Chapter Thirty-Two
Mila
His knock sends me sprinting to the door, barefoot and breathless. When I open it, his smile makes my stomach flip like an Olympic diver. When he steps inside and kisses me, the pounding of the rain echoes the ferocious thrum of my heart.
“Sorry, I’m soaked.” He releases me from a damp hug. “It’s still coming down.”
“I know. I’m not looking forward to getting my mother into the house later. I hope it stops before then.”
“You look pretty.” His eyes roam over my flouncy pink miniskirt with the strawberry print and my soft ivory crewneck. “I like that skirt.”
“Thank you.” I shut the front door while he removes his wet boots.
He looks good, too, and my skin warms thinking about his body beneath the jeans and light-blue plaid flannel.
It gives me a thrill to realize I know what he looks like naked.
I know what he feels like naked. I know what it’s like to have all that sinew and muscle moving above me in the dark. It’s better than a secret.
“I brought you something.” Everett hands me a bag with two bottles of wine in it. “I wasn’t sure if you like red or white, so I got one of each. And I know nothing about wine, so the guy at the store chose them. They have screw caps, which seemed weird to me, but he says they’re good.”
I laugh. “I like both red and white, and he’s right, screw caps are fine. Come on in, and we’ll open one up.”
He follows me into the kitchen. “What did you— Jesus, it smells good in here.”
Smiling, I lift the lid on my skillet. “Thanks. It’s burst tomato and summer squash pasta. The tomatoes are from my mom’s garden.”
He inhales deeply. “I’m drooling.”
“Good.” I add the burrata on top of the cooked bucatini, which is tossed with red tomatoes, slices of yellow and green squash, sautéed garlic, and olive oil.
As the cheese begins to melt, Everett comes up behind me and wraps his arms around my waist. Buries his face in my neck. “I’m so glad you texted. I’ve been thinking about you nonstop.”
I smile as pure joy radiates throughout my body.
This is what I hoped married life would be like.
Cozy Sunday night dinners just the two of us.
Cooking together. Drinking wine. Sharing something more important than meal prep and conversation.
Something that makes me feel warm and safe.
Something exactly like what I feel now, with Everett’s chest pressing against my back, my body tucked in his embrace.
It’s a little disconcerting.
Turning off the heat beneath the pan, I tap his arm. “I need to tear the basil.”
He lets go of me. “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“Sure. Glasses are in the cupboard there.”
“Which one?”
“Hmm. Let’s do the white.”
“Guess what I did this afternoon?” he asks as he pulls two glasses down.
“What?”
“I educated myself on phytoremediation.”
Impressed, I stop pulling basil leaves off their stems and look over at him. “Did you really?”
“Yes. I think you might be on to something.” He unscrews the cap from the bottle and pours. “But I have some more questions for you.”
“I might not know the answers,” I say, resuming my task. “I was only the illustrator on that project, not the actual scientist.”
“My questions are more about what the area could look like while the cleanup’s happening.” He sets a glass of white down next to my cutting board and leans back against the counter. “Have you ever been to one of those sites?”
“Yes.” I quickly tear through the leaves, then pick up my wine for a sip. “And they can be beautiful, peaceful spaces. There’s something really lovely about them. They represent transformation—a place where something damaged becomes healed.”
He nods, looking at me thoughtfully. My body temperature rises beneath his gaze. “I need you,” he says.
“Huh?” I accidentally dump all the herbs in a pile on top of the pasta instead of sprinkling them.
“To help me sell this idea to the Harts. They don’t want a public conversation about contamination cleanup. But the way you just described it was so beautiful. I’m afraid I won’t be able to do it justice like you can.”
“Oh.” He’s talking about business. Of course he is.
“Would you be willing to meet with the Harts and say what you just said to me? Convince them we can spin this into something positive?”
“It is something positive. I suppose I could try.” I take two wide, shallow bowls down from the cupboard, flattered he asked for my help. “When are you thinking?”
“The sooner the better.”
“Okay. Let me see how it goes with my mom once she’s home. In the meantime, you really need a scientist. You should reach out to the environmental science department at the nearest university and see if they can recommend a consultant for you.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll do that tomorrow.” He takes my face in his hands and drops a kiss on my lips that I feel from head to heels. “Thank you.”
My cheeks grow hot. “I’m happy to help. That place is special to me. I love the idea of making it into a safe space for kids to play.”
“We’ll do it. Together.”
I’m rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher when Everett comes into the kitchen and sets his empty bowl on the counter. I pick it up and stare into it. The bottom’s so clean I can see my reflection. I look at him incredulously. “Did you lick this?”
“I may have.” He ropes his arms around me and puts his lips at my ear. “When something is that delicious, I don’t let a drop go to waste.”
Desire oozes through me, syrupy and warm. He begins to kiss my neck, starting just behind my ear and working his way down. His right hand sneaks between my legs, bunching up my skirt. One finger teases my clit through my panties. “I want my tongue right here.”
“Everett.” His touch fills my mind with the color red.
“You going to serve dessert or do I have to serve myself?”
Something between a laugh and a groan escapes me. “I have to go back to the hospital soon.”
“I will be so quick,” he says, turning me around. After a kiss that steals my breath and whatever is left of my responsible adult brain cells, he drops to his knees on the kitchen floor. Reaches beneath my skirt. Pulls down my panties and tosses them aside.
Then his head disappears beneath the strawberry print, his hands gripping my thighs. His tongue paints a line up the seam of my pussy with one long, slow stroke.
I lean back against the counter, my head falling to one side.
Sheets of rain blur the kitchen window, and I can barely make out the Pratts’ house on the other side of the driveway.
But I see light and movement, as if someone is cooking a meal or washing the dishes.
It strikes me as absurd that regular people are just going about their Sunday evening as if everything’s normal, everything’s fine, the world is not about to explode.
Meanwhile, Everett’s face is buried between my legs, his lips and tongue relentless in their pursuit. He’s aggressive, demanding, ravenous. He hooks one of my legs over his shoulder. I grasp the counter behind me to keep my balance, crying out as the spasms threaten to bring me to the floor.
“Upstairs,” I pant, the orgasm still rippling through me. “Now.”
He looks up, his mouth wet. “I thought you had to—”
“Now,” I repeat, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him to his feet.
I drag him out of the kitchen, through the living room, up the stairs.
When we reach my bedroom, we tear off each other’s clothes with impatient hands.
Skirt. Sweater. Bra. Belt. Flannel. Jeans and underwear at once.
By the time Everett reaches behind his neck to wrench off his white T-shirt, I’m already backing up toward my twin-sized bed.
Unlike last night, when we took our time, exploring every inch of each other’s skin, wringing pleasure out of every hour, kiss by caress by sigh, tonight is a race for the finish.
In less than thirty seconds, he’s kneeling on the mattress with my legs over his shoulders, driving his cock into me with quick, hard, thrusts.
I’m still tender from last night, but it’s the good kind of sore—the raw ache left over after your body has been pushed beyond what you think it can bear.
Pain and pleasure course through my body side by side until Everett pitches forward and changes the angle, moving against me in a way that gives pleasure the lead.
I put my hands on his ass and pull him into me, lifting my hips in tandem with his.
My second orgasm builds in a different spot than the first, deeper and more intense.
My world is reduced to a singular point where desire spools like a ribbon until suddenly it unfurls in glorious, shimmering waves.
Everett’s climax strikes like lightning, thundering through his body as he throbs inside me.
He falls onto my chest, hot and sticky and panting, but he obviously recalls the way I struggled for air when he did that last night, because he flips onto his back, pulling me on top.
For a moment, we’re silent, our hearts beating hard against each other’s, my wilted body splayed across his.
The rain provides a steady hum on the roof above us, and the sky has turned from ash to charcoal.
The room is warm and cozy, my body has never been treated so well, and there is absolutely nothing to be sad about.
But of course, I start to cry.
“Hey.” Everett strokes my hair. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “This week has been a lot, and I think I’m just, like, emotionally overwhelmed. My feelings are confused about who’s doing what. I swear to God I’m happy right now.”
Laughing a little, he holds me close. “This week has been a lot for you.”
I take a few slow, deep breaths and focus on Everett’s fingers making little spirals along my spine, as if he’s circling each vertebra. Within a minute or so, the tears stop. “God,” I say, pressing my forehead right beneath his collarbone. “I think I got snot on you. This is so embarrassing.”
“I don’t know. I feel like you’ve done worse.”
“That’s not funny.”