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Channing paced in her living room that night, jumping at every car that passed, hoping it was Anderson.
She grabbed her head, not being able to get Sonjay’s phone call out her head.
Nate Lancaster had taken his life with a bullet, and Channing’s soul ached with remorse and pity realizing why her forgiveness had been so important.
“He knew he was going to do it.” She covered her trembling lips. “That’s why he came to the hospital.”
A car pulled into the driveway, and she yanked open her front door.
Anderson hopped onto the porch and Channing jumped into his arms. “Are you all right?”
“You came.”
“Of course I did. You can’t blame yourself.”
“I said I wanted him to die.” She pulled him through the doorway, still holding him. “God, I didn’t mean it.”
He took her to the couch and set her on the indigo cushion. “Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
He clasped her cheeks. “Nate took his own life, and it wasn’t your fault. Presley is the victim in this.”
“They’re both victims, Anderson.” She sniffed. “Nate is dead because he couldn’t handle what happened. Yes, I said I hated him but I didn’t mean it. I wanted him to pay for what he’d done. Damn it, why did he do it?” She walked to the ivy plant snuggled in the corner by the sash window. “I should’ve known when he came to the hospital.”
“He was at the hospital?”
“Came to see Presley this morning.” She stroked the ivy’s flat leaves. “He wanted me to forgive him so he could go in peace. There are no winners in this.” She sat beside him. “How did you find out?”
“Klein called me.”
“Where were you?”
“Interviewing people for the story. It’s amazing how many opinions you’ll get about a situation.”
As shocking to her as it probably was to him, Channing kissed him, guided by a need so great she’d die if she didn’t fulfill it. “I don’t wanna talk.”
Narrowing his eyes, he took her waist, ramming his lips against hers.
His kisses made everything disappear: Nate’s suicide, her feelings of inadequacy, any confusion as to if this were right or wrong. Nothing mattered when she was in Anderson’s arms. He’d been the rescue she’d needed. That bridge of security every woman longed for in the man who loved them.
He tugged at her cotton tank top as she flung off his shirt.
They wrestled each other out of their clothes, clawing and scratching because they couldn’t get the other naked fast enough.
He got on one knee, his mouth ravaging the nipples of her petite, pear-shaped breasts.
“Mm.” She massaged his golden hair, nervous of being with a man again.
“Sh.” He sucked her nipple while staring her in the eyes. “It’s okay, Channing. This is right.”
“It’s been a while for me.”
“It’s just like a riding a bike.” He snickered. “You can ride a bike can’t you?”
She nodded.
“Good.” His mouth found hers again, the luscious curves of his lips soothing her. “Pretend I’m a bike and ride me.”
All fear disappeared and she gave his nipples the same attention he’d given hers.
“Oh.” A deep growl escaped him. “I love it.”
She kept sucking the tight, pink buds, his manly, musk hungering her clit.
He got on his knees, spread her legs and his hot, rough tongue forced a scream from her that could shattered the walls.
“Mm.” He sniffed her, kissing her soggy labia. “How was that?”
“You have to ask?” She snatched off his black boxer briefs, feasting her sight on the prize he hid so well.
He looked at her, his eyes desperate for approval.
She shoved the potpourri bowl, remotes, and cell phone aside and shoved his tall, skinny ass on the coffee table.
His pupils dilated as she massaged his semi-hard shaft.
“Ooh.” He leaned back, clenching the table. “Oh, Channing. Yes.”
She brushed her lips against the tip, easing him into her mouth.
He held her head and though she wasn’t crazy about people touching her hair, she wouldn’t fuck this up by telling him.
She inched him further as she sucked, wondering if he were long enough to reach her throat.
“Oh, right there.” His legs quivered. “Channing.” He gripped her head. “Jesus. Fuck.”
She snickered, trying not to destroy her rhythm. When a man used the Lord’s name in vain you were working the shit out that dick.
Anderson whimpered and begged, his long legs shaking.
She could finally show him how much she appreciated him and needed her in his life.
He took her head, fucking it as the prickly hairs of his thighs tickled her face.
“Mm.” She gurgled on purpose, remembering men loved the sound.
“Yes.” Anderson held her head steady as he unloaded his banana-flavored nectar inside her mouth.
She wouldn’t swallow though. “Pass me that cup,” she mumbled.
He did and she spit into it.
“You offended?” She wiped the side of her mouth.
He grinned. “I don’t care what you do with it, just promise to suck me off like that every time I come over.”
She laughed, stroking his thighs. “You’re so bad.”
“Oh, baby I’m worse than that.” He pulled a pack of condoms out his pants and had one on him before she could blink.
She smirked. “Something tells me you’ve done this before.”
“Hmm, maybe once or twice.” He laughed, pulling her from the floor. “But it’s been a long time since it’s meant so much.”
As he kissed her breasts and belly button, she wanted to ask questions about his ex-wife for some reason.
“Ah.” He lowered her onto his rock-hard shaft, her pussy adjusting to the thick veins and bulky ridge.
All kinds of crazy shit went through her mind. She imagined her, he and Presley in a huge house with a white picket fence. Presley playing with a dog while Anderson and Channing watched her from their rocking chairs on the porch.
Channing didn’t even like dogs.
“Yes.” He rocked her faster, slapping her ass. “Like that, Channing.”
“Slow it down.”
Anderson squinted, cocking his head.
Shit, she didn’t care if he wanted to go faster. This was her house, her moment and at least for tonight, her dick.
“Yes.” She clutched his shoulders, gyrating slowly to tease him. “I can feel every inch of you.”
His mouth puckered through each grunt. “Fuck me, Channing. That’s it.”
She loved looking at his face because a man’s expression said more during sex than his body ever could.
His eyes told her he would protect her or die before letting anyone hurt her.
She squeezed against him, his astonishing cock urging her to come.
His face contorted into a desperate plea for desire as if her body was all he needed.
They pounded each other, his natural, man odor intensifying from the rhythm of their bodies.
Channing didn’t get the usual buildup she experienced from an orgasm. Instead of a big, earth-shattering climax, it came in subtle waves of relief as if she’d been reborn.
It was the best sex she’d ever had.
Anderson’s dick spread within her walls and he squeezed his eyes shut as an earsplitting, house-shaking scream tore from his throat.
His facial muscles relaxed, and he grinned with his tongue dangling out his mouth. “My goal was to cheer you up.” He pinched her butt cheek. “I guess I did.”
Channing laughed, plunging her head into his chest.