Chapter 7 #2
As if I could. The taste of her, the sounds she makes, the way her body responds to every touch.
It's intoxicating. I add a second finger, curling them to find the spot that makes her gasp my name.
When I focus my attention on her clit, alternating between firm circles and gentle suction, I feel her begin to tighten around my fingers.
"That's it," I encourage her. "Let go for me, Kelsie."
Her release, when it comes, is beautiful to witness. Her back bows, her thighs clamp around my head, and my name falls from her lips in a litany that sounds like prayer. I work her through it gently, easing her down from the height until she collapses back onto the bed, breathing hard.
When I move up to lay beside her, she turns to me with wonder in her eyes. "Wow…I never knew it could be like that."
The simple statement breaks my heart and mends it simultaneously. "It should always be like that," I tell her. "And better."
She kisses me then, deeply and thoroughly, seemingly untroubled by tasting herself on my lips. Her hands begin to roam my chest, tracing muscle and sinew with curious fingers.
"My turn," she declares, reaching for my belt.
I let her undress me, watching her expressions as each new part of me is revealed. When she pulls my jeans and underwear down together, her sharp intake of breath as my erection springs free is gratifying to my male pride.
"Can I touch you?" she asks, eyes wide behind her glasses.
"Please."
Her fingers wrap around me tentatively at first, then with growing confidence as she gauges my reactions. I'm so hard it almost hurts, months of celibacy combined with the intensity of my attraction to her pushing me dangerously close to the edge already.
"Show me what you like," she requests, her expression earnest.
I place my hand over hers, guiding her in the rhythm and pressure I prefer. She's a quick study, adapting immediately to what makes my breath catch, what draws groans from deep in my chest.
"If you keep that up," I warn her, "this will be over before we've properly begun."
She looks entirely too pleased with herself, but releases me, moving up to kiss me again. "How do you want me?"
The question, so direct and trusting, nearly undoes me. "I want to see your face," I tell her. "Watch your eyes as I make you feel good."
Her smile is breathtaking as she stretches out on the bed, making room for me between her thighs. I reach into the bedside drawer for a condom, grateful I'd thought to check the expiration date a few nights ago in a moment of optimistic preparation.
"Let me," she offers, taking the foil packet.
Watching her roll the protection onto me with careful hands is erotic in a way I hadn't anticipated. When she finishes, she looks up at me with such open desire that any remaining insecurity evaporates.
I position myself at her entrance, eyes locked on hers. "Ready for this?"
"More than ready," she assures me, her hands finding my shoulders.
I push in slowly, giving her body time to adjust to my size. The tight heat of her nearly blinds me with pleasure, but I force myself to go slowly, watching for any sign of discomfort. There is none, just wonder and desire as she takes me in fully.
"You feel incredible," I tell her, voice strained with the effort of remaining still.
"So do you." She shifts her hips experimentally, drawing a groan from both of us.
I begin with slow, measured strokes, establishing a rhythm that has her sighing with pleasure. Her hands roam my back, learning the terrain of muscle and bone, eventually settling on my ass to urge me deeper.
"Don’t stop," she requests, legs wrapping around my waist to change the angle. "Harder."
I comply, increasing the pace and force of my thrusts. Her responsiveness is intoxicating, every sound, every expression feeding my desire to please her. When I slip a hand between us to circle her clit, her eyes widen.
"Oh!" she gasps. "Yes, right there."
I can feel her building toward another climax, her inner muscles beginning to flutter around me. My own control is slipping, the combination of her tight heat and obvious pleasure pushing me toward the edge.
"Come for me again," I urge her, circling her clit more firmly. "Let me feel you."
Her release seems to take her by surprise, her body going rigid beneath me as she cries out my name. The sight of her pleasure, the rhythmic clenching of her body around mine, triggers my own climax. I bury my face in her neck as I come, her name a rough groan against her skin.
For several long moments, we remain joined, breathing heavily, her arms wrapped around me as if afraid I might disappear. When I finally move to dispose of the condom, she makes a small sound of protest that soothes something long wounded in my soul.
I return to bed quickly, gathering her against me. She comes willingly, curling into my side as if she's always belonged there. Her glasses are crooked, her hair a wild tangle around her flushed face. She's never been more beautiful.
"I needed..." she begins, then stops, apparently unable to find adequate words.
"Yeah," I agree, pressing a kiss to her temple. "I did too."
We lay in comfortable silence for a while, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my chest. I can almost see the thoughts churning behind her eyes, but I give her time to organize them.
"I never knew it could be like this," she finally says, voice soft with wonder. "With Marcus, it was always so... perfunctory. Like a task to be completed rather than something to be enjoyed together."
I tighten my arm around her. "He didn't deserve you."
"No," she agrees, surprising me with her certainty. "He didn't. But if I hadn't gone through that, I might not be here now. With you."
The simple statement carries weight far beyond our current position. I find myself contemplating the strange paths that led us to this moment. Her broken marriage. My sixteen years of solitude. The cabin heater that failed at precisely the right moment.
"What are you thinking?" she asks, looking up at me with those perceptive eyes.
"That I'm glad your heater broke," I admit. "Selfishly glad."
Her smile is slow and sweet. "Me too. Best appliance failure of my life."
I laugh, the sound surprising both of us. When was the last time I laughed in this bed? Had I ever?
"Tell me something true," she requests, echoing a game we've played over dinners this past week. "Something you've never told anyone."
I consider the question, wanting to give her something real but not too heavy for this moment of contentment. "I've been taking therapy sessions with your brother for eight months," I reveal. "Not even Savannah knows."
Her eyes widen slightly, but there's no judgment in her expression. "That's why Mason suggested the cabin."
"Probably," I agree. "Though he never mentioned having a sister until you were already on your way."
She shakes her head, amused rather than annoyed. "Sneaky therapist tricks. He knew you needed something to shake up your routine."
"Or someone," I suggest, tracing her cheek with gentle fingers.
"Are the sessions helping?" she asks.
"More than I expected," I admit. "Though this past week with you has done more than months of talking."
She blushes prettily at that. "I'm not sure this is what Mason had in mind when he sent me here."
"Probably not." I chuckle, imagining her brother's expression if he knew exactly how far our connection has progressed. "Your turn. Something true."
She's quiet for a moment, considering. "I'm terrified of going back to San Diego," she finally admits. "Of losing this newfound creativity. Of being alone again."
The vulnerability in her confession touches something deep inside me. "When do you have to leave?"
"My rental agreement on the cabin was for a month." She doesn't meet my eyes. "But realistically, I should head back after Christmas. My life is there. My apartment, my few friends, my editor."
The thought of her leaving creates a hollow feeling in my chest I'm not prepared to examine too closely. "That's still weeks away," I point out, trying to sound unconcerned.
"True." She rests her head on my chest, her breath warm against my skin. "Plenty of time."
For what, neither of us says. For more nights like this? For exploring whatever is growing between us? For deciding if this connection is strong enough to survive beyond her temporary stay in Whisper Vale?
Instead of pursuing these questions, I press a kiss to her hair. "Stay in my room tonight," I request. "Sleep with me."
"I'd like that." She snuggles closer, fitting herself against me as if designed for the purpose. "Though fair warning, I sometimes talk in my sleep."
"I snore," I counter. "According to Savannah, it's like sleeping near a chainsaw."
She laughs, the sound vibrating against my chest. "Sounds like we're perfectly matched in sleep incompatibility."
Perfectly matched. The phrase lingers in my mind as her breathing gradually slows and deepens. I lie awake long after she's fallen asleep, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, marveling at the trust she's placed in me.
Sixteen years of empty nights, of a bed that felt too large and too cold. Sixteen years of avoiding connection, of keeping everyone at a safe distance. And now this woman, this unexpected hurricane of creativity and warmth, has breached every wall I've built with seemingly no effort at all.
I should be protecting myself from the inevitable pain when she returns to her real life. But I can’t even pretend that’s what I want. Sighing, I tighten my arm around her sleeping form as a silent promise to savor whatever time we have. I’ll worry about the future tomorrow.
For tonight, she's here. Warm and real and trusting in my arms. And for the first time in sixteen years, that feels like enough.