and out, his pace never quickens even as he snaps off the bacon and puts the rest of it into his own mouth.
The moment is instantly shattered by a familiar, high-pitched scream–Nooo! The single word is shrill with terror.
Panic skitters through me. I grab my sweater from the couch as I pass, throwing it over my head as I race down the hall. I find Emmy in her bed, stiff as a board and thrashing her head back and forth on her pillow. It’s as though she can’t move her body, only her head. That’s how I know what she’s dreaming of.
I draw her into my arms, holding her against my chest. “You’re safe, Emmy. You’re safe, baby. It’s just me. It’s just momma.”
I rock her back and forth until she relaxes. It’s almost instantaneous, as it always is. Once my words penetrate her fear, once they break the hold of her nightmare, she goes limp as a rag. Always.
Her scream fades into soft sobs and quiet murmurings. I’ve never been able to understand them. Maybe it’s the way she calms herself. Maybe it’s something she’s telling herself to ground her in reality. I don’t know. I’ll probably never know. I’ve asked her about it before, but she never remembers saying anything.
But she does. She always does.
I don’t let her go until her breathing is deep and even, until I know she’s drifted back into a peaceful sleep in the safety of my arms. Even after I lay her gently back onto her mattress and cover her chilly little arms with the blanket, I don’t leave her side for a long time. It’s not until I see the first fingers of snowy light filtering through a crack in Emmy’s curtain that I remember Cole waiting for me in the next room.
He’s sitting in the chair, fully dressed, watching the hallway with a fathomless expression. When his eyes click up to mine, I stop and we watch each other again. It seems we do that a lot–watch each other, wordlessly. Thinking. Wondering. Imagining.
I walk to the couch and sit facing him, curling my legs up under me. Before I can turn to stare into the fire, Cole speaks. His voice is quiet, yet as intense as a shout. “Are you going to tell me about it?” he asks.
This time, I do turn to look into the flames. I study the way they lick at the blackened logs. I ponder the way they consume with such beauty.
I don’t have to ask what Cole means; I already know. It’s the only thing he can mean. It’s in the air–the haunting voices of our past, the rattling chains of our bonds. The arterial spray of our wounds.