“You look like you’re thinking really hard, Mama,” he says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“You knew you would get me back, didn’t you?” I whisper, not looking up at him. He knew I would be back in his arms.
“I’m pretty sure I told you that the first night I had you, or rather you had me.”
I can’t help but laugh at the reminder. I did have him. With the bad boys, they don’t like when a woman takes control in the bedroom. I’m normally okay with that because, hell, it’s only one night. As long as I cum, what does it really matter? Not Saint, though. His surrender was real. I told him to get on my bed and hold the headboard because I was going to fuck him, and he did it without pause.
He’s also right about being his that first night. At first I thought they were words said in the heat of passion, but come daybreak, Saint’s naked ass wouldn’t leave. It became impossible to kick him out because he would drop to his knees and growl, “Mama,” before shoving his mouth between my legs. Then I found myself saying it was time for him to go just so he would do it again. The joke was on me.
“I love you,” he whispers. I know he does. I also know I’ve never said it to him. Climbing on top of him, I straddle his hips, look down at him, and finally say it. “I love you too.”
A smile pulls at his lips, and crinkles the scar on his cheek. “I know you do, Mama.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, playfully slapping his chest.
“Can’t make someone tell you they love you.”
“I make you tell me all the time.”
“Different, Mama. Everyone knows I love you. Ain’t no hiding it.” True. Saint seems to have no shame when it comes to me. I love that about him. Never do I have to choose my words with him, or pretend to be something I’m not. He would never cut me down or make me feel less than I am. It’s ironic that, while Saint might be on his knees for me, he’s the one with all the strength.
“We’re going to do this aren’t we? The whole babies, marriage, happily ever after?” I say, getting serious again.
“Told you that the first night too. Only thing now is you gotta let me give it to you.”
He’s right. It’s time. He told me about his past, and it’s time for me to tell him about mine.
“You know, I don’t have parents anymore either.” I feel his hands tighten. I never talk about my past. He knows what’s coming.
“They died when I was nineteen—my sophomore year in college. Car crash. The cops told me they died on impact.”
“Oh, Mama,” Saint murmurs, and starts to rub my legs.
I can feel the lump forming in my throat start to rise. All these years and it’s still hard to talk about.
“They were wonderful, Saint. Perfect. It was just us. Both of them were only children and their parents passed when I was a kid. We were this perfect little family, just the three of us. Then I was all alone. It was hard at first, but I had friends who helped me get through it. My family wasn’t rich by any means, but they did okay. I was set up after their deaths. I could stay in school, not have to worry about working. But I was lonely.”
Leaning down, I lay my head on Saint’s chest. I don’t want to look at him for the next part.
“Nick was perfect too…in the beginning.” Saint wraps his arms around me and holds me in place.
“I think I was vulnerable—too innocent, too trusting. Now I can see I was an easy mark for a man like him. I was someone he could control. I was a little bit lost and he knew I would cling to him. And he was right. Things moved fast with him. I was caught up in this fairytale. Here was this older man showering me with attention, telling me we would get married, have babies, he would become partner at his firm, and I, once again, would have my perfect family. I wouldn't be lonely anyone.”
“You’ll get your perfect family, Mama, I promise.”
I shake my head because I know he’ll do anything to give me that. That’s just the kind of man Saint is, I give him the rest of my story. “Everything was great for a while. Then my friends starting saying they never saw me anymore and that they thought Nick was too controlling. He told me they were just jealous because we were so happy. And, to be honest, I didn’t care that he was controlling at the time. He was still wearing his mask, but then it started to slip and his need for control went to a whole new level—from knowing where I was every second of the day to picking out what I wore and even what I ate.”
“It’s okay, baby. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“I know, I know. It’s not about the pain or the betrayal anymore. I hate who I was, who I became with him.”