There is another update of AJ's Serenity--Part 3. Below is an excerpt. Enjoy and Show Ms. Aliyah some love :)
And to all my mothers and future mothers--Happy Mother's Day *big hugs*
Sav
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“Do we know where we’re going?” Spyros asked once they got into the car.
“Sis wants to see the Archaeological Museum, if that’s okay,” Samara said.
“Anything for you, darling,” AJ said, earning one of Samara’s fantastic smiles.
He paid the fare once they reached the museum, and he helped Samara out the taxi. He didn’t let go of her hand once she was situated, and she didn’t try to make him. It had been a long time since he had visited the museum, but, per usual, he was more transfixed on Samara than the artifacts housed. Of course, he and Spyros translated the placards when asked, but for the most part, he barely paid attention.
“The art here is amazing . . . the sculptures . . .” Frankie breathed, and Samara nodded in agreement. Both he and Spyros shared a look saying the art wasn’t the only thing amazing to them.
There came a point where Samara wanted to take a break, so he sat with her on a bench while Frankie and Spyros went off to parts unknown. He tucked her into him, and eventually she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. He held her with both arms, and he would’ve pulled her in his lap if he thought she would let him.
“Are you comfortable, darling?”
She nodded and snuggled deeper into him. “You make a fantastic pillow.”
Pillow. Bed. He grunted, half chuckle, half groan, as his mind conjured up images of her in his bed wearing nothing but his sheets and his scent.
Her arm, which was hugging him from behind, tightened, and her fingers began an idle drift. AJ trembled from her touch, but from the look of utter peace on her face, AJ knew she wasn’t being coy. His suspicions were confirmed—she was a very affectionate person. She probably was one of those people who loved to give contact but was too shy to receive it. She had been certain in her insistence she trusted him; it was herself that made her feel unsure.
“My precious Samara,” he murmured into her hair. “You’ve no reason to doubt . . .”
“Doubt what?” she asked.
He linked fingers with her free hand, noting the different shades and her clean fingernails. “Yourself. You’re so much more than you give yourself credit for.”
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