Return to Love. Yasmin Sullivan Y.

a father. The little boy he had seen wasn’t his. Nor the little girl. His child had not made it. His heart fell. He crossed over to her but stopped just behind her without touching her, not knowing how to comfort her, not knowing if she would receive his comfort.

      “There was no child,” she said again, stammering. She whirled toward him, ready to strike, but didn’t. She just stopped and stared at his face, her own face crumpling.

      He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and drew her to him, but she wrangled against him.

      “There was no child,” she repeated, lashing at his chest with her fists. It was like a dam had broken, as though she couldn’t stop herself once she’d started letting it out. She kept pummeling his chest with her fists as if it was his fault, or maybe because he’d been the one to make her say it, relive it. “And you weren’t there.”

      She drew back after she said it—the truth of it all. She had tears spilling down her face, and her fists were still balled, ready to strike. Her eyes were red and wet, filled with rage and hate. And now he knew why.

      Regina kept hammering at him, as if she wanted to pound him until all the hurt she had carried over the years was finally over. But when she stood back and looked up at his face, what she saw there stopped her. Nigel wondered if she could see that the disappointment in his eyes was as bottomless as her own heartbreak must have been. Nigel knew the moment that the resistance went out of her and stepped toward her, folding her in his arms again.

      “When I saw the kids downstairs—”

      He wanted to go on, but he couldn’t control his voice.

      For a while she didn’t say anything but simply sobbed against his chest.

      When she found her voice, it was shaky. “I was babysitting. Kyle belongs to Jason, and Tenisha to another friend. They’re not related, and they’re not even the same age. Kyle is five and a half, and Tenisha is seven.”

      After she got the words out, she convulsed in tears again.

      He just held her while she wept.

      When he thought she was back in control, he ventured, “What happened...to ours?”

      For a few moments, she cried harder. Then she took in a deep breath.

      “I lost it. I miscarried.”

      She broke from him and went to the window, trying to wipe her face with her hands.

      “And guess when. Guess.”

      Her tone was sardonic, but she was still fighting back her tears.

      “On the day that would have been our wedding day,” she said.

      He went to her and wrapped his arms around her again, but she fought him. “No. You weren’t there. You weren’t there.”

      She hit at his shoulders with her open palms, her body racked by sobs.

      He pulled her into his embrace. “I’m so sorry,” he said into her hair. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”

      “No. I won’t.”

      “Please. I didn’t know.”

      “You should have known. You should have been there.”

      “You sent me away, Reggie.”

      She was silent, tears still streaming down her face. He held her and rubbed her back until her body shook less. He smoothed her hair and kissed her temples until her tears abated some. He ignored her periodic attempts to rustle from his arms.

      When she had stilled, he pulled her chin up to look at her, to see that she was all right. Her eyes were red from crying, and her lips were tender from being pressed so hard together. He wanted to drain the redness from her eyes and soothe the pain out of her expression.

      “I’m so sorry, Reggie, so sorry.”

      He folded her against his chest and ran his hand down her back. In the quiet, he could feel the way her body pressed against his in the embrace. He wanted to feel that forever. He wanted to make her his again.

      This time when he pulled her face up to his, he bent down, softly kissing her lips. He wanted to turn back time, to undo the hurt he’d caused, to be there when he should have been there.

      “I’m so sorry, baby.”

      She said nothing, but she didn’t move from his arms either.

      He bent his head to the side of her face and kissed her eyelid, her cheek, her earlobe. Then he cupped her head and took her mouth with his, parting her lips with his own and claiming her breath.

      He felt her hands tighten around his upper arms and knew that her body was responding. He wanted to assuage the hurt inside her with his lips, pacify the anger out of her with his fingertips.

      When he moved his tongue into her mouth, it opened for him, and a quiet murmur escaped into his mouth, igniting fire inside of him. She took a small step back, but he stepped with her, closing the gap between them before she could make it. He claimed her hips with his hands and pressed her against his loins. She sucked in her breath and then another murmur filled his mouth.

      She put her arms around his neck, and her tongue played against his, inviting him deeper inside. He could read her desire. He had always been able to. It was clear that she was starting to want him the way he wanted her.

      Nigel could sense the battle being waged inside Regina. The years of hurt and anger, of bearing the burden alone, were at odds with everything else that was happening between them. He wanted for everything else to win.

      “Let me be there for you now,” he whispered against her lips.

      Then he reclaimed her mouth, running his hands along her back. He couldn’t resist cupping her bottom and pulling her closer, and when he did, he felt a slight tilt of her hips as she drew nearer. He knew where she yearned, and he wanted to ease that need, even as his own grew hotter and less controllable with every passing minute.

      He bent down farther, his mouth finding her neck, and cupped her buttocks again, lifting her body against his. When he heard her low moan against his ear, he lifted her off her feet and strode toward the back of the apartment to find her bedroom.

      He expected her to stop him, but she said nothing while he eased her down on the bed and lowered himself over her, pressing his swollen groin against her sweet center. Instead, she reached for his arms and pulled him closer to her, kneading herself along his body. It had been so long for him that even this small movement sent him close to the edge, but he knew better than to let himself go. He knew that this was for her, that this was to let her know that she wasn’t alone all that time, that he was still loving her. It was to calm the sore places, to hush the anger and the rage.

      He looked at her tearstained face in the moonlight. He had been waiting for this for so long, so long. Her fingers at his back let him know that his wait would soon be over. But he wouldn’t rush to that place. This was for her.

      He settled next to her and slid his hand into her leggings. When he found the wetness of her womanhood, his loins leapt, and he heard her moan.

      Her long, sepia legs came into view as he removed her leggings, and her beautiful breasts fell into the open as he pulled the camisole over her head and undid her bra. He pulled the bow from her hair and laid her back down. He meant to take his own clothes off as well, but the sight of her pulled him back to the bed.

      When he took the closest breast into his mouth, he heard her moan. He couldn’t resist the feel of her nipple against his tongue, the feel of her wetness at his fingertips, the way her body writhed with his caresses. This was for her.

      Before he lost control, he stood up and removed his suit, his shirt, the rest of his clothes. He found a condom and got it on quickly, returning to Regina’s side on the bedspread. He kissed her, reminding himself to take it slowly. This was for her.

      He ran his hand over her body, listening for the places that