He doesn’t know my parents yet. Never have there been two more loving, easygoing, or generous people. My mom made it easy by stepping out of the car, dropping to her knees, and throwing her arms wide open. It was all Sam needed to rush off the porch and greet his grandparents with huge hugs.
Leighton was far more fearful. I could tell this simply by her body language and the way she kept wringing her hands. Her insecurities were written all over her face. She wasn’t sure whether to hug them or fall to the ground and beg for forgiveness for keeping them away from their grandson.
She didn’t know I had a separate conversation with my parents after the first. I talked to them privately where Leighton, Sam, and Mike couldn’t overhear. I knew they would have deeper questions than what they were willing to ask in that first call, knowing Sam was right there. It was understandable they would be confused and probably angry at the situation because I had been through the same exact gamut of emotions.
During that conversation, I focused mostly on Leighton. I mean, who would have thought I’d become Leighton’s biggest champion over the course of her actions? But I feel like I’ve truly come to understand why she made the choices she did, and I have decided not to hold her up to the standards I would set for my present self—bolstered by my law enforcement experience and infinite wisdom.
I made my parents understand that as well. It boiled down to the fact Leighton stayed hidden and kept Sam away from me because she felt that was the best way to keep him safe. Just as she blew that cover when he got sick and sought me out to help save his life.
I told my parents Leighton showed an admirable quality of doing what was necessary for Sam’s safety and protection even if it meant hurting others or putting her own life in danger. It was something I had come to accept that could not be judged without being in her shoes, and I hoped my parents would feel the same way.
While I’m sure it didn’t need to be said, I finished that conversation by asking them to please treat Leighton and Mike with kindness, respect, and understanding even if they felt differently. I assured them that I’d been angry at first, too, and I hoped they would eventually calm enough to accept the situation the way I have.
Because Leighton is an amazing woman.
I could go on and on about all the ways she is special because of how great a mother she is. Seeing I have a healthy, well adjusted, and happy child is all I could have asked for. That is directly due to Leighton.
But fuck if she hasn’t proven that she is amazing in so many other ways. No other woman can compete with her in my bed. She holds my attention better than any other not because she does anything especially kinky, has some magic secret when fucking me, or attempts to push her boundaries.
It’s simply because of who she is to me.
The personal connection, the love we once shared, and the fact she bore my son sets her so far beyond any other woman I have been with that no one will ever hold a candle to her. It’s made it so abundantly clear how all my kinky fucking over the years has never been all that satisfying.
Not compared to Leighton.
It’s also clear The Wicked Horse is doing nothing to add to my sexual pleasure with her. I have just as satisfying a time with her in my home as I do in the club. In fact, I could actually do without the club as long as she was in my bed—and that’s a stark realization. A testament to how radically my thinking has changed in a matter of weeks.
When she was down on her knees last night, she completely obliterated that Declan had a taste of her from my memory and thoughts. She made it clear she’s mine in every sense of the word, and she did it without saying a single word. With her actions alone.
“Anyone want another beer?” Mike says as he pushes his chair away from the table.
Blinking out of the sexual rabbit hole I’d fallen through while thinking about Leighton, I nod at Mike, as does my dad. I glance across the table at my mom, who sits beside Leighton. She’s deep in their discussion about the finer points of making guacamole. My dad is at the end of the table beside Sam, showing off his whittling knife to his grandson with promises to teach him the craft.
I must admit… this situation is very satisfying.
We are a family. Everyone in this room is united by one little boy—all willingly bound to him. It’s effortless to love a kid as great as Sam.