Chapter 24
Mia
I love the sex.Okay, I more than love it, I am freaking obsessed with it. Those past few days, I've had enough sex and orgasms to last me a lifetime. From the kitchen, to the couch, in the shower, and the jacuzzi.
We've made sure every inch of the cabin will need a deep cleaning before it’s rented again. This man doesn’t just please me; he seems to know every secret contour of my body. My toys stand no chance against him, and I doubt anyone else could ever compete.
Our bodies are perfect for each other, like they were made for each other.
When he said he was going to give me an orgasm everywhere we go, he meant it, and has been keeping that promise. We've done it at the waterfall plenty of times, the restaurant bathroom, on the hood of his jeep, and inside that little barn we found. I can even cross having sex in a library off my list.
What I love even more are those morning walks to the waterfall. It’s become our routine; we always come here every morning before doing anything else.
Laying side by side on the cool, damp grass, our hands barely touch, we look through the break in the canopy where the morning sky blushes into shades of deep orange. I find myself captivated by the serene expression on his face, his jaw unclenched and a peace settling over his features that makes him look even more handsome.
“Stop staring at me,” he teases without looking at me.
“I’m not staring.”
He turns around and moves on top of me, his green eyes piercing.
“I wasn’t,” I stifle a laugh.
His fingers find my side, tickling me. “Admit it.”
I gasp between laughs, my hands coming up to cover my face as an embarrassed snort slips out.
He pauses, watching me with an intensity that sends a warm flush across my cheeks. “What?” I ask, peeking through my fingers, my voice muffle behind my hands.
“I love your snort,” he says.
“You’re a weirdo. Who likes that awful sound?”
“ I think it’s adorable.” He gives me that boyish smile that I adore.
I roll him over and climb on top. He’s still smiling, eyes twinkling mischievously. God, why is he so insanely beautiful? I hate how it makes my heart flutter like the leaves in the morning breeze.
“Race you down!” I get up and begin shedding my clothes to dive into the water first. But my shorts stubbornly cling to my hips, trapping me. By the time I wriggle free, he’s already shed his clothes, sprinting past me with the grace of a deer. His laughter rings through the air, pulling my gaze to the muscular flex of his legs and the irresistible curve of his bare ass.
An exhilarated scream cuts through the air as he leaps into the water. I chase after him, my laughter mingling with the rustling trees.
“I’ll never get tired of this!” I shout into the wind, the thrill of the chase igniting a wild joy in me. Despite the early hour, the water is always warm. We swim, chase, and splash before collapsing back onto the grass, breathless and grinning.
A shadow of guilt creeps over me, uninvited. I’m so happy, so carefree, and she’s not here to share it. I shouldn’t feel this good. My laughter fades, a tightness forming in my chest.
“What is it?” He props himself on one elbow, his gaze piercing, as if he can read the turmoil written across my face.
“It’s just… I’m happy.” I force a smile. The words are like a betrayal as they tumble out.
“I know, and I like seeing you happy.” His hand reaches out, gently brushes a stray leaf from my hair, a tender touch that sends warmth cascading through me.
“But I shouldn’t. She’s gone, and this is usually our vacation, and I’m happy without her.” The words are heavier than I intended.
“I’m sure your mom loved you so much, and she wouldn’t want anything else than to see you happy. And that doesn’t change the fact that you still love her,” he reassures me as he pulls me closer. We meld into each other, arms and legs tangled as naturally as vines, with an ease that frightens.
His heartbeat against my ear is steady and comforting; he presses a soft kiss to my hairline, which send ripples of warmth down my spine. I repeat the mantra in my head: This is casual and fun, that’s it.
I try to convince my heart to listen, but it’s no use when his hug feels like home—when my skin gets all tingly from his touch, and his presence satisfies a hunger I didn’t know I had.
With a sigh, I tighten my grip on him, craving the comfort that his body against mine brings. He responds by drawing me even closer, our bodies pressed so tightly that every breath he takes seems to fill the spaces between us.
“Are you ready to head back? We have our pottery class.” His arms are still wrapping around me.
“Hmm,” I whisper back, savoring his scent, the comforting warmth of his body. His hand drifts down to squeeze my ass playfully. “You’re still holding me,” I note, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
“Yes, and I’m not letting go until you’re ready,” he states, his fingers massaging gently, making it harder to leave. I could stay here forever, but the thought of pottery, molding clay with him, does sound fun.
“I’m ready.” I reluctantly let go of his hold.
As I bend to grab our things, he gives my ass a playful smack. “Damn girl, your ass keeps getting bigger.”
“It’s because you keep feeding me,” I laugh, the sound light and carefree as we start walking back together.
“Wanna race back?” I run ahead before he has time to answer. I reach the cabin before him, breathless and giggling. “I won!” I stick out my tongue playfully.
“I let you win, baby, so I could watch that ass bounce,” he teases, smacking my ass again as he leans in to kiss my cheek, just as he opens the door.
I’m about to answer him when my phone rings.
“Bonjour, Grandma,” I answer, walking through the kitchen and sliding the door open to step out back as Jake starts on his smoothie.
“Bonjour, ma chérie, comment vas-tu?” Good morning, sweetheart, how are you?
Her familiar greeting fills my ear. We’ve been talking more often lately, especially after a touching conversation about her regrets of not resolving her differences with my mom before she passed away.
“Life is too short,” she’d said; apparently, they were estranged because my mom had fallen in love with my dad during a trip that was supposed to be a vacation and moved to the US to be with him.
“?a va merci, et toi, ?a va?” I’m good, thanks. And you, how are you? I stroll around the pool, the water shimmering crystal clear under the early morning sun.
“?a va, Chérie. Have you thought about my offer?” She switches to English, her tone hopeful.
“Yes, and I think I might visit after the summer.” I take a seat on one of the lounge chairs and tuck my legs underneath me.
“That is wonderful! Let me know the dates, and I’ll take care of everything.” She sounds excited.
We talk a little more before Jake walks outside with two glasses of shake, placing them on the table between us.
“Okay, bisous, talk to you soon.”
“Bisous, ma Chérie.”
The line goes silent.
Checking the time on my phone, it’s already 8 a.m. and our pottery class is at 9.
“Come on, we need to get ready, or we’ll be late,” I urge, quickly gulping down my shake as I head inside, Jake trailing close behind me. The temptation to join him in the shower flickers through my mind, but I dismiss the thought. Seeing him naked again would certainly sidetrack us further. I can’t seem to get enough of him, but time is ticking.
After a quick shower, I slip into biker shorts and an oversized graphic shirt that says I'm a sasshole , pairing them with my red Converse. I pull my hair back into a tight ponytail, keeping it simple but effective. A touch of light foundation finishes my casual, ready-for-the-day look. I grab an extra set of clothes, so we don’t need to come back here to change after class.
Rushing downstairs, I find Jake casually leaning against the staircase, one foot against the bottom step, arms folded across his chest, looking like he’s been waiting. He wears a pair of denim jeans and a gray t-shirt that shows off the contour of his muscle’s underneath.
“How did you get ready so fast?” I raise an eyebrow.
He pushes off from the stairs with a chuckle. “I love the shirt.” He points at my chest. “You have a thing for graphic t-shirts.
“I love to make a statement.” I laugh, adjusting my bag over my shoulder. “Let’s go.” I walk past him as he follows me outside.
We pull into the pottery class parking lot at 8:55 a.m, right on time.
The small studio is cozy, filled with the earthy smell of clay and the gentle hum of spinning pottery wheels. We choose a wheel in the back, a quiet corner under a string of twinkling fairy lights. Jake sits behind me, his legs framing either side of mine, his presence a warm, reassuring comfort at my back.
He places his hands over mine, guiding them as we shape the wet clay. His touch is gentle yet firm, guiding my motions to center the clay that stubbornly wants to wobble off the wheel.
His lips brush gently against my neck, sending electric shivers through my body, molding my feelings and shaping them into something deeper.
“Stop, you’re distracting me,” I murmur, attempting to sound stern but failing miserably as a chuckle escapes me.
“Isn’t this supposed to be fun?” His breath warm against my skin. He gently nibbles the top of my ear, making my skin tingles.
I lean back slightly, his solid chest presses against my back, his heartbeat steady and comforting. “It is fun.” I turn my head to meet his gaze, our faces inches apart. “But we’re going to end up with something that looks like a pancake.”
“Then it will be our baby pancake,” he teases, capturing my lips in a soft, lingering kiss, not caring that there are other people watching us. His fingers skillfully push and pull at the clay, sending my thoughts to places they probably shouldn’t wander. “Your fingers are really working the clay, huh?” I blurt out.
“I’m really good with my fingers,” he whispers into my ear in a low, seductive rumble as he kisses my neck again. I can feel him hardening behind me.
“Oh my God, Jake,” I laugh, “Are you…?”
“It’s not my fault you smell so fucking amazing and I’m touching you. I keep thinking about how much I want to mold your perfect body.” His voice is a heated whisper, filled with desire.
I can’t help but laugh softly, shaking my head. “My body isn’t clay,” I protest, trying to appear serious, but my heart races with anticipation. I secretly look forward to his touch. He really does know how to mold my body under his fingers.
When the vase finally stands on its own, tall and oddly shaped, we both step back, hands smeared with clay, and our faces light up with satisfaction. Jake wraps his arms around me from behind, chin resting on my shoulder, as we admire our handiwork.
Despite the imperfections, or perhaps because of them, what we make feels uniquely ours—flawed, and all.