Page 147 of Nineteen Letters
She’s soaked and more than ready for me, but I still take a few minutes to work her over before manoeuvring myself between her parted legs.
I push up onto my elbows, relieving her of my weight. My gaze meets hers, and although I’m still feeling unsure about this, when she reaches up to cup my jaw and says, “I love you, Brax,” all my resolve crumbles.
My eyes immediately clench shut as my forehead rests against her shoulder. A lump the size of a golf ball has now formed in the back of my throat, and I’m afraid I might do something stupid, and very unmanly, like weep.
“Shit, Jem,” I mutter, but when my voice cracks, I give myself away.
Trying my best to ignore everything I’m feeling, I grasp hold of my dick, stroking it a few times before lining myself up.I need the distraction.The last thing I want is to succumb to the kaleidoscope of emotions that are now simmering to the surface.
The moment I slide the tip inside her sweet heaven, a strangled noise bubbles in the back of my throat.
Burying my face in the crook of her neck, I roll my hips forward, thrusting to the hilt. I pause briefly, basking in the knowledge that this nightmare chapter in our lives may finally be closing.
She’s here, she loves me, and the darkness that’s enveloped me for far too long fades away. That tiny flicker inside—the one that never gave up—is now burning so brightly it fills my entire body with warmth.
I’m home.
I begin rocking my hips and Jemma’s legs encircle my waist. The heels of her feet dig into my arse cheeks, drawing me closer, and it’s just like old times.
It limits my movements, making my thrusts languid and short, but I’m okay with that. I need to take things slow if I want this to last.
“Oh, god, Braxton,” she mewls, pushing her head back into the pillow and arching her spine off the bed. “You feel so good.”
She feels good too. Better than good. She feels like she’smineagain.
“Love me like you used to,” she whispers. “How you did in your letters and my dream. With the heat of a thousand suns. I want to feel it in the depths of my soul.”
Drawing back, I drive straight back in. “I love you, Jem,” I grunt against her skin. “So damn much.”
That heavy weight that has been crushing down on my chest since the accident is no longer there. I feel lighter than I have in a very long time.
After the storm comes calm.
Epilogue
Braxton
Four years later …
Ilie perfectly still as she tips the last bucket of sand on my chest and pats it down tightly, just like I taught her. I’m buried right up to my neck. She’s beaming as she stands and admires her handiwork. I smile at the joy I see reflected in her beautiful blue eyes. They’re my mother’s eyes, and every time I gaze into them, I feel like a part of her is still with me. My beautiful daughter even bears her name …Grace. Grace Isabella Spencer.
The moment she was born was one of the happiest of my life. I can’t even put into words how overwhelmed I felt looking down at my precious baby girl in my wife’s arms. After losing our first child all those years ago, and then almost losing Jemma, that moment seemed surreal.
My mind drifts back to that day.“She looks just like you,”Jemma whispered.“I know we already had a girl’s name picked out, but would you mind if we called her Grace instead … after your mother?”
I remember wiping the tears from my eyes as I tried not to completely break down at her suggestion.“I’d love that.”
“Daddy buried,” Grace says, pulling me back to reality.
The smile on her sweet face grows as she rubs her chubby little hands together to remove the sand that’s stuck to them.
“You did a great job, princess.”
I turn my head slightly and watch as she toddles over to her bucket, the one full of shells. Every weekend we walk along the beach together and collect them. It has become our ritual. Some mornings I wake and she’s already standing beside my bed waiting, with her pink bucket in her hand.
She giggles as she pretends to sneak back to me. I twist my head back, gazing up at the sky like I’m oblivious to what she’s about to do. She does this to me every time. She saw Jem do it once and squealed with delight when I broke free from my confines, playfully tackling her mother to the sand.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I ask as she places two cone-shaped shells on my chest. She buries the base in the sand, so the pointed ends are facing upwards.
