Reviving Haven Page 23

  Why did I push her to move in with me? Because when she isn’t with me, I do bad things. I let the craving pull me under. I’m letting my addiction control me. Fuck, I’m weak. I’m going to ruin it, ruin us by pushing too hard. I despise the person I am when I’m not with her.

  How could I threaten her by telling her if she doesn’t trust me, we’re done? She’ll never trust me now. I can never walk away from her; I’m in too deep. I’m afraid of what will happen if I lose her, what I would become. I have to make this up to her. I need to tell her how sorry I am, that she’s everything, and that without her, I’ll be nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Haven

  I somehow make it through the day. More or less, I just seem to exist rather than actually be present. I decide to leave a little before five-thirty. I tell Denise she can close up. I think she knows I’m upset.

  I need my pills. I need to be in a state of denial.

  It starts raining on the way home. By the time I pull into the garage, it’s a deluge. We hardly ever get rain in August, and even though it’s unusual, it’s a welcome change. I’ve always liked the rain. For some reason it comforts me.

  Ten minutes later, I hear Weezie’s car. At least I will be alone tonight. It’s a Friday night, so Weezie will be going out.

  “Hey, girlfriend didn’t expect to see you, thought you’d be at the boy toy’s house.” She grins, tossing her briefcase down and kicking off her shoes.

  I lose it. Tears burst forth and I start crying uncontrollably. It’s the kind of crying where you can’t even speak and then a bad case of the hiccups plagues you. The kind of crying you do when you’re seventeen, and your boyfriend breaks up with you and you feel like you’re going to perish. I’m officially acting like a brokenhearted schoolgirl, and I can see it in Weezie’s face. First she panics, then she gets pissed.

  “I knew it, that mother fucker!” she yells, pulling me into a bear hug.

  I’m sobbing so hard I can’t form words that make sense. Weezie holds me as she guides me to the recliner. Once I’m sitting, she gets a bottle of wine with two glasses and a box of tissue. As she pours wine with one hand, she uses her other hand to pull off my shoes.

  “Haven, talk to me,” she says in a soft yet demanding tone.

  “I . . . he . . . we . . .” I’m blubbering incoherently.

  I take some tissues to blow my nose and dab my eyes.

  “Sweetie, you have to give me a little more information. It’s hard for me to put a hit on the guy if I don’t know what the asshole has done.” Her voice is calm as she sips her wine.

  “He wanted to . . . to . . . pay off your condo so I’d move in with him.” I sputter.

  “Oh my God, that fucking bastard . . . he should die right now,” Weezie replies, as she tilts her head away from me attempting to stifle a chuckle.

  “It’s not funny, Weeze. Latch went ballistic when I said no, I mean he got mad in a scary way. It’s hard to explain.” I ball the tissue tightly in my hand.

  Weezie sets her wine on the coffee table, leans over to me and pushes my hair out of my face.

  “Haven, did he touch you?” Weezie’s voice sounds altered as she grits her teeth.

  I shake my head several times in response. I never went into any specific details about Jared, and how he threatened to hurt me, but maybe Weezie has figured out more than I gave her credit for.

  “We had a fight, a disagreement. He keeps asking me to move in and I told him no, that I can’t just leave you to pay the entire mortgage. He became totally unhinged.”

  “Do you want to move in with him, Haven?” Weezie asks.

  I pick up my wine and take a few sips.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever cared about anyone as much as I care about Latch, but it’s too soon. I’m still freaked out about the whole love thing and the age thing. Rather than tell him that, I told him about the mortgage, which isn’t a lie. I would never saddle you with paying that by yourself. You’ve been so good to me.”

  “First of all, Haven, I’m pretty sure I can pay the entire mortgage myself. So if living with him is something you want to do, I will support you, even though, personally, I agree with you—it’s too soon. I love you. You’ll always have a home here no matter what. Don’t let your doubts cloud your possibility for love,” Weezie says as she put her arm around me.

  I lay my head on her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter now. He broke up with me,” I sigh.

  Weezie leans into me, pressing her forehead against mine. “His loss, Latch McKay has no idea how wonderful you are, or how perfect you would have been for him.”

  I get up, refilling my wine glass and starting towards my room.

  “I guess this means I’m not meeting Keenan, huh?” Weezie asks loudly.

  “Pretty much on your own there, sista. Younger men suck anyway,” I reply bitterly, turning on my bedroom light.

  “News flash—men sucking is universal, regardless of age,” Weezie replies, chuckling.

  I take a bath and change into shorts and a nightshirt. Settling into my bed, I turn on the TV for a while. Weezie pokes her head in about an hour later and she’s all dressed up.

  “You look nice,” I say as I turn the TV volume down.

  “Have you eaten?” Weezie asks.

  “Not hungry, but maybe later,” I mumble, clicking the remote.

  “You know if you want me to, I can stay here with you. I don’t mind.”

  “Hell no, there’s nothing you can do here. Just go have your night out. Go do what you do.” My lips curl into a half smile because I know, full well, that she is planning to get laid. It’s a Friday staple in her diet.

  “I feel like a shitty BFF for leaving you,” she snivels.

  “Just go, please. I’ll probably crash by ten anyway.”

  I motion with my hand for her to go away. She closes my bedroom door behind her.

  It’s been hours since Latch had told me we were over. I thought that maybe he’d send flowers, a text or a voicemail. I guess he meant it. I suppose I could have called him, but what would I have said? Nothing has changed. I’m still not going to move in with him. I don’t understand how he can say he loves me, yet walk away so easily. Tears leak out my eyes again. I grab more tissue along with more wine. Between the crying and the wine, hopefully I will just pass out and forget everything that’s happened.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I feel disoriented when a loud banging wakes me up, and then I realize that someone is knocking on my door, but my head is too fuzzy to discern which door it is. Is it my bedroom door? Is it Weezie? I look at my clock and it reads 11:30 p.m. I get up slowly, moving toward the sound. Weezie and I keep an aluminum bat by the front door—it’s our version of anti-gun protection. I grab the bat and open the peephole for a quick look.

  “Open the door, Haven,” a gruff voice says.

  It’s Latch. I put the bat down and open the door. The security light on the porch is blinding. It’s still raining and he’s soaked. His hair is so drenched that it’s plastered to his head. He edges past me and waits in the living room, dripping water all over the carpet. I can smell the alcohol fumes from the doorway.

  “Stay here and I’ll get you some towels,” I say as I shut the door behind me.

  I grab three towels from the linen closet and hand them to him. He towels off his hair first, making it immediately curly and wild. He looks different, less self-assured, less Latch McKay. He pulls his shirt off. I take it from him and walk back to my bathroom to hang it over the shower door. As I walk out of my bathroom, Latch is waiting for me. His bare chest is damp from the rain, glistening like a beacon of lust and begging for my touch. Latch reaches out, taking my hand and placing it over his heart. My breath hitches when my hand comes in contact with his chest.

  “I can’t be without you, leannán, I don’t want to even try,” he chokes out quietly.

  “I don’t want to be without you either,” I reply, whispering in return.

 
I caress his chest, then move my hand down to linger on his abdomen.

  “I’m so sorry I scared you. I would never hurt you. Please believe me, Haven. I love you. It kills me to think that you’re afraid of me. It made me crazy.”

  Maybe it’s the wine, or maybe it’s all the crying and the overwhelming emptiness I felt when I thought I’d lost him, but I have to be with him. I feel like I’ll die if I’m not.

  I run my hand back up his chest, reaching to his neck and pulling his head down to meet my mouth. His arms wind around me at the same time, and I feel the power and the passion in his embrace and his lips devour mine. Our tongues traipse a delectable dance, and I nip and suckle his lips with every breath I can steal while fused to his mouth. I trace the tip of my tongue over his lips and hear him groan, and then our mouths meld together in a carnal kiss that threatens to singe me on the spot.

  I know he’s been drinking heavily. His mouth tastes like scotch, and after a few more minutes of make out madness, I’ll be drunk too. I don’t care right now, especially when his tongue tangles itself around mine and then mimics the deep fucking for which my body is begging.

  Yeah, that’s right . . . I said fucking. Tonight, I’m ripping up my prim and proper card. Weezie is fist pumping the air right now.

  I’m so turned on by our hot, desperate kisses that I arch into him, pressing my breasts into his chest. I can feel his wet pants brush against my legs, and I take that cue to pull back and fumble with the top button of his jeans. I stare straight into his eyes as I pop each button, and his eyes widen slightly as he stares back at me, as if he’s seeing me in a different light.

  Good. Because I’m hungry, and he doesn’t have any underwear on, of course.

  Perfect.

  For a moment, I feel like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room and the only thing I’m aware of is my heart pounding against my ribcage. My blood is singing with a voracious arousal, a type that I haven’t felt before—I’m predatory and I feel incredibly aggressive. And Latch is my prey—I have this overwhelming urge to claim him, to imprint myself on him so he understands that I don’t want to lose him again. The heat in my sex is pulsating and I can’t pull his jeans down fast enough.

  Holy crap, I think I just growled . . .

  His cock juts out, long and wonderfully hard, like veined marble. I shove him backwards toward my bedroom and onto my bed, pushing him until he falls down on the bed. His eyes narrow as he stares at me, and he seems a little shocked with my offensive tactics. I also don’t miss the glint in his darkening gaze or his nostrils flaring slightly as he is undoubtedly waiting for my next move.

  I remove his shoes so I can get his jeans all the way off. I position myself on top and straddle him. His hands slide under my nightshirt, palming one breast and then the other. He yanks the shirt over my head and tosses it on the floor. His mouth zeroes in on my breasts, and his lips suckle one nipple as his fingers lightly pinch the other, making them heavy and aching with need. His hands tug on my shorts. I rise up slightly so he can pull them off, leaving me in just my panties. Latch growls and his hand dives under my thong, and two fingers immediately penetrate my sex.

  “Jesus, I love how wet I make you.” His accent is noticeably thicker, most likely because he’s intoxicated.

  “I need you inside me,” I moan.

  He groans as he runs his hands over my ass. I feel his fingers wet with my arousal as he touches me. He pushes them back into my sex, and that almost does me in. My head flies back and I blindly focus on the ceiling as I start bucking slowly, groaning at the incredible sensations of riding his fingers while he’s beneath me. I have never been penetrated in this position, and the pleasure has my body humming with its intensity.

  “You’re on top, baby. You’re in charge. Tell me what you want, anything . . . I’m yours,” he mumbles.

  My head snaps forward and I pierce him with a hot look. “Take off my underwear—tear them,” I demand. Latch is more than happy to comply as I feel them rip away from my body.

  I center myself back on top of him. His eyes are partially closed and his face shows hunger, need. Raw lust has taken over. I reach beneath me and guide his cock, easing just the engorged head into my sex and rubbing it. I pull it back out. The friction is almost too much. My juices are flowing and dripping down his cock, making it wet and slippery in my hand. I keep repeating the process until I hear Latch swear.

  “Leannán, if you keep it up, I’ll be coming, but not inside of you. Stop torturing me. Let me fuck you, please.” His voice is strained.

  Oh, yes . . . he’s begging for me. I think I like it.

  I slide myself along his length, feeling Latch squirm in anticipated release. I lean forward then ease myself down on him until he’s halfway in. Then I straighten and thrust myself onto his throbbing length. We both cry out at the same time and my hands clutch at his chest. He’s so deep inside me that I am stretched to capacity. I’m not sure if it’s the position or the sense of almost losing him, but the pleasure that’s spiking through my body is one I’ve never known.

  Latch’s hands hold onto my hips as he lifts me up slightly, then down, driving his hard shaft into my sex. We are both gasping for air as our bodies sync our movements, slapping against each other, moving faster and faster.

  “More . . .” I cry out desperately.

  Latch grunts and grips my hips tightly, helping me ride his cock by repeatedly moving me up and down hard and fast while snapping his hips upward, tunneling into me mercilessly.

  My climax is rising to meteoric levels and I can feel Latch swelling inside me—he’ll be coming soon too. I slide my hand to my convulsing sex and use my fingers to manipulate my engorged clit, stroking it in tight circles. I cry out again, throwing my head back in ecstasy, and then Latch goes crazy. A feral noise comes from his throat and he’s yelling something in Gaelic—I have no idea what he’s saying, but I feel the action of his words. My legs are shaking and my body is ready to explode. I feel my sex clutch his cock tightly as he thrusts into me twice more and then he slams me down, burying his cock deep inside of me. He shouts my name and I feel his hot seed rush into me. I scream as I feel myself fall into that same euphoric bliss, my nails digging into his shoulders as my head slumps forward onto his chest.

  We’re both panting, trying to catch our breaths after our primal lovemaking. He’s still inside me, but that’s exactly where I want him when I lower myself to feel his chest press against mine. He brushes his lips against mine and I reach up to his face, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. They are damp with rain and the sweat from our bodies. His eyes glimmer with an amazing cobalt blue and rimmed in a dark jade green. I kiss him on his forehead, his eyelids, and on his nose, and I know he loves the tenderness. As I feel his erection diminish, I slide off him and stretch my sated body beside him. Latch takes my hand, kissing the inside of my palm.

  “I love you, baby.” His voice sounds tired but fulfilled.

  I turn, spooning myself into his body and laying my arm across his waist. The only sounds are that of the rain hitting the gutter outside my bedroom. His breathing has evened out, but I can tell he’s still awake. He tucks my body closer to him.

  “Don’t ever leave me, leannán.”

  A few minutes later, he’s sound asleep. I get up to use the bathroom, taking my clothes and his with me. Once inside, I wash up and get dressed. I pick his wet jeans off the floor and toss them over the shower door with his shirt.

  I’m developing some strong feelings for him. I realize now I can never have a casual relationship with Latch. I doubt if any woman could—she would always want more.

  I crawl back into the bed and snuggle up to him. He turns slightly, laying his arm across me. I lean into him, pressing my face into his neck and placing my hand on top of his.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  A loud scream jars me from my sleep. Daylight streams through my windows and Latch is not beside me. I throw the covers aside, following the sound of voices. As
I walk into the kitchen, I see him at the counter, making coffee, and Weezie red faced in her t-shirt and boy shorts. I clear my throat as I stifle a chuckle. I wish I had a camera right now. Latch turns around and smiles. Yeah, there it is—that panty-melting smile. Yum.

  Oh, good God, no wonder Weezie’s mute. Hell, I’m almost speechless. Latch is barefoot, his jeans are unbuttoned at the top and hang low on his hips, and he’s bare-chested, muscled, tan and tattooed. And he has sex hair.

  “Really . . .” was all I could muster considering my mind went to that very naughty place, thinking if Weezie wasn’t here right now, I’m pretty sure we’d be having sex on the kitchen counter.

  “What?” he asks, trying to look innocent. “Just thought I’d make coffee, but I wasn’t actually expecting to run into your roomy.” For some reason, his accent inflects a slightly thicker Scottish burr.

  I choke back a snort. Weezie glares at me, then at Latch. However, the look she’s giving Latch is more of a head to toe once over than a glare. I’ve never seen her so flustered by a man. She attempts to tug her shirt down, making sure her boy shorts are covered.

  “I forgot he was here. I wasn’t even sure if he spent the night,” Weezie explains.

  I walk to the cabinet and pull out three mugs, and then stroll to the refrigerator to get the creamer.