Page 19 of Claimed By the Don

I whisper to her, “Do you want to take this slow?”

“We never did take it slow,” she says with a soft laugh. “It sounds stupid, but I’m so used to planning everything out and controlling every last detail. I don’t want to make a timeline or a checklist for this. I want this the way that comes naturally. I didn’t see this coming, never imagined I’d be back with you or that you’d be on my mind all the time. “

“Careful, you’ll crush my ego, making it sound like you haven’t pined for me every day since you left town,” I say, kissing her neck. She tilts her head to give me better access. I take the encouragement and slide my hands up to cover her breasts, loving the heat of her skin, the weight of her breasts, her nipples tightening, stiff when I pluck at them.

“I could do this all day,” I murmur against her ear. “You’re so sensitive. Look at you, so beautiful.”

Daisy reaches back for my neck, bringing my face to hers for a kiss. It’s a relief, that kiss, and I realize how badly I need her. I want to say things that would scare her off. Instead, I kiss her deep and slow, working her mouth even as I track my hand down her belly and dip my fingers in the front of her shorts. Instantly I’m rewarded with her slickness, how wet she is, how much she thinks of me, and how excited our arrangement makes her.

“You can have this anytime you want,” I tell her, nipping her earlobe.

“Really?” she says. “I’m supposed to call you up anytime like I’m ordering an Uber”

“If Uber is providing this kind of service you need to tip really well,” I joke, sucking her neck in a way that draws the sweetest sound from her lips. She turns to me and puts her arms around my neck, her face tipped up to look at me seriously.

“I’m not gonna call you and expect you to drop everything for me.”

“Part of me wants you to. The other part of me—my brain,” I say and she grins, “Knows that we’re responsible adults now, with jobs and family obligations. So, we steal whatever time we can.”

“I’m busy the next few days. I’ve got work, stuff with my mom and her doctor’s appointments.” she trails off.

“Yeah?” I ask.

“I won’t be able to sneak away.” She steps back and leans on the arm of a chair. “I’m playing with fire here. I know better.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean your job was dangerous when we were teenagers. Now it’s about a hundred times more so. It’s just suit-and-tie grown up danger.”

“Hey, you don’t have to worry,” I say, taking her by the arms, “You’re safe with me. You always have been.”

“Until you get stabbed or shot again? Until somebody decides to make a move on the organization and—” she looks so worried, her voice is frantic. I cover her mouth with mine, kiss her until she melts in my arms. I make her feel safe the best way I know how. By making love to her.

When I’m holding her in my arms, she looks up at me, but the worry isn’t gone from her eyes. It makes me feel cold somehow, like she’s not sure about this. When her phone rings, she jumps up, gets dressed and I drive her back to her car so she can take her mom to therapy. She hops out of the truck with a ‘thanks’ and I stop myself from calling after her.

I have a meeting with Grigo to handle and that’s going to take all my communication skills. He’s always been a volatile bastard and that was before my dad insulted him. There’s no time for me to get out of the truck and kiss my lover goodbye.

13

DAISY

Liam runs through the sprayers at the splash pad, chasing another kid and squealing. I stand just outside the splash zone taking pictures of him. He’s having a blast here. We arranged to meet up with a couple kids from his day camp for the afternoon. I sit down after a while and scroll through the photos, cropping them and fixing the lighting, applying different filters. I still like the editing features, and I can’t get it out of my head that when Benny ran across prints of my photos, he framed them. He didn’t toss them in the trash or put them through a shredder for spite. Seeing them there makes me think he never hated me for leaving. I only hated myself.

When I told him I didn’t feel safe, that his job was dangerous—I was hoping against hope that maybe he would be able to convince me it was okay to fall for him again. That things were better now, safer now. I knew better, but I held out hope.

I haven’t seen him in days. He texted me a few times, but he hasn’t stopped by Snip or pushed me to meet up with him. I think about him all the time—giddy and nervous as I was as a teenager. Something I learned from becoming a mom is to putthe anxiety aside and be present in this moment. I do that now, watch my son and feel like I’m consumed by the warmest light because his laughter does that to me.

It makes the whole world beautiful and hopeful again. No matter how many shadows my gloom and worry try to cast, there is always the immediate and inevitable reality of Liam. He’s a positive force, endlessly curious and energetic and vibrant. A chatterbox who is impossible to ignore. Someone has brought speakers and a song comes on that Liam knows. He starts dancing. Not a regular kid dance of happy movement, but some approximation of a line dance.

He concentrates and then slides to the side and brings his feet together, tries to do something with his arms and then turns to execute another step. I’m riveted and trying hard not to laugh. Not because I think it's silly or laughable but because he’s so serious about it and so little that it’s another source of delight. One of the camp kids comes to join him and they practice some footwork together. I watch them try to master it and then dissolve into giggles. It’s adorable.

When the kids start bickering a while later, I pack up and take him home. He’s tired, and I know from long experience that the cranky will only get worse until he gets some sleep. Back at my mom’s I quickly make grilled cheese and fruit salad and make him brush his teeth. He’s almost asleep before his head hits the pillow. I go back out to wash the skillet even though I’m pretty wiped out myself.

“Did you count the splash pad as a bath today?” Mom asks me.

“Yeah. I know I should’ve made him take a bath, but it wasn’t worth the battle.”

“A dirty kid is better than a temper tantrum,” she says. “You have no idea how many times I just let you play in the garden hose and called it a shower. You were the grouchiest little thing at his age,” she smiles, “nobody was going to convince you of anything.”

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