Chapter Nineteen
Kincaid
My mom studied me from across the kitchen table. I had stopped by her apartment to check in after coming home from a night with Tori.
“And, how is Tori?” my mother asked brightly, before taking a swallow of her coffee.
“She’s great, Mom. How are you? That’s why I stopped by.”
“I’m great.”
I bit back a laugh as I sat down across from her. After a moment, her gaze sobered, and she tilted her head to the side, studying me.
“What’s that look for?” I asked.
“I spoke to your father.”
My chest tightened. “What?” I asked, my tone sharp.
“Yep, I did. He’s no longer here in Alaska.”
“I told you I expected that,” I pointed out.
“But he’d like to talk to you,” she added.
“Why now?” I knew all along—because my mother wasn’t one to dance around secrets—that she had hoped he was still around, that we’d reconnect somehow. Or, connect at all.
It wasn’t that I was opposed to the idea, but I had honestly, I suppose, assumed it would never happen. He’d known about my existence. He just never cared.
“Where is he?” I asked, striving to keep my tone level.
“Apparently, he’s in Seattle near his family. He also has medical issues, but they’re more serious than mine.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel bad?” I knew my voice sounded defensive, but I didn’t even try to hide it.
My mom set her coffee mug on the table and reached across, catching one of my hands in both of hers before squeezing and releasing it.
“No, it’s not supposed to make you feel guilty. I just want you to know what’s happening. I’m not trying to pressure you. But when you were younger, you always wanted to at least talk to him.”
I stayed quiet, mostly because I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m not saying that’s what you should do, but the door is finally open,” she said gently. “Think about it. I can be on the call with you.”
I knew that would help, and yet, I also felt reluctant. “I’ll think about it,” I finally said.
My mom opened her mouth to speak again, but I narrowed my eyes and shook my head slightly. “Let me think about it, Mom. In the meantime, as I’ve told you since I was old enough to have an opinion—feel free to tell him whatever you want about me if he asks. I don’t have anything to hide.”
Her eyes were a little damp, and I ignored the twist in my chest. This was one of those messy, tangled, emotional topics for both of us.
I knew she’d been trying to connect with him for years.
She’d done it because I’d told her I had wanted to talk to him when I was little, long ago. And now, she’d found him.
I suspected part of her thought this was the healthy next step for me. That a conversation might help me heal some invisible wound. But I needed space. I didn’t want to hurt her either. The complicated situation looped back into itself.
I reached over for her hand, squeezing this time with reassurance. “I promise, Mom. I will think about it, and I’ll probably talk to him.”
I saw the hopefulness in her gaze and quickly added, “I just need a minute. More than a minute.”
“I love you, Kincaid,” she said somberly.
“And, I love you, Mom. You’re the best parent anyone could’ve asked for.”
I didn’t usually see Tori two nights in a row. We had fallen into a pattern—every other night, maybe every third. No expectations. No pressure. But tonight, I felt an emotional pull to see her.
I needed to lose myself in her. In this unexpected connection that had taken hold and kept strengthening. In the bonds that were tightening between us, even though I had no idea what to do about them.
I knew she was working, so she wouldn’t check her phone until the end of her shift.
I headed out to the winery and snagged a table in her section.
She was efficient and on-task, like always, when she was working.
But her eyes had a warm glint, and her lips teased with a flirty smile when she stopped beside my table, handing me the specials menu and filling my water.
“Well, Mr. Green, what can I get you tonight?” she asked. Her voice was low and throaty, and it slid over my unsettled nerves, soothing me.
“I was actually hoping I could just wait for you until you got off shift tonight.”
Her eyes widened slightly before her brow furrowed. “Are you okay?”
“Is it so wrong that I want to see you tonight?” I countered, ignoring the pinch in my heart. I didn’t even know how to comprehend the way she immediately sensed something was off with me.
“Of course not. I always love to see you, Kincaid,” she said lightly, tapping her notepad with her pencil. “Do you know what you want?”
“I’ll take the salmon burger. What time do you get off tonight?”
Her eyes flicked to the large clock mounted above the bar. “I’m on the early shift. Just another hour.”
“Perfect.”
One hour later
The glow from Tori’s taillights was a little beacon in the falling darkness. As I followed her back to her house, my pulse ticked along like a metronome—steady and fast—because I knew what lay ahead.
I needed this. I needed her. I needed to lose myself in the fire of our connection, in the intimacy that felt as if it were binding us tighter together.
When I turned onto the driveway, the rumble of gravel under my tires spun into the hum inside my body.
I parked beside her car, warmth slipping through me as I climbed out.
I knew the routine now. She would let Bella out, and her sweet dog would meander for a few minutes, sniffing the grass and trees before she did her business.
When we walked inside, Tori always took a few moments to lavish Bella with pets and murmured affection.
Only then would Bella come over to greet me, sitting down slowly in front of me with that patient, expectant look in her warm brown eyes.
After that, she’d walk over to her bed, curl up, and fall asleep with complete trust in her world.
Once Bella was settled, Tori hung up her jacket. I followed suit, and we both left our shoes by the door. She tipped her head slightly, her gaze studying me, and it felt like she could read straight into my unsettled thoughts.
“Are you okay?” Her voice was soft, a little raspy.
One shoulder lifted in a shrug as I took a breath, steadying myself inside. “Yeah,” I finally said.
She opened her mouth to say something else, but I added more before she could. I surprised myself. “My mom talked to my dad.”
Tori’s eyes widened slightly, her brows rising. “Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”
She reached for me, her palm curling around mine. Her thumb slid in a slow, soothing stroke over the back of my hand.
I shook my head.
“Okay,” she said simply.
The tension wound tightly inside eased a little. I needed her understanding.
Beyond that, I just needed this connection. I needed her. She dropped my hand, placing her palm right in the center of my chest. I felt my heart lurch forward, as if her touch itself was tugging it closer.
She dipped her head and pressed her lips into the hollow at the base of my throat—just like she had the night we first kissed. The heat of her kiss radiated outward, like slow ripples from a small pebble dropped into water. I was wordless, caught in a maelstrom of need and emotion.
Without saying a word, she stepped back and reached for my hand. I followed her up the stairs, onto the landing, and into her bedroom. She stopped, turning to face me.
“I probably smell like food,” she said with a low, sheepish laugh.
I chuckled. “Well, the food there is really good,” I offered.
The sound of her throaty laugh was like champagne fizzing inside of me. “It is good,” she agreed.
All rational thought dissolved in the heat of our connection when she stepped closer again.
In a matter of seconds, we were plastered together.
I needed to feel her, needed to be grounded in our connection.
As the moments unfolded, second by second, each a tick of the metronome, the need between us burned hot and fast. There was almost a wildness to it whenever we were close.
In spite of the wild edge, or perhaps because of it, it was also grounding for me.
Because I could forget everything else but sensation.
Her silky hands mapping my body. The feel of her lips underneath mine.
Claiming her mouth with kiss after kiss.
The sound of her breath rasping with mine.
The feel of her soft curves. The contrast to my hardness.
The press of her nipples. The flush of her skin.
The way desire unfurled between us. The push and pull of our connection.
When I teased my fingers into her slippery folds.
The sound of her soft sigh. The way her breath hitched in her throat.
The way she nipped the side of my neck. Her touch was sure as her palms slid over my chest and abs to curl around my length.
The way her eyes met mine in the dim light.
When she rose up over me and said, “This right here,” I was so lost in the moment that I forgot to put a condom on.
Just as she slid over the underside of my cock, and I almost came instantly, I belatedly choked out, “Condom.”
Tori’s eyes widened slightly. I felt a jolt of relief to not be alone in the rushing force of our connection. My lips kicked up, my voice husky. “Almost forgot, but didn’t.”
After fetching a condom, I rolled it on in record time. I savored the way she slid down over me, sheathing me in her channel. Settling herself, she rocked her hips slightly, a tiny smile curling her lips. “There,” she whispered.
I shifted back into the pillows. I felt the brush of her nipples against my chest as we began to rock together.
My hand laced in her hair as her forehead fell to mine.
With that familiar push and pull, the clenching of her core around me, everything spun tight inside. It felt like a storm gathering force.
Her name was a chant on my lips as I reached between us. I knew her body now, knew when she was chasing her release. She cried out, her voice ragged, as she came. Her pussy clamped more tightly, as she trembled around me and over me. My own release, finally, broke loose.
I held her tight and close, savoring the feel of her going soft against me as the storm abated. When she lifted her head a few moments later and her eyes locked with mine, the resounding thump of my heart was definitive. I knew I was in love with her.
I hadn’t expected any of this.