The Kiss Lottery

Chapter 18 Everly

Chapter 18

Everly

The courthouse adventure is still on my mind two days later as I come in from an evening jog. I scoop up the cat and nuzzle her. She’s not much of a killer.

Beckett flashes in my mind. The way he jumped into the adventure at the courthouse, then his talk about love surviving time and distance; then the big whopper was the fact that he’s the one who invited me to Rose. I questioned him afterward as we sat in the back of the car, but it was hard with Troy and Tabby and Fritz listening to us. All Beckett would say was that it had been ten years and he wanted me to come home.

Now it’s been quiet between us, as if he’s giving me space. He dropped off a cake that Margo made for me, a lemon one, my favorite, but he said he couldn’t stay long since he was helping the committee get ready for the dance.

Later, after dinner and some TV, I carry Murder to my room, planning to go to sleep. I can’t doze off, though. I get up and pad out into the hall and go to my mom’s room. I came in last week and looked around, but after seeing Beckett’s scarf, I’m thinking of knitting a sweater for Murder.

I unlock the door. A cherrywood four-poster bed with a canopy is in the middle of the room, the posts carved with floral patterns.

I glance at her dresser. The surface is covered with photos of me and her. My dad was never in my life. He came to Nashville for the music scene and met my mom, and when she got pregnant, he took off for California.

I reach for the bottom drawer of her bureau and find skeins of yarn. Next to the yarn, a decorative wooden box catches my eye. Hmm. I’ve been through Mom’s things before, and I probably even looked inside the box, but it’s been years. When I open it, I find several letters in envelopes as well as a few trinkets I used to make in my elementary school days. I set them aside when I see an old leather family Bible. Huh. Maybe I’ve seen it before, but I can’t recall. We never went to church much, except for Easter and Christmas. I flip through the thin pages.

I pause at a family tree and trace my finger down the list, recognizing some names but seeing others I’ve never heard of.

One catches my eye, and I squeal. Murder jumps up in the air and hisses at me, her fur rising. Quincy Seaton is on the page! I blink rapidly as I scan the family tree, making sure I’m not seeing things. I’m not. He was born in 1862 and died in 1925. There are no children or marriage partner listed by his name. My heart sinks a little. My eyes move to the name next to his as a sibling: Elizabeth Seaton, born 1868. It dawns on me. She was his sister and my great-great-grandmother.

I trace Elizabeth’s line. She married a man named Ford, and they had a daughter, Margaret Ford Davis. Margaret’s line leads to James Davis, my grandfather, and then to Ciara Davis—my mom.

It connects to me, Everly Davis.

I never met my grandparents. They passed away before I was born.

I plop down on my mom’s bed like a starfish and gaze up at the ceiling in shock. “Quincy is my relative. He is my great-great-great-uncle. I’m a Seaton.”

I look over at the Bible next to me. I can’t believe this.

I never felt like I belonged here after everything happened with my diary.

I’ve been running my whole life.

Always traveling.

Always looking for somewhere to go.

But here . . .

Even with Mom gone.

I have a history in Rose.

I scoop up Murder and snuggle her.

Quincy Seaton was awesome. He was important to Rose.

Even though it’s nearly midnight, I grab my phone and text Beckett.

Fifteen minutes later, there’s a knock at the back door. I hurry to open it and find a very out-of-breath Beckett. His hair sticks up in all directions, and he’s wearing joggers, a thin tee, and galoshes.

“What’s going on?” he says, charging in and looking around as if checking for an intruder. “Your text said something huge happened.”

“Oops. I didn’t think you’d see it until the morning.”

He runs a hand through his messy hair, clearly still waking up. “Jesus. I was sound asleep.”

“Sorry about that. I just got really excited. I found something pretty cool.” I clap.

“What?”

I lead him to the kitchen table, where I set the Bible earlier. “I found this in my mom’s room. It has our family tree, and get this: Quincy Seaton is in it! He’s my great-great-great-uncle.”

His eyes widen as he scans the page. Amazement flits over his face. He grins widely at me. “Cool. You’ve got a family legacy.”

“I know, right? I’m piecing together parts of my history I didn’t even know existed.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small leather book. “I have something for you.”

A small gasp comes from me as I realize what he has. “You got my diary back? How?”

He smirks. “I told her to hand it over or I was going to announce to everybody that she’s the one who passed it around and ruined the game. She dropped it off a few days ago.”

“You didn’t read it, did you?”

A small laugh comes from him. “I only read what was plastered all over school, stories about me in your bedroom, and two whole pages about how much you wanted to kiss me.”

I feel a blush rising up my cheeks; then my eyes widen. “Um, what are you doing?”

He’s peeling off his shirt, revealing his chiseled chest, and I can’t help but notice how the water droplets cling to his muscles.

“I need to show you something.” With a flick of his wrist, he tosses his wet shirt onto the counter, then poses for me.

My mouth parts. I set down the diary and step closer to him.

“Holy ... a tattoo? You always said you weren’t into them.”

My eyes fix on the words inked over his heart.

“What does it say?”

“Come closer,” he murmurs.

I do, until my breasts are nearly against him. He smells intoxicating, all man as I lean in to read the elegant script: “Everly, I always want to see you.”

“I mean it,” he murmurs. “I thought you might need to see it. So you can know, without a doubt, that I have regretted my words to you ten years ago.”

I feel lightheaded. “But when did you get it?”

“The day I woke up on your couch, I went to Nashville instead of playing ball with Carson. It’s my apology and my promise.”

I look up into his eyes, searching for the truth in them.

Tension rises in the kitchen as our eyes lock. Tingles dance over my skin.

He reaches out, gently taking my hand and placing it over the tattoo. His skin is warm, and I feel the beat of his heart beneath my fingers. “I need you to know how deeply I regret telling you I never wanted to see you again. It was a lie. Totally. Every day since, I’ve wished I could take it back. I’m not sorry for putting you in my book. I can’t be. I had to do it because ...” He trails off.

“What?”

“To make you angry enough to come back and confront me. I mean, maybe that’s not what I told myself, but that is what I wanted.”

I swallow the lump in my throat.

“To bring you back to me,” he says gently. “And you came.”

I can’t think of what to say.

“I couldn’t stand the thought of never seeing you again. You asked me if I ever visited New York, and yes, I have, and I always looked for you, wanted to see you. That day in the diner when I saw you, it felt like everything came full circle. You’d finally come back to Rose.” He glances down for a moment, then looks back at me. “I didn’t want to want you, Everly. But seeing you. Being with you. None of the other stuff matters anymore.”

His confession leaves me reeling.

“Plus, it comes with this.” He tugs me against his chest, and my throat tightens.

“What?”

He tilts my face up, his lips hovering over mine. “A kiss. Maybe one like you described in your diary. And a promise. That I won’t hurt you again.”

“Beckett . . . ,” I whisper.

His lush lips brush against mine, soft and tender. The touch sends a jolt of electricity through me. It makes me ache for more.

He steps back, his eyes searching mine as his hand moves almost hesitantly, as if he’s afraid I might run away. He brushes a stray strand of hair from my face.

“Forgive me for hurting you,” he says.

I cup his cheek.

“Well?” He leans in, his eyes never leaving mine, seeming to seek permission with each inch he closes between us.

“I forgive you,” I say, and when his lips take mine again, his kiss is urgent and deep. The heat of his tongue. The plushness of his lips. His scent. The feel of his chest against me. I want to drown in all of it. I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer. His hand moves from my face to my waist.

This kiss is everything. Long. Searching. Aching.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to kiss him.

To hold him. To have him.

It’s better than anything I could have imagined.

Every nerve in my body comes alive. Shivers dance over my skin, igniting a fire that was smoldering within me. His fingers skim my neck, my collarbone, my arms. The touch is reverent. Hot. I melt into him. I’m languid. And I want this. Him.

At least once. A time to hold in my heart.

His hips brush against me, and his cock is hard through his thin joggers.

His lips trace my jawline down to my neck. He murmurs my name, his deep breaths mingling with mine.

His touch is like a flame as his hands tug at my tank top. I help him, whipping it over my head. My glasses clatter to the floor, but neither of us care.

I’m not wearing a bra, and our skin meets. The air crackles with anticipation as we gaze at each other. I feel the roughness of his chest hair brushing against my sensitive nipples.

His fingers trail down my body, until they reach the waistband of my joggers.

His lips travel down to my neck, and he sucks the skin hard, making me cry out.

I help him shove down my joggers, and I kick them away. I stand in my panties, and he pulls away to take me in, emotions flitting over his face as he carefully reaches out and cradles a breast in his hand, his thumb grazing over my nipple. My back arches to be closer. For more.

“Your pants,” I breathe as I tug at them, and he helps me push them to the floor. Next are his shoes and socks.

“This is happening so fast,” I say, and he tips my chin up to gaze at me.

“Do you want me to slow down.”

I shake my head. No, I’ve waited for this. For him.

He kisses me again, and I could kiss him for hours, until our lips are bruised and swollen. He pulls back and bends down to cup my breasts. His hands caress them both slowly, drawing lines on my skin, spiraling toward the center, where my nipples are. Slow. So slow. My chest rises in anticipation as he gets closer to the sensitive area. My legs tremble as I back up to the table for support. Finally, he reaches my nipples and tugs on them, the scrape of his nails gentle but erotic. He presses my breasts together as he bends to suck on them. Around my chest. In the valley. Underneath. He finds the hidden places of my breasts that no one knows. He sucks my nipples into his mouth, the heat from the touch igniting a fire in my pelvis as my spine tingles.

He eases us down until I’m lying on the kitchen table. His lips trail down from my chest to my abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses that sends shivers throughout my body. Each touch sends bolts of flame through me. He glances up at me, his eyes dilated, before continuing to explore my body with his mouth and hands. My breath hitches in my throat at the sight of him, his sculpted chest, the sprinkle of dark hair that trails to his abs, the way his dick bobs, thick and swollen.

He gets this smirk on his face. “You like?”

“Yes.”

“Even the scars.”

“Especially those. They’re you. A part of your history. And mine in a way.”

His teeth tug on his bottom lip as he takes me in, his gaze lingering on my breasts before coming back to my face. “You’re so gorgeous, Ev. So beautiful. I don’t know what to do first.”

I take his hand and put it on my hip. “Start here and work your way down.”

“I’m at your command.” His fingers glide smoothly over the curve of my hip, traveling lower, until they reach my panties. I can feel the heat from his hands through the fabric as he traces my body until finally pulling them down. He kisses my inner thigh, trailing closer and closer to my apex. His tongue darts out, exploring every inch, making me moan softly as I wrap my legs around his waist.

He spreads me apart and makes a satisfied sound as his lips brush over my clit.

My back arches when I call out his name.

He fingers me in and out, the wet sound mingling with my ragged breaths. Then he sucks my clit into his mouth, and I writhe, the table creaking beneath us.

With every lick, every flick, and every tease of his skilled tongue, intense sensations course through my body. Fire builds at the base of my spine. My breaths grow shallow, each one a gasp of pleasure. My hips rise and fall against him, unable to resist the building pressure within me. His free hand reaches around to play with one of my nipples, pinching it hard before rolling it between his thumb and index finger in a circling motion that sends shock waves of pleasure through me.

He pulls away, leaving my pussy wet and swollen and aching for more.

He leans over me. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

I nearly come at his words. I’m wild with need as I watch him hold his dick and slide its thickness inside me. I cry out in a mix of pain and pleasure, my body adjusting to his large size. His lashes flutter against his cheek as he thrusts inside me.

“Ev. My love,” he says, or I think he says. It’s hard to tell because he cuts off his words and kisses me, his tongue in rhythm with his hips.

I claw at his back, trying to get closer, to get more.

So much more.

His cock feels so good. So thick. And hard.

And I’ve dreamed of this. Of how perfect it would be with him.

The intensity. How every drag of his hips would send me off a cliff of bliss.

His gaze locks with mine, and I see the raw hunger and desire in his eyes. I’m lost in the passion, in his touch, in his kiss, and I give myself to him completely. He’s not holding back, and neither am I. We’re a perfect storm of want and need, riding the waves of our mutual desire.

His fingers know what to do, as if he’s always known my body. He tugs at my nipples in tandem with each time he enters my pussy. I cling to him, my hands gripping his shoulders as I surrender to the sensations coursing through my body. My kisses become more frantic.

The fire in my spine heats. Hotter and hotter.

My body stiffens. “I’m going to come,” I breathe out, and he whispers to me to let go.

My back arches as tingles fly over my skin. My pussy contracts around his cock, squeezing and clenching and milking him.

“Ev, Ev, Ev ...,” he whispers in my ear as I step off the cliff and into sensation.

He rubs my clit, extending the pleasure, and my orgasm goes on and on.

He cups my face and kisses me gently. “Not bad.”

A laugh comes from me as I pop him on the arm.

“Am I right? We’re pretty good together.” He smirks.

“It was okay, I guess.”

Our bodies are slick with sweat. He’s breathing heavily as he pulls out of me, his cock still hard. I reach up to him, my fingers curling around his neck as he leans down to press a kiss to my forehead. He grins wickedly as he picks me up in his strong arms with ease.

He carries me toward the back of the couch, and I feel his hands press against my lower back to urge me down. “I think you need a bit more of a lesson. I haven’t come yet. Bend over,” he commands softly. I do as he says, and my heart races as I feel his dick pressing against my wet entrance once more. He teases me by circling his hips, sliding the tip just past my opening before pulling back again.

His hand comes up to my hair, fingers tangling in the strands. He moves between my legs, pushing them apart. It’s almost like he’s marking his territory, and I love every moment of it. His warm breath tickles across my shoulder blades before his lips graze over them teasingly, tracing shapes with his mouth. He bites me, a little hard, but it only makes my toes curl.

He presses his cock against my pussy again. I gasp softly, feeling him sink inside me inch by inch, until he’s fully sheathed. He holds himself still for a moment, letting me adjust to the sensation of being filled again so soon. His hips rock forward slightly, sliding out and then back in, testing the fit. He pushes deeper, filling me completely.

“God, yes ...,” I say on a moan.

His hands caress up and down my back, kneading my shoulder blades as he starts to move within me in long strokes. The friction between our bodies creates a sound of flesh on flesh.

His teeth graze along my shoulder blade lightly as he fucks me, biting down gently every now and then, causing a mix of pain and pleasure that sends shivers down my spine. His hips pump faster, slapping against my ass. He drives into me harder than before, as if demanding everything from me. My nails dig into his arm, the sensation a welcome addition to the storm of emotions coursing through me.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his breath hot against my skin. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

I whimper with the knowledge that this might be our only night. “Don’t stop,” I beg, my voice hoarse with need. “Keep going.”

He groans, thrusting faster, his pace frantic as the couch creaks beneath us and I cling to it to hold on.

His finger finds my clit. He circles it over and over—hard, then soft.

I call out. Those tingles are building again. Wetness drips down my leg. My pussy begins to flutter. His cock thickens, and his groans grow louder, his breathing out of control.

“Ev . . .”

The heat from his body engulfs me as he growls low in his throat while biting down gently on my neck, sending shivers along my spine. With another thrust, he finds that spot inside me that unravels me entirely. I feel it deep within my core, an electric pulse radiating. I come spectacularly. Like falling through stars. My body spasms over and over.

He yells out and orgasms, the warmth of his seed filling me up.

I float down to earth, my thoughts muddled and thick.

I love sex. I always have. But it’s never been like this.

I feel whole, complete, and loved beyond measure.

Wait. Love? I know I love him. I always have. It’s the kind of love that never wanes, never disappears. No one in my life has ever compared to him. Since I was just a teenager, until now, he has been my first and final thought of each day. That has never changed.

My breath hitches, my body tensing as I struggle to hold back the wave of ecstasy that’s threatening to overwhelm me.

He kisses the arch of my neck sweetly. “Come on. Let me take you to bed.”

He turns me to face him, then stares down at me as he picks me up and carries me to my bedroom. He gently lays me down on the bed.

“I want to make sure you’re comfortable,” he says as he gets up from the bed and heads toward the bathroom. I enjoy the sight of him, sighing at the muscles rippling in his body. He returns with a warm washcloth and kneels beside the bed and begins to gently clean me up, his touch tender and caring.

As he finishes, he kisses my inner thigh, his lips warm and gentle. “You are truly beautiful,” he murmurs.

“I can never eat on the kitchen table again,” I say.

“It was the only place available,” he replies, a playful grin on his face.

He flips back the covers and slides in next to me. He lies on his back as I curl into him. His arm wraps around me. It feels perfect.

Then Murder jumps on top of his chest, and I shoo her away. “He’s mine right now.”

Beckett chuckles as he turns to face me. “Thank you.”

“For what?” I tense a little. If he says “Thanks for the fuck,” then I’m not sure what I will do.

“For coming back to Rose. For seeing me.”

I look at his new tattoo, I always want to see you.

“Always?”

“I swear to never hurt you again.”

“Then why did you?”

He exhales and frowns.

I don’t like it and rub my fingers over his forehead to smooth the lines out.

“Don’t. It’s okay. We won’t talk about it right now. Let’s just be together. I know, tell me about your next book. Fritz said you were having trouble writing it. Maybe I can help.”

He smirks. “I used to tell you all my bad plot ideas when we were kids.”

“And I always listened. So, what are you working on?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “First, let me clarify something from the night we got trashed. You weren’t wrong when you said I talked about the woodcutter and the fairy. In my head, I was the woodcutter and you were the fairy. There were things I could have said back then to get you to stay, but you needed to find your wings. I’ve always known that. You needed to get out of Rose and figure out who you were. Even though I cared for you. Even though I wanted to make you mine.”

I take his words in, my mind spinning. I think about the significance of this moment. We’ve crossed a boundary that neither of us ever thought we would, and we’re standing at the precipice of something.

But what?

Is this a forever kind of feeling for him?

My heart knows it is for me, even if my mind is still catching up. Every moment we spend together feels important.

With him, I’m not lost. I’m found. I’m home.

“Are you saying you told me you never wanted to see me again because you wanted me to find myself?”

His face shutters. “Mostly.”

Mostly? What’s the rest of it? What is he hiding?

I tense as a worried expression flits over his face. “What are you not telling me?”

He shakes his head and smiles. “That’s enough talk for now. I really want to kiss you again,” he says softly as he leans closer and presses his lips to mine.

His hand cups my jaw as the kiss deepens.

For now, I forget about asking more questions.