"Why don't you come over here and sit with me?" I asked with a grin.
She matched my expression and took slow steps closer. "Oh really. Just to sit, huh?"
I shrugged. "Unless you wanna do more."
She laughed, giving in as she walked over, standing in front of me in nothing but her towel. Her bare knees filled the space between my legs as I let my hands settle on the backs of her thighs, feeling tiny droplets of water against my palms.
Her fingertips ran over my head lightly and she said before that it felt like velvet to her. She continued to rub and my eyes closed as my forehead touched her stomach.
We'd been through things in under a year many couples don't face in a decade. And we survived it all. That spoke volumes to me. It said that we were strong, that we could weather any storm as long as we were together. And I planned to spend a lifetime proving that fact.
I lifted my head to stare up at her and those big, beautiful eyes blinked down at me, eyes filled with the same intense emotion I was sure only mirrored in my own. As I stared, I got a glimpse of my future, our future, and it brought words she and I had never taken lightly, words that we'd only found ourselves able to admit a short time ago.
"I love you, Brynn."
She smiled at that, kinda bashfully.
"I love you, too," she said back. But the most important thing was that I felt them and knew she felt the sincerity in my words as well.
I lifted her hand to my lips and kissed the back of it, honoring this woman who'd given me so much-my daughter, a chance at happiness … hope.
Dark ink staining the side of her index finger caught my eye and I read the phrase, as if I hadn't been the one to etch it there for her only a month ago:
Milagro … miracle.
She was a miracle for many reasons, but most recently she was my miracle. The one who ‘tamed the lion', as Justin put it, the one who showed me love was possible.
Even for me.
I took her in my arms and we made love in the bed we now shared, under the roof that was now hers just as much as it was mine. Everything I had was hers and I'd never deny her a single thing as long as I lived.
She was mine, my woman, my family.
… and I would never let her go.
Thank you so much for reading Marco and Brynn's story! I really, really hope you enjoyed it! Before scrolling down to check out the bonus content, I'd love to hear what you thought of MARCO! Just click this link to review and share your thoughts with other readers. Thanks again for your support and
HAPPY READING!
XOXO,
Raven
The next installment in "The Men of Indecent Exposure" series will follow the charmer of the crew, Justin! Check out his and Sidra's Inspiration Board HERE and then scroll down to read chapter one of their journey!
Justin
The Men of Indecent Exposure, #2
Release date to be announced …
Chapter One
Sidra
"Miss? Miss, are you all right?"
I came to in the arms of a stranger; a middle-aged guy I remembered being seated not too far away on the Metro. He stared down on me now as I blinked, trying to collect my thoughts.
"You went down," he explained. "I almost had you, but I was a couple seconds too late by the time I realized what was happening."
I rubbed the side of my head and closed my eyes, doing all I could to fill in the blanks. The last thing I remembered was rushing off the bus, but making it down the steps and onto the sidewalk was hazy.
That must've been when it started.
"Here, let me help you," the man insisted, offering his work-worn hand when he saw me struggling to stand.
Around us, a sizable crowd of people had started to gather. I wasn't sure how many had witnessed the actual fall and how many had only walked up to see what was going on. Either way, they stared. Some whispered, one or two had smirks on their faces, but I turned away quickly after that, before those smirks turned into laughter.
It was coming. Someone always laughed.
Feeling the heat of embarrassment spread across my cheeks, I glanced down at my knee. A red streak trickled from a gash I found there, where the flesh had torn when it scraped the concrete. It burned like crazy, but compared to other times? This was nothing. It could've been much worse.
"Are you sure you're okay to walk on your own?" the man asked, realizing I didn't intend to rest there. My head swam a little, but the fog seemed to be clearing pretty quickly. That was a good thing because I was running late.
"Don't you think you should go to the hospital?" the man called out to me as I hobbled away, favoring the knee that had taken the blow.
"I'll be fine. Thanks for your help," I shouted back over my shoulder, inching my gray satchel higher up onto my shoulder, doing my best to ignore the questioning eyes of the strangers all around me.
Was I really fine? No, but I had too much to prove to stop and nurse my wounds. I say wounds, plural, because both my palms were scraped pretty badly as well. Most likely in an attempt to catch myself when I realized I was going down. The thing is, I couldn't remember how I sustained any of these injuries. This time or any of the others. There were simply moments of my life, chunks of time that I couldn't account for.
However, after dealing with this all my life, I'd gotten used to it.
My head still swam from the ordeal as I made it further up the sidewalk. I ignored the disorienting sensation as much as I could, promising myself I could lie down, climb back in bed, and bury myself beneath the blankets once I got home. But for now, I had no choice but to keep going.
The heavy door slammed behind me when I entered the building through the back and the only sound after that were the leather soles of my shoes echoing off the cinderblock walls of Indecent Exposure.
My father's legacy.
The one tangible link I had to the man I barely knew.
My role here, this environment … co-managing one of the most, if not the single most, notable male strip clubs here in Houston … it would take some getting used to, but I was up for the challenge. I'd never been known to back down from one.
The moment I got the call from my sister, Ivy, I jumped at the chance. She's never called me for anything before now, much less an opportunity like this. Growing up in two separate households, leading two very separate lives-although, within the same zip code-there wasn't an ounce of closeness between us. We were as different as night and day, polar opposites. It was actually the fact that we didn't have any sort of sisterly bond that made me say yes when I got the call. For reasons she had yet to disclose, she invited me to assist her in running what was now her club, which she inherited from our father.
Ivy was the sister I always had, but still never really had at all. It was my hope that stepping in to help her would be the bridge that brought us closer. Some might call me a fool for even wanting such a thing after years of being snubbed, but … the bottom line is: she asked, I accepted.
Now, here I was.
A low voice could be heard on the other side of the semi-closed door and I recognized it to be Ivy's. When she spoke without getting a response from someone in the room with her, I realized she was on a call. Not wanting to barge in, I knocked twice and waited to be invited.
"Come in," she called out. My heart was racing a mile a minute and it still felt like the ground beneath my feet was unsteady, but I played it off. With only cut-off shorts and tube socks covering my legs, there wasn't much I could do to hide the scrape there, but I kept my palms balled into loose fists, concealing those injuries at least.
I pushed the door and observed my sister sitting behind a large desk with her hands folded on the surface. She moved long, dark braids behind her shoulder before gesturing for me to have a seat.
"I'll have to ring you back in a few," she said to whoever was on the other end of the line. I sank into the lime green, vinyl chair across from her, thinking to myself that it had probably been here since the place was first decorated decades ago. While I knew Ivy was making enough to upgrade, I figured her thinking was most likely that she'd invest the money where it made the most sense-in the main part of the club where patrons would notice, and in her guys.
That's what I'd do, anyway.
The white phone she held was cradled and a tight smile came my way. It was the same weak smile she gave every time we were face to face, so I expected it. As hard as I tried to ignore the tension between she and I, it was difficult because of the little moments like this, when her deep seated issues with me were hard to hide. I think she knew that I, personally, was not to blame for things of the past, but I was undoubtedly a representation of that hurt in the flesh.
I was a reminder of a time when her father stepped out on her mother. My birth had nearly torn her family apart.
"Glad you could make it," she greeted me, again with the strained smile.