Chapter 40 #2
I fought it. Denied it. Avoided it at all costs.
But you can’t outrun destiny. I’ve never been a big believer in fate or divine intervention or anything that exists beyond what I can see and touch and prove.
But I’d be a fool to sit here, holding this woman, after everything that led us to each other, and not wonder if Miles had something to do with it.
If somehow, in whatever form he exists in now, he nudged things along.
Sent her to me. Made sure I was paying attention.
Maybe burst a pipe or two when I had my head up my ass.
It sounds implausible.
But then again, so does falling in love after spending your whole life convinced you never would.
Ariana shifts slightly and I sense the moment she feels my hardened length as she moves. Her wide eyes meet mine, confused but there’s desire in them too.
You’d think it would be impossible to be turned on after such a depressing and difficult conversation, yet my body has been primed for her since she crawled into my lap.
The timing couldn’t be more off, but I want her. I just bared my soul to her and long to be as close to her as possible. To not feel an inch of space between us. To be connected to her like I’ve never been with anyone else.
Seeming to understand where my mind just went, she repositions herself to straddle me, rocking herself against the bulge in my pants as she discards her cardigan.
My hands find her waist but I don’t pull her closer. I just hold her there, taking her in. Her eyes are still a little red from crying, her cheeks still faintly damp. She’s beautiful. Otherworldly. Unearthly. Made of some kind of magic to have completely bewitched me.
I reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, my thumb trailing down her cheek. She leans into the touch, her eyes closing briefly, and something about that small surrender makes my heart turn over in my chest.
I kiss her slowly. No urgency, just her mouth and mine, unhurried. Time is of no consequence. There is nothing and no one but us and this moment.
She makes a soft sound against my lips and her hands come up to my face, cradling my jaw. Being held like this does something wild to the drumming of my pulse.
We undress each other without any of the usual rush, each layer coming away carefully. I take my time with her, pressing my lips to her shoulder, her collarbone, the curve of her neck.
When I finally lay her back against the pillows and settle over her, I go still for a moment. Just gazing at her. Her dark hair fanned out beneath her, her watchful eyes flaring with heat and trust.
I lower myself to her slowly, and when we come together it’s overwhelming. My chest cracks wide open, my heart swelling with an all-consuming amount of love.
I move at a languid pace, my forehead dropping to hers. Her arms wrap around me and she holds on, and I hold her back.
Our eyes are locked as I slide in and out of her. She’s so wet, the sounds of her arousal meld with our labored breaths.
“You feel incredible,” I moan.
“So do you,” she says, her puffs of hot air pelting my lips.
This is beyond sex, beyond any level of intimacy I thought could be reached.
I never understood the distinction between the various words used to describe sex. But now I understand it in a way I never could have before Ariana.
I give her every part of me I’ve spent years locking away. She takes all of it without hesitation, her body rising to meet mine, her hands moving over my back like she’s trying to memorize me.
I’ve been with lots of women. More than I’m proud of. But I’ve never been known. Never let anyone close enough to see me the way she just did, tear-streaked and raw and broken open—and then looked up to find her still there. Still choosing me.
I kiss her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Moving with her, not just against her. Like we’re the same thing. Like we’re one.
When she comes undone, I follow her there, and I hold her through every shudder, every soft cry, every aftershock.
And for as long as I live I’ll never forget the first time I made love to Ariana Ledger.
The following morning I wake up and realize, for the first time since Miles died, I don’t dread my birthday.
It helps that Ariana is in my arms. Her hair is splayed out on my chest, tickling me, her leg hooked over mine, the scent of warm sugar swirling in the air. She usually starts her workday hours before me, so having her here, on today of all days, feels like its own kind of gift.
I press a kiss to the top of her head and she stirs, tilting her face up to look at me, sleep-dazed and warm.
“Morning,” she murmurs.
“Morning, doll.”
She curls her soft, naked body to mine, stretching, and my cock thickens immediately.
I’m merely a man with the world’s sexiest woman bare and stunning beside me.
It doesn’t matter that I had her three times last night before we passed out, our slick, sated bodies thoroughly spent.
When it comes to Ariana, my supply is never short, my need for her never-ending.
She smiles shyly at me, hesitating on her words before speaking. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you, baby.” I kiss her, rolling my body over hers.
She welcomes me with parted legs and I enter her in one decadent stroke, and I can’t think of a better way to start the day.
Afterward, we lie tangled, my knuckles gently stroking her back.
Eventually I sit up a little and Ariana swivels her head to peer up at me.
“Do you want to come with me?” I ask quietly. I don’t need to explain any more than that. She knows what I’m asking.
And it’s something I’ve never asked anyone before. I’ve always gone to visit Miles alone.
“Are you sure? I understand if it’s not something you want to share with me.”
Of course I want to share this with her. I want to share my whole fucking life with her. I don’t say that, though. Instead I nod silently, giving her hand a squeeze.
Once we’re ready and out the door, the drive is mostly comfortable silence, Ariana’s hand resting on my thigh, her thumb tracing absent circles.
When I pull off the main road into the cemetery she stiffens in her seat but doesn’t say anything. She just looks out the window at the rows of headstones passing slowly as I navigate the familiar path I could drive in my sleep.
I park and cut the engine.
The grass is still cold and damp underfoot, the trees bare, the sky pale and gray.
It looks colder than it feels, yet dreary all the same.
Logically I know it’s still winter, so of course the sun won’t be out blazing and warm—but sometimes I think there’s a reason it’s never sunny on my birthday.
Like even the sky knows it’s a sad day. As if mother nature decided long ago that this particular date wasn’t meant to be bright.
We walk together toward his headstone. I’ve made this trek so many times I don’t have to think about it. Left at the old sycamore, past the row of matching granite headstones, then right toward the secluded section near the back.
I stop when we reach him.
Miles Conrad Benton.
Beloved son and brother.
The dates underneath are the ones that still catch me sometimes—same day, different years. Eleven years apart. That’s all he got, frozen in time.
With my hands in my pockets, I stare at his headstone, doing what I always do. Just being here.
Sometimes I talk to him. Other times I stand here peacefully and just think.
Ariana slips her hand into mine and holds it.
“When we turned twenty-one, I brought him a beer,” I say, breaking the silence.
She grins softly at me. “Yeah. What kind?”
“Natty Light.” I laugh. “Had to be a shitty beer. It’s a rite of passage.”
She leans her head against my arm, her eyes resting on the headstone. “What else have you brought him over the years? Talked to him about?”
I tell her about the first batch of wine I made on my own and how I came and poured some out for him right here.
I tell her about the Blink-182 concert tickets I brought because he loved shitty pop-punk and I thought he should know I still remembered that.
I tell her about graduations and baseball awards, the year I made the 40 Under 40 list in winemaking, the day I took over as CEO.
And then finally I tell her about the night I sat beside his grave for hours talking about this beautiful coffee shop owner I couldn’t stop thinking about—and how that was the same night I showed up at her shop in the middle of the night, begging for her forgiveness and hoping she’d agree to be my fake girlfriend.
Because I was too afraid to ask for the real thing, even though it was already real for me from the very start.
Ariana lifts her head off my arm and looks up at me. Her eyes are shiny with unshed tears. “You talked to him about me?” she asks quietly.
My lips twitch. “Miles knows all about you, baby. He’d probably think I’m obsessed with you with how much I won’t shut up about you.”
“You think he would like me?”
“Definitely.” I nod. “He’d probably hit on you just to piss me off. We always liked the same girls. We never really fought about much, but we did fight over girls. They always liked him better because he was sweet and I was kind of an annoying dick.”
She laughs. “That doesn’t surprise me one bit. You’ve been annoying me for a while now.” Her shoulder nudges mine playfully.
“Oh, yeah?” I give her hip a squeeze. “Get used to it, doll. Going to be annoying you for a very long time.”
Forever, if you let me.
We don’t stay much longer, the cold breeze biting through our layers.
Walking back to my truck, it hits me that for the first time in over twenty years the weight of this day isn’t sitting on my chest and crushing me. I can breathe. I can smile. For once I’m not just barely surviving it.
And it’s all because of Ariana.
Later that night she surprises me with a box of chocolate croissants. She’s a little embarrassed because she found out about my birthday so late that she didn’t have time to get me a gift.
I don’t need gifts.
The best one I’ve ever gotten is in my arms.