Page 25 of Keeping Denver

"Tell me about your family. How did you end up homeless?" Several questions slip from Callan's lips.

I take a sip of the wine he handed me and think back to the last memory, one of the only memories I have of my mother. "My mother was beautiful. One of the few memories I have seems more like a polaroid picture that I keep filed away for safekeeping." Closing my eyes, I see her standing out in the rain on a sunny day, with her face lifted to the sky. "From what I can remember, I look a lot like her; long red hair, fair skin, the same blue eyes." Sadness washes over me. "She seemed to be sad all the time."

"What about your father? Remember anything about him?"

I shake my head. "Nothing. I have no recollection of him." My mind drifts back to the final moment I shared with my mother, and the last memory she left me with. Dropping my head, I stare at the wine glass in my hand and run my fingertip around the thin rim. That day plays like snippets of a pieced together home movie as I try to explain. "I was almost five years old, or at least that's what I was told. I remember sitting on a wooden bench in a hallway, and my mother kneeled in front of me." I feel tears stream down my face. "Be a good girl for mommy and stay right here. Can you do that for me?" I repeat the final words my mother spoke to me. I continue, "I nodded, smiling at her. Then remember reaching out, brushing my tiny fingertips over the freckles on her face. My mom smiled back at me, but her eyes held the same sadness they always did as she told me she loved me."

"Baby," Callan says sympathetically, and I give him a brief smile and a shrug.

"I watched her walk down that long hallway as I played with the tattered dolly in my lap. She turned one final time, smiling at me before she disappeared around the corner." I pull in a shuddered breath. "That was the last time I saw her. She left me there and never came back. Turns out, the Children's Home she left me that day, would become my home for a while until I started getting shuffled from one foster home to another." I take another sip of wine and take a deep breath to collect myself.

"Did you ever learn why your mother left you there that day?" Callan questions, and I wish I had the answer to give him.

"No. And I've never had the means or resources to find out on my own."

"And there's nothing more you can remember?" the genuine concern in his voice warms my heart.

"Nothing." I pause. "Maybe it's just my mind's way of protecting myself." I lift my eyes to Callan's. "I never had time to feel sad for myself, and I won't start now. My memory of my mother may not be the best, but I do know I loved her, and she loved me. I felt it that day. My life has never been easy, but I've survived, Callan."

After a few moments of sitting in silence, I continue to tell him the rest of my story, telling him about all the foster homes I experienced throughout my childhood and teen years—how I became homeless. I dumped it all on him, sharing everything as he sat silently next to me, listening to every word. Turns out, purging my thoughts and life story proved to be therapeutic. "It was Lucas's grandfather who helped me get the job as your assistant. He helped me fill out applications and everything. It was the first time in a long time someone had been so nice to me." I feel my eyes water, but hold back my emotions and continue. "At first, I said no. I never thought I'd get the job in the first place. Then I came in for my interview and met Frances." I smile. "I was sitting in a chair right outside your office. You came out and didn't even see me sitting there. You walked by me as if I were invisible, and kept right on going."

"Baby," Callan sits his glass of whiskey on the coffee table, then drops to his knees in front of me. "Shit. I'm sorry I did that."

"Oh, Callan. I'm not saying this to make you feel guilty. I'm telling you this, so you understand where I'm coming from. I want you to understand my perspective of things. I've been overlooked my whole life. Growing up in the system has made it clear that it's easier for people to pretend people like me don't exist rather than fix the problems and how the system fails many of us every day. Roland was the first person in a very long time to look at me and treat me like I was human, just like him. Then, there is you. The way you look at me. You don't see through me anymore like you did that first day. It feels like you see inside me, and it scares the crap out of me, Callan. I'm afraid to trust it—in you." Those last two words cause Callan to flinch a little. "I'm afraid that we are rushing into things. That you will wake up tomorrow and realize I am not what you want; that I am not good enough."

Callan cups my face and wipes the tears flowing down my cheeks. "I see you." He gently kisses me before he takes my bottom lip between his teeth. "So, fucking beautiful. I see you, baby."

11

The kiss progresses into more in a matter of seconds. Warm hands snake up the inside of my sweater as Callan's thumbs brush over my nipples, and I shiver. "Callan," I gasp.

Still seated on the couch with Callan kneeling on the floor in front of me, I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing his body closer to mine. Pushing forward, Callan's hard cock comes into contact with the space between my legs, causing me to moan. "Oh, God."

"It feels good, doesn't, baby?"

"Yes. So good," I shamelessly admit.

Gripping the bottom of my sweater, Callan pulls it up, past my ribs, and I raise my arms, allowing him to remove it from my body. He tosses it to the floor while drinking in the sight of me wearing a black lace bra.

Leaning forward, Callan doesn't waste any time cupping my right breast with one hand and latching his hot mouth onto my laced covered nipple, while his other hand works the strap of my bra on the other side. Gently, he slips it over my shoulder and down my arm. When his mouth releases my nipple, he makes work of the other strap, sliding it down, exposing both breasts. My breathing picks up, and so do my nerves. This is happening. "Callan. I…"

"Do you want me to stop?"

I don't hesitate to tell him, "No."

"We're going to take this slow. We only go as far as you want it to go," he assures me.

My nerves settle, and my body relaxes. "I want this. I do. It's just, I've never done this and I'm not sure…"

"I'm sure enough for the both of us, baby. All you need to do is let me take care of you."

I nod. "Okay."

Callan cups both breasts in his large hands. "I've been dying to see these beautiful tits for weeks." His tongue darts out, flicking one of my taut nipples. Once he's done playing with one, he switches to the other, giving it equal attention. I arch my back and buck my hips when his teeth bite down on my sensitive flesh, causing my sex to clench and clit to throb.

"I'm going to take your pants off now, baby. You okay with that?"

I lick my lips. "Yes."