Bayou

Chapter 23 ~ The Giver

Chapter 23

I sat like that for a long time, absorbing all Julia had said, what it all meant. All the years I'd wished for a family, I'd failed to realize how lucky I was to have found one. It was more than so many got. Julia and Merle were more than any person could hope for. It didn't matter that they weren't blood. They were mine, and they wanted me. They accepted me.

The story she'd just shared was so similar to my own. I'd always known she was wise. I'd always felt like Julia understood me better than anyone, and now, I knew just how true that was. She did understand, and the fact that she was able to relinquish her guilt meant more than she could ever know. Looking at her, I couldn't imagine that ever being her fault. So, what did that say for me? Did that mean that my failures were just as she'd said? Regrets and nothing more? Had I been needlessly punishing myself for things I couldn't control? The night Croc had forced me to realize my deal with Danny hadn't been a deal at all flashed through my mind. He'd known, even then, yet I was still blaming myself. I was still loathing myself, denying myself joy as self-punishment.

The front door opened, and Croc exited as if Julia had shoved him out. I imagined she had and grinned.

He cleared his throat and shuffled from one foot to the other. "Are you okay?"

I grunted, then stood and turned to get a better look at him. I couldn't deny her logic, not on this. Not with him. All he'd proven himself to be. All he'd done, and all he was still willing to do for not just me, but all of us. "Julia said you two had a disagreement."

His lips pursed. "We did."

"That's out of character. Since when do you argue with Julia?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit I'd noticed long ago. I'd noticed a lot about him. We'd grown closer than I'd ever expected I could be with a man. I knew his favorite foods. How he liked his fish. I knew what time of day he always wanted to swim, and his favorite channels to travel down. I could read his moods, even when he did his best to hide how he was feeling. I knew him like I'd never known anyone before.

"I don't think she's right about this," he said.

"She probably is." The way his eyes widened almost made me laugh. Instead, I focused on the space between us, wanting it to disappear. He was right here. We were right here, right then, and there was no guarantee of tomorrow. "You should." I paused, unsure yet never more certain. "You should probably just do whatever she says."

His Adam's Apple bobbed, and he took one pointed step forward. "You don't mean that. You don't know what it is."

"I do." I stepped toward him as well. An invisible rope tugged, urging us together. It was what was meant to happen. It was the answer to everything, all that had occurred, all the bumps along my road that led me to this place. "She told me what she thinks." I swallowed the lump of nerves clogging my throat. "I...I think she's right."

He stood frozen, stunned. "You do?" Another step forward, his hand extended.

I closed the gap and took his fingers in mine. "I do."

He stared down at me, jaw tight, eyes searching.

I let go. I released my demons and guilt. I relinquished my excuses and focused solely on the moment, on what I wanted, on what I'd been denying myself since we'd arrived. He'd single handedly worked his way behind my walls without breaking them. He hadn't forced his way inside. He hadn't taken or demanded. He'd waited by the gate, patient, understanding. He'd patched the holes others had created and replaced the pieces I'd lost along the way.

I reached up and clasped his shoulder, tugging him down to me. Our lips locked, and his parted, soft and pliant, welcoming and submissive. He gave himself, taking nothing, and this time, it was me who explored and learned. I touched his face, memorized his angles, then his neck, his shoulders, his biceps, his hands. I linked my fingers through his and pulled his arms around me.

He held me close, bending his back forward and molding my body into his. Every move we made flowed like the water: cool, natural, fluid.

He lifted my legs around his waist without breaking the contact of our mouths. I clung to him as he scaled the side of the house, glancing between his progress and my eyes, his gaze hooded and dark.

When we reached the top, he laid me beneath him on the pile of worn blankets he called his bed. Then, we just were. No judgements or questions. No second guesses or worries. He didn't try to press for more. He didn't demand or take the way so many others had in the past.

All the times I'd thought I'd given myself, I hadn't. All the times I thought a man had taken me had been false. I hadn't been there. I'd floated in whatever space I went when I wanted to disappear and hung suspended in a void, out of body, out of mind, distant. But there was no distance with Croc. He covered and surrounded every sense, every nerve, every inch of skin. He followed my direction, only going where I led him with no thought about his own needs. He was beautiful and patient, and I wanted him in a way I'd never wanted anything before.

His hands roamed, going farther than he'd ever gone before, under my shirt, over my breasts, exploring my body without pause or hesitation. He hummed low in his throat, the sound vibrating inside his chest. His fingers moved to my jeans and deftly undid the button, and he broke the kiss to suck in a sharp breath as he pushed them down to my knees. I shivered with need, unable to find the voice needed to beg him to keep going.

He ran the tip of his finger under the waistband of my lilac panties, then met my gaze, questioning, seeking permission. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

I shook my head. "Don't stop."

He groaned and kissed me hard, sliding his hand beneath the fabric and exploring what I kept hidden there. An army of chills marched down my spine, and I arched upward like a cat whose owner had found the perfect place to scratch. I moaned into his mouth, clung to his neck, moved against his hand, and just like with everything else, Croc learned and studied and mastered his task.

When I tried to reach for him, to move further, he stopped me, pinning me to the blankets. "This is different," he murmured against my lips. "I don't want to take from you, little fish. I want to give."

And he did. He gave until my head spun, my thoughts swirled, and all that existed was the feel of his touch, the taste of his mouth, the sound of my cries mingling with his harsh breaths. He lifted me up, high enough to rise above all the pain, all the memories, all the regrets. They were nothing but distant specs, too far away to hold any meaning. Then, when I reached the top, teetering, he held me tight and tipped me over the edge, then kept me locked in his arms as I floated back down to Earth.

I clung to him, shivering and boneless.

Croc whispered against my skin, too soft for me to make out the words but reverent enough for me to know their meaning. He praised me in between each press of his mouth against my neck, my jaw, breaths ragged and sharp. He removed his hand and lifted it to help support his weight.

I pressed my lips to his shoulders and held him closer. "Are you okay?"

He nodded and rolled, pulling me into his chest and holding me close with one arm. "Just let me hold you a while."

I nodded and studied his face, surprised that he'd want to stop but enamored that he did. It was another way in which he differed from what I was used to, and if he wanted to take it slow, I wouldn't be the one to argue. I settled closer and relaxed, allowing the night sounds and cool air to lull me through the contentment he'd created.