Chapter 31
Dax
“You looked hot as hell naked on the beach,” I say from the bed of our resort suite.
“It was dark out,” Libby calls out from the bathroom.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say. “I could still see you. And you looked delicious.”
“Okay but what does that have to do with this dress? I liked it when I bought it, but I also tried it on before spending a week on vacation eating at buffets and drinking rum out of fruit bowls.”
It’s out last night in Costa Rica and we have a reservation for the Japanese restaurant at the resort. Seeing as how Asian food is Libby’s ‘favorite of favorites’ as she puts it, I saved it for last.
“I am sure you look beautiful,” I tell her.
The door opens and Libby walks out in a red floor length dress that is both fitted and flowy, longer in the back and shorter in the front.
“You look like Marilyn Monroe…if she was brunette and way hotter and the dress was red,” I ramble. “What I mean is…wow.”
“You’re sure it’s not too much?” she asks, turning to the full-length mirror on the wall.
I rush over to her. “Baby, we are in Costa Rica. I promise it’s not too much. If people are staring it’s because you look gorgeous.”
“Okay,” she says with a small smile that tells me she loves the dress and the way it makes her feel. And she should. Because…damn.
“Good.” I plant a kiss on her cheek, then her neck, then her shoulder, moving the strap aside as I do and Libby giggles, shrugging me away.
“Don’t get me excited,” she says.
I grab her hand before she can sneak away. “Why?”
“Because we have a reservation in ten minutes.”
“We can be a little late. There’s a fifteen-minute grace period. We could accomplish a lot in fifteen minutes,” I smirk down at her, wrapping her hands around my waist so I can put my hands elsewhere.
“Well, I’m hungry now,” she says. “So, whatever you were planning to do for the next…fourteen…minutes will just have to wait.”
“You sure about that?” I ask, tipping her chin up to meet mine.
Libby’s lips part and our mouths slowly inch closer and closer together. And then, she pulls back. “Yeah, I’m sure. Now let’s go.”
I take a deep breath as she pulls away from me and all I can do is watch her ass, which looks unreal in that dress, as she sashays off to the door. That and tuck my granite hard cock into the belt of my slacks.
“You coming?” she asks, turning to smirk back at me.
If I’m not, I will be soon.
The restaurant is perfect with small, dim lit tables, quiet music, and the best garlic aioli edamame I’ve ever had.
But the best part is simply sitting with Libby as she enthusiastically sips her drink and goes on about how lovely the place is.
Everything from the candle to the gyoza to the rainbow roll and everything else. All I can do is smile.
“You seem like you’re having a good time,” she says, and that’s when I realize that all I’ve been doing for the past twenty minutes is smiling and staring.
“I am,” I tell her. “Just being here with you, it's…I don’t want to leave. I don’t want it to be over.”
Libby smiles over at me while she sips her drink. Her eyes are warm and dark at the same time. Her cheeks are rosy, and her lips are full and the color of wine. “What about your girls?” I ask.
“I do miss the girls,” I admit. “But I also love being here with you. Alone. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt…anything really.”
I take another sip of my own drink, hoping the whiskey will shut me up. But at the same time, I don’t care. I mean everything I am saying.
“If it makes you feel better,” she says, still holding all that same warmth. “I don’t want to leave either. But also…I miss your girls too.”
“And they miss you,” I tell her and Libby’s face lights up.
“They do?”
“They do.”
“Did they say that?”
“They said that. I’ve been texting with them and that's what they said. They miss Miss Libby. Especially at story time.”
“Awe…” she gushes and I swear she looks like she’s going to cry. “I’m sure Summer is doing a good job though.”
“Well from the sound of it, Summer got a cold and Tom stepped in.”
Libby’s mouth screws into a smile. “Tom…did story time?”
“Green Eggs and Ham,” I nod.
“And how did that go?” she asks, fighting a giggle.
“I guess he stopped multiple times and told the kids that Sam is being manipulative and that the unnamed man shouldn’t let Sam harass him into doing anything he doesn’t want to do, including eating discolored breakfast foods.”
Libby snorts and it turns to a full-blown laugh. “That does sound like Tom.”
“Delilah didn’t like him,” I tell her, quoting the entire conversation I had earlier with my daughters on speakerphone while they got ready for bed.
“And Poppy?”
“Poppy found him to be very persuasive. Apparently she’s using his arguments to get out of eating her vegetables now.”
“Yikes,” Libby says, still giggling. And I find myself smiling again. Now that I think about it, I am always smiling when I’m with her. It’s a sharp left turn from the way I felt before when I thought she was just trying to make my life harder.
I was wrong.
Suddenly the beat of club music begins to play outside and both of us turn to see what’s going on. “I think there’s a party out by the garden bar,” Libby says, her shoulders shimmying lightly to the music.
“You want to go?” I ask and as expected, Libby’s attention pops up to me.
“You dance?” she asks.
“I’d dance with you,” I say.
She lights up and that’s all I need. We make our way outside and sure enough, music is pouring out of the garden bar. A swarm of happy, drink carrying people are moving and swaying to the music in the moonlight.
“This is fun,” she says as the steel dumbs kick in, and people pick up the pace. “Do you want to get a drink first?”
I reach out and pull her against me. Then I lower my mouth to her ear, my lips brushing her hair.
“I don’t need a drink to dance with you, Libby.”
My palm presses to her back which is bare thanks to the world’s sexiest dress, and we begin to move.
It’s effortless the way our bodies fit and meld together.
The humidity clings to us bringing out all our pheromones, all our energy, all our desire.
The night is hot and the music carries us, closer together then further apart.
I watch as she dances in front of me, her hands up, her back arched, her hips finding the beat as she turns in a circle.
I’m torn between wanting to just sit back and watch and wanting to pull her back against me so I can feel the music move through her.
Luckily, one song later, I don’t have to make the decision because Libby makes it for me.
She shimmies back towards me and lifts her head up to mine. “You want to get out of here?” she asks.
And I don’t have to be told twice.
I take Libby by the hand, and we catch the first golf cart back to the room.
Walking is nice but also difficult when your dick is the same consistency as concrete.
Two minutes later we are hopping off the cart and running up the stairs to our floor.
I fumble with the room key for a moment, making her laugh, and then it finally opens.
Throwing the door open, I pull her inside and let the door slam behind us. Not two seconds later my mouth is on hers. She kisses me back but then giggles.
“Something funny?” I ask.
“It’s just that we always kiss before we take our clothes off and it makes things a little tricky.”
“Alright. How's this?” I strip all my clothes off and toss them across the room. Then I undo her dress and tug it off before pulling her back to me. “There. Now where were we?”
We kiss again, slowly making our way over to the bed when I lay her back and take her in. “No bra,” I note.
“Kind of hard to wear with a backless dress.”
“I’m not complaining,” I say.
“How about now?” she asks as she slips her panties off and tosses them aside.
“Even better,” I say, my voice low. I want to devour her. I want to spread her knees apart and make her moan until the bed is soaked. But right now, I’m just in awe.
“Something wrong?” she asks with a smile, her bare body on display in the moonlight.
“Not at all. You’re beautiful, Libby. That’s short for Elizabeth right?”
“It is,” she says softly. Everything about her is soft. Everything about her feels right.
“Can I call you that?” I ask.
“You can call me anything you want, Daxton.”
A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth, and I bend down, kissing the top of her foot. “Elizabeth,” I whisper, moving my way up to her knee. “Elizabeth,” I inch higher to her thigh. “Elizabeth,” I go a little higher, to a spot I know she is anticipating and then lower my voice. “Elizabeth.”
When I kiss her there, she arches her back and I give her the pleasure of one more kiss, with tongue this time. “Elizabeth…”
I make my way up to her navel, her hips, her breasts. I take my time there too. Then I kiss her neck, running my tongue along her collar bones before working my way up to her mouth. My face hovers over hers, and our eyes meet. Hers are alive, wild, and it’s like I can see clear into her soul.
“Elizabeth,” I say one more time.
“I feel like Mrs. Darcy.”
“You are my Mrs. Darcy. And my Jo Marsh. And my Ilsa Lund. And my Vivian Ward. You, Libby, are beautiful. And I want you.”
Libby runs a finger down my chest, and I watch as her eyes darken a shade. “So, take me…”
It’s all the invite I need. But I don’t just take her.
That’s not what I want right now. I slip myself inside her slowly, gently, and watch her lips part, her breath emitting into the space between us warm and fruity with a hint of rum.
With my hand on her hip, I glide deeper inside her, feeling her body wrap around me, inviting me in and I softly groan.
“You feel so good,” I tell her.
“So do you…” she says, her hand pressed to my chest.
I push myself deeper inside her, making her gasp, then slowly pull back out. I do it again, and again, each time watching her face flush, her hand flexing against me, her back arching to press her closer to me.
It’s been a long time since I’ve had sex like this. It’s not something I ever thought I’d do again. Because it’s not just sex. It’s not fucking. It’s connection. And it hits me like a ton of bricks just how much I’ve been missing that.
As our hips roll back and forth in the same movement, the need builds up in us both and Libby’s eyes begin to plead with me. She wants more. She needs more. And I am going to give it to her. I pick up the pace, driving harder and deeper into her.
“Yes,” Libby whimpers and bite my lip with a groan before coming to my knees and pulling her hips up to me. I thrust in and out of her, faster, harder, deeper each time until her moans turn into screams and she cries out. “Yes!”
Moments later, the release builds up deep inside of me, rushing through me like a bullet train before crashing into her and we both come undone, wave after wave until I collapse on the bed next to her.
Together, we turn towards each other, the warm air wafting through the cracked French doors.
We have no need for a blanket. No need to cover up.
But we don’t fall asleep. Instead, we lay away for hours just talking.
“I think the hardest part of all is when the girls and I are doing something, simple daily tasks like making pancakes or putting a Band-Aid on a paper cut, and we realize that she’s gone.
I half expect her to come out of the bathroom, her hair in a towel smelling like coconut, a smile on her face.
She’d help me make sure the pancakes aren’t burnt or mushy.
She’d know just what to say to make the pain of the paper cut go away, and the smiles come back.
But then I blink and realize, it’s just me. ”
“I think,” Libby says while playing with my fingers as we hold hands, facing each other still, “That you are doing an amazing job.”
“Not like her,” I say. “No one could do it like her. She was their mother.”
“And you are their father.”
“It’s not the same,” I say.
“No. It’s not. But it is, however, just as important.”
“How so?” I ask.
“I had a good dad. Actually, an amazing dad. And he went through what you’re going through.
My mom died when I was younger, and he had no idea what to do.
But he figured it out. He figured it out for us.
And over time, we were okay again. Happy again, even.
Because he loved us and he didn’t give up. ”
“Sometimes I don’t feel like that’s enough,” I admit.
“But it is. Trust me. It is.”
I kiss her again, because I don’t know what else to do. And because I am feeling things I haven’t in so long. Things I didn’t think I could feel again. Honestly, I never thought I would. I watch as she starts to fall asleep, her eyes growing heavy and her breathing becoming more rhythmic.
And I start to wonder if this can really be.
Nervousness builds in me. Because even if I want it (and I really do) I have to ask myself if I am ready for it?
If the girls are ready for it. It’s one thing for them to love Miss Libby’s story time and mac and cheese night.
It’s another for her to be a new constant.
I brush the hair from her face and kiss her on the forehead before rolling onto my back. It’s a lot for my heart to process these feelings. But at the same time, I know I could never let her go. I am in far too deep.