I gasp, but before I can say anything that would wake the boys, Jim leads me out of the room. Is he moving us in? What the hell is he doing? He can't really be moving us in. That's crazy. Back down the hallway and through the open doorway of his bedroom, we make our way to a private space that's ripe with possibilities.
I'm pretty much dead on my feet, but the prospect of being with Jim again has me alert in a way that nothing else tonight has been able to do. Jim's room, just like the other rooms, is clean. I'm not surprised by it, but rather grateful. I want to fall into Jim's bed and make love until we pass out. Or just pass out. I could honestly go for either right now. All the while my internal monologue is contemplating whether or not I have enough energy to have sex, Jim's been closing the door, making note of the working lock, and shedding himself of his clothes. The leather vest goes on the back of a nearby chair. The rest of his clothes, save for his boxers, get tossed onto the floor. When he's done, he starts to work on my clothes. I could fight, but a sexy, mostly naked man I love is stripping me when I'm dog tired. There is literally no way I could manage to pitch a fit right now.
"Now, you listen good," he says as he frees me from my slip-on shoes. "I don't ever feel like I have to do something, except maybe listening to my fucking father in Church. I know the men in your past never did treat you good, the way you deserve, but I'm not them. I tell you that you're it for me and my kid, I fucking mean it. You're the kind of woman that men bleed for, the kind that men bleed other men over. You're a great mom, not just to your kid, but to mine, too. I told you earlier that I remember every detail of the day I met you, and it didn't seem to make a fucking difference."
I'm down to my panties--a fresh pair that are also decidedly unsexy and almost as worn as the last pair he saw--and my pajama top. There wasn't a whole lot to undress considering the two a.m. pseudo-kidnapping he masterminded. Jim's hands trail up my bare legs and rest beneath my shirt, on my hips, above my panty line.
"Woman, you must be off your fucking rocker if you thought I was gonna tell you I love you for the first time while my dick's wet. I had a plan, and your horny ass ruined it. I set this place up, had some of the lost girls get it clean, and was going to bring you back here after the party. Then I was gonna tell you I love you, and then I was gonna get my dick wet. You fucked up the order of operations, babe."
"You had a plan." It's a statement, not a question.
"Yeah, you think I did all this shit for me and the boy? Please. He's the one who told me you'd never agree to live with us if we didn't clean it up."
"You want us to live with you." I blink, not sure what to say. I want to live with him. I want everything with him. I'm also stupid and impulsive, and I do things I regret later, so my judgment is questionable at best.
"I love you, momma. Have since the moment I laid eyes on you. Just had to get rid of the competition first."
"Competition?"
"The boy. For a nine-year-old, he's really fucking smooth."
"I do love that boy," I muse, finally resurrecting my speaking abilities. "Wait. You love me?"
"Don't be stupid," he says. "You're mine now. The club knows it. You know it. Our boys know it."
"I don't know what to say." This is the fairy tale that happens to good girls who have virtue and modesty. The good girls who never whored themselves out or slept with their sister's husband. This is the kind of speech a woman like me doesn't deserve. But he's giving it to me anyway. For some reason, this imperfect, misguided, beautiful man wants me. He knows my darkness, and he still wants me. I can't let that go no matter how much I fear that kind of blind loyalty and commitment.
"Say thank you," he says. Breathing heavily, he pulls me against him and shoves his face in the crook of my neck. I gasp but don't speak. He repeats himself. The least I can do is acquiesce.
"Thank you." My chest is heaving, and my hands shake, but I grip him tight against me. I love him. I love him in a way that's unhealthy. Obsessive. Needy. This man is more than trouble. He's a goddamn tornado waiting to touch down. He could destroy me--if I let him.
CHAPTER 15
September 28, 1997