Broody Brit by Naima Simone

Chapter Fourteen

Zenobia

“Zenobia.” Brenda Shannon approaches the nurses’ station where I’m charting, her usually stern face softened by the concern swimming in her brown eyes. “You have a visitor. You have a break coming up in twenty minutes. Why don’t you go ahead and take it now?”

“O-okay,” I stutter, frowning. But then she steps to the side, and my gaze lands on the person standing behind her. Thank God I’m sitting. Shock blindsides me and would’ve knocked me on my ass.

As it is, I grip the desk, steadying myself, and blink. Because I can’t believe my daughter is here.

“Bethany?” I whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you.” Bethany glances at Brenda, then back at me. “I know who you are.”

The announcement plows whatever breath I managed to maintain out of my lungs. “I-I—”

I can’t speak. Can barely think.

“You two should probably take this to the cafeteria,” Brenda suggests. She circles the desk and cups my elbow in a firm grasp, helping me to my feet. Even offering me support as I take a few precious moments to ensure I don’t fall on my face. “I’m going to put you down for PTO.”

I can only nod and somehow manage to stumble around the desk and meet Bethany on the other side. She tilts her head back to meet my gaze. I know who you are. Her words rebound inside my head on an endless loop as we stare at each other, seemingly for the first time. And in a way it is. It’s the first time we’re meeting one another in honesty—as biological mother and daughter.

“Do you want to go to the cafeteria so we can talk?” I ask.

She nods and ten minutes later, we’re seated at a desk in a corner of the large atrium, her with a hot chocolate and me with a large coffee, because it’s so needed. Neither of us sip, though. We’re too busy studying each other—again.

“I don’t have your eyes.” She scrunches her nose. That, she totally gets from me.

“No, your biological father had hazel eyes.”

“Does he know about me?”

I hesitate, unsure how much of this conversation we should be having without her parents here. I’ve violated enough of their trust. And I can’t help but notice that she’s dressed in a uniform with a book bag slung over the back of her chair.

Stiffening, I cock my head, narrowing my eyes. “Bethany, do your parents know you’re here?”

Now she hesitates, but after a moment, she grudgingly admits, “No. I skipped school and took the bus here.”

Oh shit. “Bethany—”

“I don’t care if I get in trouble.” Her mouth sets in a mutinous straight line and anger flashes in her green-brown eyes. “If I asked them if they would bring me to see you, they would’ve said no. And don’t bother telling me I don’t know that. I overheard you and Mom arguing outside of my hospital room. She told you to stay away from me. It’s not fair.” She shakes her head, her hands fisting beside her cup. “She should’ve asked me if I wanted to meet you. Because I do—I have for a while. I want to get to know you. And I knew the only way that was going to happen was if I came to see you myself.”

My heart expands it’s about to burst from my chest. But a second later, caution whispers through my head. Damn, this is bad. I can’t go behind the Mavises’ back again—I just can’t. But the thought of rejecting her… My stomach roils and bile races for the back of my throat. No, that I can’t do either.

“Okay, I understand the why, but skipping school to do it? And going behind your parents’ backs? Can’t sign off on it.” I hold up a finger when she parts her lips to object. “But I get it. And I not only would I be a bald-faced liar but a bad one if I said I’m upset you’re here.”

Her mouth pops closed at my admission.

“Still,” I continue, “you need to call your parents. Now. Let them know where you are and to meet us here in the cafeteria. Bethany, your mom had every right to tell me to stay away from you. I shouldn’t have approached you without her and your father’s permission first. I’m your biological mother, but they’re your parents, and I didn’t respect that. I won’t make that mistake again. So, give them a call, and let’s see if, maybe, there’s a way to work this all out.”

She chews on her bottom lip for a moment, staring down at the table. Then, huffing out a drawn-out sigh, she twists around and removes her phone from her backpack.

“Okay, fine.” She taps the screen, then holds the cell to her ear. Eyes meeting mine, she says, “Hey, Mom. I have something to tell you.”

I inhale.

And it seems like forever before I let it go.

Axel

Pride is an insidious emotion. It can fill a person with confidence but in the next instant trip that same person up and send him tumbling arse over head into failure. Yet, switching off the welding torch and removing my protective gear, studying the work I just finished, I can’t deny it’s pride that swells inside my chest.

Lady Amalthea.

Her ethereal figure is captured by metal honed so delicately, it appears as if one touch could snap it in half. The flowing dress. The long, gossamer strands of hair. The elfin-shaped face. The star on her forehead. She stands, hands clasped to her breasts, head tipped back, as if gazing up at the sky, searching for answers about this strange, new world she’s been thrust into.

Objectively, it’s one of the best pieces I’ve done.

Subjectively, it’s fucking brilliant.

I drag in a breath, then cough, wincing at the wheeze and rattle in my chest. Dammit. My asthma has been fucking with me the last couple of days, and I’ve been sucking on my inhaler more than usual. Like now. Digging into my pocket, I retrieve my inhaler and take two puffs. My chest loosens, and I inhale again. Thank Christ this one is deeper and doesn’t have as much of a wheeze. Out of curiosity, I glance at the back to see how many puffs I have left. Six. Well, shit. I didn’t even realize it’d gotten that low. I need to call in a refill tomorrow or see if Simon can get a new one for me. The way I’ve been sucking on this thing, I can’t afford to be without a prescription on hand. I damn sure can’t afford to be down with an attack. I have too much work ahead of me. Right now, I’m good for the number of pieces planned, but any hiccup could set me back.

I hate hiccups.

Threading my fingers through my beard, I head across the warehouse toward the room that was probably some manager’s office once upon a time. Now it’s my employee breakroom for one where I stowed a mini-refrigerator, small table, and chair. Moments later, I reenter the workshop with an ice-cold bottle of water, and a knock on the rear door echoes through the room. Frowning, I don’t move to answer it.

Who the fuck could that be? And at seven o’clock at night? Not Nate, because I told him I’d find my own way home. With Zenobia moving back to her apartment, there’s no point in me heading back to Simon’s house anytime soon. For what? To be reminded she’s not there? To lie down in sheets that carry her scent? To eat in a kitchen that holds memories that I need to start forgetting?

I’d rather work myself until I’m too tired to do anything but shower and get knocked the fuck out.

Another knock reverberates through the workshop.

Shit. Whoever it is isn’t going away. At least not until I tell them to.

Fingers tightening around the water bottle until it gives an ominous crack, I stalk across the workshop. When I reach the door, I shove it open. “What?”

“Uh, hi to you, too?” Zenobia smiles up at me. “Can I come in, or are you just going to stand there and growl at me all night?”

I shift backward, allowing her space to move past me. Her apple and earth scent teases me, and yeah, there’s a possibility she could glance back and catch me closing my eyes and savoring it like some pervert or stalker, but I chance it. Closing my eyes, I breathe her in, thankful I just took my inhaler so I can capture a lungful of that spicy, earthy fragrance.

Christ, I’ve missed her.

It’s only been over twelve hours since I’ve seen her—over twelve hours since I’ve been buried inside her—and I hurt for her.

But what we agreed to is over. As soon as Simon returned home with his family, it signed the death warrant on that bargain. Which is fine. It wasn’t meant to be long-term anyway. No emotions. Just scratching a desperate itch. Satisfying an animal jerk.

Nothing more.

Doesn’t explain why I’m over here fucking mainlining her scent.

“I stopped by Simon and Bridget’s to pack up my stuff and saw you weren’t there, so figured you must still be here working.” She stops by my welding table, staring down at the piece I just finished. “Oh shit,” she breathes, reaching out a hand, but then snatches it back. “This is gorgeous. I’m sorry, Axel. It’s rude to look at your work without asking, isn’t it? Hell, it’s probably rude just to drop by unannounced. I wasn’t thinking.”

“What’s wrong?” Because she’s nervous again. And I thought we were past that. I’ve had my face in her pussy. How can she possibly still be nervous around me?

“Nothing.” I frown, and she holds a hand up, palm out and chuckles softly. The sound skims over my skin like a sensual caress, and I shift, restless. “Seriously, there is nothing wrong. Everything is absolutely… right. I have the best news, and you were the first person I wanted to share it with. But when you weren’t at the house, I impulsively decided to come and find you. Sorry if I intruded on your work.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Zenobia.” Not when she’s given me a gift. Seeking me out, wanting me to be the person she shares with? That might not seem like much to her. But to me? It’s as fragile, as priceless as the most coveted artwork.

“Right.” She turns back to the sculpture and studies it for another long moment. “There’s such beauty inside you, you know that? It just amazes me.”

I stare at her, shock paralyzing my vocal cords. Where the hell did that come from? Before I can ever try to form a reply—but fuck, what the hell do I say to that?—she smiles at me.

“Bethany came to the hospital looking for me today. Apparently, she overheard the conversation between her mother and me last week. She was curious about me and wanted to meet me as her birth mother instead of her nurse.”

“Wasn’t expecting that,” I say, scanning her face. But unlike that day in my bed, there isn’t any pain. Just a quiet joy and… peace. “I’m guessing everything went okay?”

She laughs again, and it has a bit of a hard edge. “Not at first. She’d played hooky to see me. I made her call her parents, and they were not happy, as you can well imagine. When they arrived at the hospital, initially they wanted no part of a conversation with me. They wanted to pick her up, take her home, and have no further contact with me. But Bethany was adamant. She’s an amazing kid.”

“She’s her mother’s daughter.” To me, it was pretty damn obvious.

She smiles. “Thank you for saying that. But I credit all that to the Mavises. Sure, she has my DNA, my features, and some of my mannerisms, but that confidence, strength and yes, knowledge of being loved and accepted? That’s all due to the wonderful parents they are. Now, I believe I can take credit for that since I chose them for her.”

Her smile momentarily flashes wider into a grin, but then it dims, softens into something more thoughtful, wistful.

“Like I said, Bethany was insistent, and we all ended up sitting down and talking. And they listened to her when she said how she just wanted to get to know me. And not as a mother, because she has one of those. But as a friend. She’s curious about her history, where she comes from. And I respect that. And so did her parents. They finally agreed to allow her to meet up with me—with them present—and gradually introduce me into her life.”

“Then why’re you nervous?”

“And here I thought I was hiding it so well.” She snorts, dipping her head. When she lifts it, the shadows in those golden-brown eyes gut me. “I’m scared,” she rasps. “What if I mess this up like I did the first time? Or what if she does get to know me and is disappointed? I’m not who she thought I was? Or I don’t hold up to the image in her head? Or what if she’s mad at me for giving her up in the first place? I don’t want to fuck this up. It’s too important.”

I open my arms.

And she flies into them.

For long moments, we stand there, wrapped in each other. Her heart thuds, vibrating through my body, and I tighten my embrace, wishing like hell I could absorb each and every shiver that ripples through her. Several more minutes pass while I gather my thoughts, parse through them, discard them as too trite, too pat. Truth. All I have for her is truth. Even if it’s too discombobulated, too raw. Too passionate.

Too revealing.

“When I first saw you,” I murmur into her curls, “I hurt with the need to sculpt you. It roared at me so loud that I almost couldn’t think, couldn’t hear. Even when you hit me with that slop you call food.”

She huffs out a laugh, but it’s muted, because she’s gone still. As if she’s clinging to every word that’s coming out of my mouth.

“I needed to capture all that beauty and militance in metal so years from that moment, people would lay their eyes on you and be fucking awed. Like I was.”

Her sharp, indrawn breath echoes in the room, and her nails dig into my back past my overalls and T-shirt.

“An Amazon. That’s how I would sculpt you. That’s how I would immortalize her. With a helmet on top of these thick curls, armor on this petite but powerful body, and a sword in your delicate but strong hand. Because that’s how I saw you, and it’s how I still see you. Fearless. Fierce. Indomitable. I’m not saying all those things you fear won’t happen. But I am saying if they do, I have no doubts you’ll conquer them, because that’s what you do, Zenobia. You’re a warrior.”

“Fuck.”

I snap my head back, because—yeah. I’m not a man who’s comfortable with words, but were they that bad?

“I’m also an ugly crier,” she whispers, then sniffs.

Amusement bubbles up in my chest, and I lean back, shifting my hands to cup her face but she dips her head, dodging me. But I don’t allow her to. I palm her cheeks, tilt her head back and stare down into the face that I suspect will haunt me even after I return home months from now.

Tears glisten in her eyes and track down her face.

“No one has ever said anything so lovely to me before.” She turns into my hand and kisses my palm. “No one has ever seen me like you do.”

“Fuck them,” I mutter, kissing those tears, tasting them, claiming them.

She laughs, grasping my wrists and leaning her head back farther. When my lips brush her the corner of hers, she presses her mouth to mine. Within the next instant, our tongues are tangling, dueling and sucking. There are certain places on her body where her scent is richer, undiluted, and headier. Here, her mouth. That shadowed valley between her breasts. The spot where torso meets hip. The drenched, sweet haven of her pussy.

I can’t get enough. I could feast on her forever and still suffer hunger pains.

Bending, I cup the back of her thighs and hike her up. Her legs wind around my waist, heels locking at the small of my back. Our mouths still partake of each other as I guide us to the office/break room. Carefully, I sit her on the tabletop and attack her coat. As soon as it’s on the floor, I go for her scrubs top, leaving her in a T-shirt. But before I can rid her of that, too, she leans back, and goes for the metal snap closure on my overalls.

We both tear the sleeves down my arms, and I have my T-shirt up and over my head in record time. Same with hers. Leaving both of us bare from the waist up except for her bra. And, with a quick snap to the clasp between her breasts, even that barrier is gone.

A groan travels up from my gut and out of me. Goddamn, these tits. I palm them, swooping in for another searing kiss while I skim my thumbs over the beaded nipples. Circling them. Flicking them. I eat up her whimper, silently demand another by pinching those fat tips, tweaking them. And she gives it to me.

Her fingers tighten in my hair, jerking my head back. I growl my displeasure at that, because I’m not even close to being finished with that mouth.

“What do you need?” she breathes. Turning the tables on me, giving me back my words. And asking me what no one has bothered to before. No one.

My lungs seize, and for a dizzying moment, it’s almost as if I’m having an asthma attack. I can’t breathe past the constriction. My heart works overtime, and black and gold spots dance at the edges of my vision. But just as suddenly as the sense of suffocation sweeps over me, it disappears, and air painfully rushes back into me.

“Axel.” Her fingers massage my scalp, tugging me close until our lips are a breath apart. “What do you need from me? Whatever it is, just ask.”

I’m more naked than I’ve ever been in my life, even though I’m still wearing jeans under my overalls and boots on my feet. But staring into her honeyed gaze, I trust her not to reject me. Not to… leave me.

“Kiss me.” I tap my mouth. “Here. Slow.”

She leans forward the scant distance separating us to take my mouth, and she makes love to it. Sexes it. Her tongue sweeps in, licking at mine, entwining with it, seducing it, inviting it to play, to dance.

By the time she pulls away, my chest is pumping hard, rising and falling so fast, so hard, the air rushing out of my lungs explodes like grenades between us.

“Here.” I point to my neck. Mark me as yours. “Don’t be gentle,” I mimic her from the first time we were together.

Heat, amusement and something else—something softer, more tender—flashes in her eyes, before she lowers her lashes, bends her head and latches on to me. Her teeth graze my throat, and a groan escapes me as that promise of the sweetest edge of pain races straight to my cock. She comes through on that vow. Sinking her teeth into me, she bites down, sucking, bringing her tongue into play, branding me without even being told. Maybe she needs that as much as I do. Needs others to know she’s been there as much as I want them to know I’ve been hers.

God, I hope so.

Delivering one last, luxurious lick up my neck, she hums and nuzzles the base of my throat.

“Here.”

This time, I don’t point, I tunnel my fingers through all that thick, beautiful hair and show her. Guide her to one nipple. Let her nip, tease, draw, and suckle. Then lead her to the other. Allow her to repeat the same torture. By the time she brings her fingers into play and twists the damp, small tip while raking her teeth over the other, I’m gritting my teeth and wondering how I’m going to survive this without reverting to the base animal that howls and claws at me from the inside.

“Tell me.” Her panting bathes my skin. “Anything.”

“Lie back.”

She shakes her head, biting her bottom lip, and unable to help myself, I thumb it loose. “This is about you—”

“Then lie back.” Cupping the front of her neck, I gently squeeze. “Please.”

Her breath catches, chest rising, and she arches into my hold. Does she even realize what she’s asking me for? As those eyes go hooded until only a narrow band of golden-brown is visible, I know the answer.

Yes. Yes, she does. I give it to her.

My fingers tighten just a fraction, and her moan vibrates against my palm even as she reclines on the table, her hand coming up to clasp my wrist. Her back bows, those gorgeous tits pointing toward the ceiling—taunting me, daring me to taste, to feast.

And I have no control when it comes to her.

But there’s something I want more. Something my mouth is watering for. My gut is damn near cramping for a taste of.

Releasing her throat, I quickly remove her trainers then jerk her scrubs and underwear off, tossing them to the floor.

Jesus, she’s beautiful. So fucking beautiful.

As lightly as my rough hands can manage, I encircle her ankles, placing them on the edge of the table. Spreading her wide for my hungry gaze. So wet. All that bare, brown and pink flesh drenched and glistening for me.

For me.

Chest filling with more than just air, I release my hold on her throat and bend to her, burying my face in the sweetest, softest place on this earth. Her sharp cry bounces off the grey walls of the room, almost as lovely as the clit I’m strumming. Clamping her writhing hips down, I devour her, granting her no mercy, no quarter. I’m too starved, too desperate, having gone too long without her. A whole twelve hours.

I dip my head and, flattening my tongue, trail the path between her folds, pausing to suck one and then the other. There’s no part of her that I don’t pay proper homage to, because she deserves it. This is the only gift I have for this warrior queen, and I’m not holding back.

Lust is a grinding wheel in my chest, my gut, and my cock throbs, roars with the hot rush of blood. And pushing two fingers into her tight, quivering pussy only ups the ante of when I’m going to shame myself by blowing like a green kid with his first sight of a tit. As her slick muscles squeeze me, I shudder, my balls drawing up tight, and yeah, coming all over the back of my zipper is a definite possibility.

“Axel,” Zenobia whines, her fingernails scraping my scalp, pussy humping my face. “Please. Inside me. I want you inside me.”

I want her to gush over my fingers—long for that pretty clit to tremble and flinch against my tongue, but in all things, her needs supersede mine.

Pulling free of her, I hoist her off the table and flip her face down on the top, that perfect arse up in the air. My eyes not leaving her, I shove my overalls down, followed by my jeans. Moving forward, I cover her, my chest pressed to her back. My face buried in her neck. My fingers tangled with hers.

Though my dick pounds with the need to be balls-deep inside her, I wait, savoring the beauty of our differences. My large frame to her petite build. My angles to her curves. My paleness to her darkness. My vulnerability to her strength.

She’s the perfect foil to all that I am, and it humbles me.

Physically shaking my head, as if the gesture can rid it of those fanciful thoughts, I lean back, stroking my palms down the elegant length of her spine. Grasping her rounded hips, I kick her feet wider apart, and because the gnawing greed won’t allow me to wait any longer, I plunge inside her pussy.

Our mated groans rent the air, and I still.

Fuck. This pussy.

I’ve been inside her countless times since that infamous text, and impossibly, each time is like the first. Still tight. Still liquid fire. Still heaven and hell. Still bliss and torture.

Still the answer to every whispered prayer and unspoken dream.

We haven’t used condoms since that first day. She’s on the pill, and we’re both clean. And after having been inside her bareback, strapping back up again after experiencing her without any barrier would’ve been a little painful. But I would’ve, because in the end it’s her choice. Still, I might’ve shed a tear when she agreed to go without. This, having nothing between us, is blasphemous joy.

I groan. Dammit. I don’t want to move, but damn, I have to.

“Ready, pet?”

She nods, and I cover her once more, reaching above her to grasp her fingers and curl them around the edge of the table.

“I’ve…” I grind my teeth together, willing the words to go back down my throat. But they don’t listen. “Missed you.”

Even though she’s stretched out on the table, her body still tenses. But after a moment, it relaxes, and she nods again. “Missed you, too.”

It’s soft, almost too soft, but I catch it. The admission shoves into my chest, wraps around my heart, squeezes, and my breath stutters.

Just my asthma making another appearance. That’s all it is.

My grip on her hardens, and I pull free, my cock dragging over trembling muscles that set alone almost send my hurtling over into the abyss. My stare is fixed on my flesh and the thick wetness coating it.

Slowly, I sink back inside her, watching as her pussy swallows me whole. After that first pause where she becomes accustomed to me all over again, she takes me so good. Like she was created for me. Like she can’t get enough of me. And from the grunts, the dirty grinding, and pleas to “fuck her”, she can’t.

This woman. She unleashes something feral in me. And as I hike a knee up on the table, spreading that pretty pussy wider, plowing it harder, deeper, all I want is to mark it, mold it so she will never be satisfied by anyone who comes after me. So she will always crave me.

Always come back to me.

“Axel, I need—” She breaks off, lowering an arm and arching up to reach between her and the table to touch her clit.

“Put it back.” The order is blunt, sharper than intended, but I’m more animal than man, and in this moment, she’s my mate. And I’m responsible for her pleasure. “I got what you need.”

Clamping one hand on the nape of her neck, I hook an arm around her neck, find that fat button of flesh and strum it, rub it… pinch it. She chokes on a cry, the tortured sound like a love ballad that strokes down my spine, my arse, to the soles of my feet, then arrows to my balls and cock. That pussy strangles my dick as she comes, soaking me, milking me, hauling me toward my own end.

And I go, a willing sacrifice.

My hand leaves her neck and wraps around her waist, hugging her to my chest, even as I don’t let up on her clit, even as I continue to pound her sex. I fuck her. I embrace her.

I need her.

I die a little for her.

And as I come crawl back up from the abyss, broken and bruised and so fucking free, it’s her arms that surround me.

A peace that’s as foreign to me as this country fills me as we stumble back to the chair, her cuddled on my lap. We don’t speak for several minutes, and that’s okay, because for some reason, I can’t seem to catch my breath. She plays with the ends of my hair while I quietly draw in a deep breath. Or try to. But the wheeze that I am very familiar with rattles in my chest and my ears.

And because she’s a nurse—and her ear is pressed to my chest—she catches it.

“Axel.” She straightens, frowning, studying my face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nowt.” But the shortness of breath it’s said on ruins the veracity of it. “Just asthma. I have an inhaler. Nowt to worry about.”

“Where is it?”

She scrambles off me. And I stand, tugging my jeans and coveralls up, then retrieving my inhaler from my pocket. She quickly dresses but keeps her gaze on me as I take two puffs on it. But unlike earlier, it’s not easing the constriction in my chest. A bolt of panic crackles through me, but I forcefully shove it away.

“How’re you feeling?” She comes to me again, leaning close, listening to my chest. When she tilts her head back, the concern on her face hasn’t disappeared. “It doesn’t sound any better. Is the inhaler not working?”

“Sometimes, I need to take it again.” Which I do. And wait. And it feels a little better. Thank fuck. But then I’m coughing again, and it’s tighter, not as wet. The wheezing not as loose. And the panic returns. Because I’ve had asthma since I was a child, and I know the signs. Yet, I suck on the inhaler again. Two more times. Two more times. I don’t need to glance at the back of the dispenser to see the counter on zero, even though there would be a reserve of at least ten more doses.

“Axel, we should probably go to the emergency room so you can get a breathing treatment.” Her voice took on a clinical quality that makes my skin crawl with humiliation. Moments ago, I was the man fucking her, making her cry out in pleasure, and now I’m a weak patient.

The whistling of my air echoes in my ears, and my chest is beginning to ache, but I grab up my T-shirt and sweep it from the floor and drag it on.

“No.” Fuck, why did that have to come out so goddamn feeble? “I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not,” she snaps.

“Let it go, Zenobia.” I stumble over to my welding table, but even that’s an effort and has my breathing even more labored, my chest pumping even harder to provide air I don’t have. Shit. Fuck.

“Screw this.” She snatches up her purse. In seconds she has her cell phone out and to her ear. “Yes, this is Zenobia Hester. I’m a nurse at Memorial. I’m with a thirty year-old male experiencing a severe asthma attack. He’s used an Albuterol inhaler. Six puffs.”

She gives the person on the other end the address the workshop, coming to kneel beside me. I block her voice out, her scent out.

I concentrate on trying to breathe.

That way, I can also keep the anger and humiliation at bay too.

Just… fuck.