Cherished: The Mountain Man's Babies(18)

"Where did they go?" James asks.

I sigh. "Not sure, George told me Montana... but I don't know any more than that."

"Those fuckers should have to pay," he says, anger in his tone. I've never heard that from him before. He has always been the grin-and-bear-it kind of man, an anchor in the rough seas of life. Not shaken. But now, now he is charged with something different.

I pull up and look at him. "Can't we leave it all behind us? We're together now. It's all that matters."

His eyes are hard, and the day has turned to night and suddenly everything that should be bright and hopeful feels covered in something dark.

"Those men should pay for what they did to you."

"You mean what they did to you and Jonah?" He was the one with broken bones, left for dead.

He shakes his head. "No, to you. I should have taken you from that place before it ever came to that. You say you spent a lifetime being scared—well I was scared too, in ways I've never admitted before. Dammit, Cherish. I should have taken you away and shielded you from this mess. I failed you." He buries his face in his hands, but I refuse to let him think this way.

I pull his hands down, straddling him. Looking deeply into his eyes with intent, blinking my tears away.

"Listen to me, James," I tell him. "You are the man I love, the man who made me a woman and a mother. The man who saw something in a sad little girl and wanted to make her world shine like the stars. And I refuse to let you beat yourself up over the past."

He shakes his head, my tears falling down on his cheek, the salty pain covering us both. He cups my face with his hands, refusing to let go. Just like he's refused to do forever.

"If you want me to forgive myself, you need to forgive yourself too,” he tells me. “We both need to let go of the shit that holds us down. We both need to move forward without regret. Without the past, we wouldn't have this present. And baby, I wouldn't trade this moment for a goddamned thing."

He looks over at our babies, then he looks at me, and he kisses me.

He kisses me until the hurt I've buried deep down surfaces. As our mouths part, and his tongue finds mine, the pain rises like a force, like a spring of water that cleanses us both, washing away the parts of our story we are ashamed of.

Making us whole.





Chapter Twelve





She pulls up her nightgown, slipping it over her head, her full breasts even more beautiful now that I know she is a mother, her fuller figure a fucking altar I want to worship at, knowing what it has been through to bring our children into the world.

Cherish was never like other girls, and now, through her tears, I see she isn't like other women either. She feels everything so deeply, yet holds so much back, but now that she feels safe with me beside her, her walls crumble, and she opens herself to me—offering me all she has to give.

Her hands find my cock as she straddles me, my fingers running over her bare pussy. She's so sweet, and wet, so fragrant and tempting. I bring a finger, covered in her come, to my mouth, wanting to taste her. She is fucking spun sugar and I want another piece of her cunt-candy.

"James, when you touch me I forget to breathe..." She laughs. "Is that bad?"

"If it's bad, then I'm going to hell, love. Because baby, when you touch me, I forget where I am."

She leans over me, lifting her ass, letting my hard cock fill her creamy pussy. She sinks onto me, whimpering in pleasure as she does. Her body rocks over mine, and for just having a set of triplets she is still nice and tight like her body was made for mine.

She moves faster, and my thumb finds her clit, letting her revel in the pleasure of being touched and fucked at the same time. I've only ever been with her, but it's like I know how to work her body over. Like I was made for her in the same way she was made for me.

When she comes, she moans, and I cover her mouth, knowing how hard she worked to nurse and put those babies to sleep. Our babies.

I'm a father. And I am going to make Cherish my wife the first chance I get.

I come in her too, hard and fast, filling her the way I did under the oak tree, knowing I am going to take her again before the sun rises. Knowing I need to run my fingers over her ass, filling her up from behind. She is my gentle flower that is finally in bloom. I want to examine her petals, let her take hold of my stem.

She falls against my chest, exhausted from the talking and the fucking, and when I wrap my arms around her, I sing her to sleep. The song on my lips, one I know she loves: Don't Talk. Put Your Head On My Shoulder. The Beach Boys were always her favorite, and when she begins to breathe heavily, her body cradled in my hold, I know I picked the right one to put her to sleep.



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