Anchor Me
Page 65
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“You’re sure you don’t mind?” We’re in bed, and I’m propped up beside him, my fingertip tracing patterns on his chest as I run down the drama with my mother. “Paying to get her out of our hair? I think it’s money well spent.”
I sigh, relieved. “Good. I know I should have asked first, but—”
“It’s your money, too,” he reminds me, which is a little fact I never seem to remember.
“Do you think she’ll tell the agency anyway? About my cutting, I mean? Once she has the deed to the house, there’s not much we can do. At least not easily. And she could tell them anonymously, so we couldn’t even prove it as her.”
“She might,” Damien says. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
I close my eyes, then blow out a breath. “It won’t matter if she does. I’m going to tell them myself.”
He shifts, then tilts my chin up so that I’m looking straight at him. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Better to be upfront. Besides, I want to do this right. They do an evaluation. They talk to the family beforehand. I don’t want to have to dodge questions. I want to just be me. The real me, with no mask at all.”
“No child could ask for a better mother.”
I quirk a brow as I look at him. “Hopefully, the agency and China will agree with you.”
I push myself up to sitting, my mind still going over the conversation with my mother.
“What is it?” Damien asks.
“It’s just . . . well, she said I can’t stand on my own. That if you leave, it would destroy me.” I swallow, then look at him. “She’s right, you know. I love you so damn much.”
He shakes his head. “Love isn’t reliance, baby.” He strokes my hair, his eyes looking deep into mine. “The truth is, you can stand on your own. But you choose to stand with me.”
“Yes.” The word is almost a gasp, and I cling to him as relief and understanding floods through me. “Yes,” I repeat. “I choose you.”
“And that makes me a very lucky man.”
“Damien?”
“Yes?”
“Would you make love to me now?”
I feel the vibrations of his low chuckle in his chest. “Baby,” he says, rolling over and trapping me beneath him, “it would be my pleasure.”
Slowly, he peels off the T-shirt I’m wearing, leaving me naked beneath him. He does the same with his sweatpants, tossing them in a heap on the floor. He kisses me sweetly, his hands caressing me, gentle strokes. Sensual movements.
There is nothing wild about the way we make love tonight, and yet it is no less passionate than when he takes me hard and fast, claiming me with such fervor it leaves me breathless.
Tonight, it’s tender kisses that take my breath away. And when he spreads my legs and slides inside me, our eyes stay locked and he thrusts inside me, my hips rising in a matching rhythm that draws him in deeper and deeper, until we feel like one person, the boundaries between where I end and he begins merging together.
“Yes,” I murmur when I’m so close I can feel the climax pounding against me. “Oh, Damien, yes.”
He thrusts harder, his mouth closing over mine. I cling to his back, my hands sliding down to cup his ass, wanting to feel him deeper, and deeper still. And then, suddenly, the tempo of his thrusts increase, and his weight is pushing me into the mattress, and I feel the tension inside me growing and growing, until finally Damien growls in my ear for me to come with him—to explode with him.
And as if his voice is a command, I shatter under the force of his will, a billion points of light bursting from me, as pleasure rips me apart completely.
I can only tremble and breathe and cling to Damien until the orgasm fades. Then he pulls me close and I mold my body against his.
“I love you, baby,” he says.
“I love you, too.” My voice is thin, my eyelids heavy. And the last thing I think as sleep draws me under is that tomorrow, everything will change.
And I really can’t wait.
I flash a nervous smile at Damien as we approach the door of the adoption agency. His left hand is twined with my right, and in my left I hold the photo I’d printed off the Internet of the little girl we’ve begun to call Lara. The child I hope will soon be our daughter.
“You’re sure?” Damien asks. “If you tell them everything, they may say no. Not let us adopt. And it all may come out—you and I both know there are no secrets that are safe.”
I nod, knowing that he’s right. If I don’t tell and they find out, we’ll be denied for sure. If I do tell, I’ll end up in a room with a psychologist who will decide if I’m fit to adopt. I’ll have to pour out my heart, my history. I’ll have to open up in a way I haven’t opened up to anyone but Damien. And it will be painful and horrible and embarrassing.
It will also be worth it.
“They won’t deny us,” I say. “Maybe I am a cutter. Maybe I always will be. But I’m a cutter who got it under control. Who doesn’t need the blade anymore. Because of you,” I add, and he squeezes my hand.
I draw in a breath. “More important, I’ll be a damn good mom.”
“You will,” he says. “You absolutely will.”
“And if they deny us, we’ll try another country or another agency or private adoption. Or we’ll have a baby ourselves. The odds aren’t entirely against us,” I add, though the thought of multiple miscarriages before we finally hit that magical statistic makes me want to cry right then.
“I don’t want you to go through that again,” he says, following my thoughts.
“I would, though. Because I want this. I’m certain of it. More certain than I’ve been about anything,” I add, looking at him. “Except you.”
“I love you,” he says.
And then he opens the door, and we step through it into our future.
Epilogue
I laugh as I step into the jet’s doorway and see the Welcome Home sign held up between Jamie and Ryan on the tarmac below. I descend the ramp, our twenty-month-old daughter clinging to me like a little monkey, and Damien following closely behind. “I think everyone we’ve ever met is here,” I say, looking around at the crowd of friends and family gathered in front of one of the Stark hangars at the Santa Monica Airport. Jamie and Ryan, Sylvia and Jackson and their kids, Evelyn and my dad. Ollie’s here, too, as is Sofia, along with Dallas and Jane, Cass and Siobhan, Lyle and Noah and Wyatt. Rachel and Edward and at least two dozen other people from Stark International, as well.
“You’re sure you don’t mind?” We’re in bed, and I’m propped up beside him, my fingertip tracing patterns on his chest as I run down the drama with my mother. “Paying to get her out of our hair? I think it’s money well spent.”
I sigh, relieved. “Good. I know I should have asked first, but—”
“It’s your money, too,” he reminds me, which is a little fact I never seem to remember.
“Do you think she’ll tell the agency anyway? About my cutting, I mean? Once she has the deed to the house, there’s not much we can do. At least not easily. And she could tell them anonymously, so we couldn’t even prove it as her.”
“She might,” Damien says. “I wouldn’t put it past her.”
I close my eyes, then blow out a breath. “It won’t matter if she does. I’m going to tell them myself.”
He shifts, then tilts my chin up so that I’m looking straight at him. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “Better to be upfront. Besides, I want to do this right. They do an evaluation. They talk to the family beforehand. I don’t want to have to dodge questions. I want to just be me. The real me, with no mask at all.”
“No child could ask for a better mother.”
I quirk a brow as I look at him. “Hopefully, the agency and China will agree with you.”
I push myself up to sitting, my mind still going over the conversation with my mother.
“What is it?” Damien asks.
“It’s just . . . well, she said I can’t stand on my own. That if you leave, it would destroy me.” I swallow, then look at him. “She’s right, you know. I love you so damn much.”
He shakes his head. “Love isn’t reliance, baby.” He strokes my hair, his eyes looking deep into mine. “The truth is, you can stand on your own. But you choose to stand with me.”
“Yes.” The word is almost a gasp, and I cling to him as relief and understanding floods through me. “Yes,” I repeat. “I choose you.”
“And that makes me a very lucky man.”
“Damien?”
“Yes?”
“Would you make love to me now?”
I feel the vibrations of his low chuckle in his chest. “Baby,” he says, rolling over and trapping me beneath him, “it would be my pleasure.”
Slowly, he peels off the T-shirt I’m wearing, leaving me naked beneath him. He does the same with his sweatpants, tossing them in a heap on the floor. He kisses me sweetly, his hands caressing me, gentle strokes. Sensual movements.
There is nothing wild about the way we make love tonight, and yet it is no less passionate than when he takes me hard and fast, claiming me with such fervor it leaves me breathless.
Tonight, it’s tender kisses that take my breath away. And when he spreads my legs and slides inside me, our eyes stay locked and he thrusts inside me, my hips rising in a matching rhythm that draws him in deeper and deeper, until we feel like one person, the boundaries between where I end and he begins merging together.
“Yes,” I murmur when I’m so close I can feel the climax pounding against me. “Oh, Damien, yes.”
He thrusts harder, his mouth closing over mine. I cling to his back, my hands sliding down to cup his ass, wanting to feel him deeper, and deeper still. And then, suddenly, the tempo of his thrusts increase, and his weight is pushing me into the mattress, and I feel the tension inside me growing and growing, until finally Damien growls in my ear for me to come with him—to explode with him.
And as if his voice is a command, I shatter under the force of his will, a billion points of light bursting from me, as pleasure rips me apart completely.
I can only tremble and breathe and cling to Damien until the orgasm fades. Then he pulls me close and I mold my body against his.
“I love you, baby,” he says.
“I love you, too.” My voice is thin, my eyelids heavy. And the last thing I think as sleep draws me under is that tomorrow, everything will change.
And I really can’t wait.
I flash a nervous smile at Damien as we approach the door of the adoption agency. His left hand is twined with my right, and in my left I hold the photo I’d printed off the Internet of the little girl we’ve begun to call Lara. The child I hope will soon be our daughter.
“You’re sure?” Damien asks. “If you tell them everything, they may say no. Not let us adopt. And it all may come out—you and I both know there are no secrets that are safe.”
I nod, knowing that he’s right. If I don’t tell and they find out, we’ll be denied for sure. If I do tell, I’ll end up in a room with a psychologist who will decide if I’m fit to adopt. I’ll have to pour out my heart, my history. I’ll have to open up in a way I haven’t opened up to anyone but Damien. And it will be painful and horrible and embarrassing.
It will also be worth it.
“They won’t deny us,” I say. “Maybe I am a cutter. Maybe I always will be. But I’m a cutter who got it under control. Who doesn’t need the blade anymore. Because of you,” I add, and he squeezes my hand.
I draw in a breath. “More important, I’ll be a damn good mom.”
“You will,” he says. “You absolutely will.”
“And if they deny us, we’ll try another country or another agency or private adoption. Or we’ll have a baby ourselves. The odds aren’t entirely against us,” I add, though the thought of multiple miscarriages before we finally hit that magical statistic makes me want to cry right then.
“I don’t want you to go through that again,” he says, following my thoughts.
“I would, though. Because I want this. I’m certain of it. More certain than I’ve been about anything,” I add, looking at him. “Except you.”
“I love you,” he says.
And then he opens the door, and we step through it into our future.
Epilogue
I laugh as I step into the jet’s doorway and see the Welcome Home sign held up between Jamie and Ryan on the tarmac below. I descend the ramp, our twenty-month-old daughter clinging to me like a little monkey, and Damien following closely behind. “I think everyone we’ve ever met is here,” I say, looking around at the crowd of friends and family gathered in front of one of the Stark hangars at the Santa Monica Airport. Jamie and Ryan, Sylvia and Jackson and their kids, Evelyn and my dad. Ollie’s here, too, as is Sofia, along with Dallas and Jane, Cass and Siobhan, Lyle and Noah and Wyatt. Rachel and Edward and at least two dozen other people from Stark International, as well.
