Button.
At.
A.
Time.
He kisses me sensually, his tongue flicking mine gently before his lips find my ear, he yanks me by the hips against his pelvis, and whispers in a voice as smooth as melted chocolate, “I’m going to fuck you, Adelaide.” I bite my lip and arch my back. “Would you like that, Adelaide?”
“Yes,” I moan and writhe beneath him as he removes his shirt. He fists the side of my underwear and I can hear the echo of them ripping somewhere in my mind. This man is rough, but I love it. He’s cold but little by little, I know I’m melting the ice in his veins.
He jerks me upright by the waist and his tongue traces a line on my lips. “I love you,” he breathes into my mouth. “I never thought I’d ever say that to a woman.”
“I love you too” I say.
I never thought I’d tell a man that twice.
TEASER FROM THE FINAL BOOK IN THE ASYLUM TRILOGY
BEAUTIFUL NIGHTMARES
Beautiful Nightmares
MARCH 1957
I am a mother.
I have a child.
I am married to a wonderful, wonderful man.
I never thought I’d be able to say those things to myself.
Willow has been fussing for hours.
I rock her against my chest.
I sing her a song Mommy used to sing me. “Little bird, little bird spread your wings and fly. Little bird, little bird soar through the sky.”
Elijah has been working the midnight shift so I hate to wake him and have him take her for a drive. We usually take turns. When we first met, he told me he didn’t want kids. I laugh at that now. And I think part of the reason he said he didn’t want to be a father is because he was terrified of turning out like his own.
He’s an amazing father and Willow, who is only six months old, has him wrapped around her tiny finger.
Willow cries a lot. The pediatrician says its colic and the only way I can get her to stop fussing is by taking her for a drive in the car. The gentle hum of the engine is like a lullaby for my beautiful baby girl and it amazes me how she can look so different when she’s sleeping.
I’ve been driving now for almost a year and I don’t think I’ll ever get over the liberating feeling that comes with it. I love to drive with the windows down. I love feeling the wind tousle my hair. I love how the car makes me feel like I’m a bird and that I can fly anywhere.
Willows’ cries turn into shrieks and I start bouncing her on my hip. “All right, all right,” I tell her in a sing-song voice. “Mommy is moving as fast as she can.”
After grabbing my purse, the car keys, and buckling Willow into her car seat, I turn the car around and speed down the driveway. And within minutes, I check on Willow through the mirror and she’s already fast asleep.
I admire my beautiful daughter who resembles her father in more ways than she resembles me. She has his hair. His complexion. His lips. The only feature of mine she has are my eyes.
She’s a happy baby for the most part. Except for when she’s crying because of the colic. I continue to watch her sleep through the mirror and remember when she was born. I remember Elijah’s domineering yet excited behavior. And how he insisted on being in the room with me while I was giving birth. I remember the moment they placed Willow on my bare chest and how in that moment I thought that I could never love another person as much as I loved the tiny human I’d just brought into the world.
And when they placed Willow in Elijah’s arms, I saw one of his rare smiles. The one that touches his honey eyes and I knew neither one of us could be happier than we were in that moment.
Willow fidgets in her sleep and witnessing her tiny movements melts my heart. I know I should be paying attention to the road. That was one of Elijah’s favorite things to stress during my driving lessons. “Eyes on the road at all times,” he’s say.