Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Pickle: Hey. I’m going to be finishing up pretty late. Sorry about that.
Pen: Not your fault. It’s okay. I’m writing a paper now. Boo. Oh! I painted the den tobacco brown. Here’s a pic.
Pickle: You did awesome. I admit, I thought brown would look off. But this is great. I like the monochromatic darkness.
Pen: your assessment makes me smile.
Pickle: I did major in art history. My sense of color is now highly educated
Pen: Oh, is it? You can give your opinion on the shade of blue I’m going to paint the pantry then
Pickle: Okay. But if this is some girl trap, I’m going on record now that it’s not my fault if you hate it later.
Pen: Shows what you know. If I hate it, I’ll pick the other color
Pickle: If you say so
( . . . )
Pickle: I’ll miss you tonight
Pen: Why? Won’t you see me later?
Pickle: I didn’t want to wake you
Pen: oh. If you don’t want to come over that’s fine
Pickle: PEN. I’m trying to play it cool. If you want to know the truth, I’d rather be with you whatever the time
Pen: Good. Then get your hot ass over here ASAP
Pickle: God, you’re romantic
Pen: I’ve got more where that came from, baby
Pickle: Sweet talker
Pen
I drift up from layers of deep sleep to find his firm body pressed up against my back, his arm around my waist, wide palm gently rubbing my bare belly.
Little shivers of pleasure skip along my skin as he softly kisses my neck, the curve of my shoulder, then back again.
I lean further into him, letting my body meld with his.
His hand eases upward to cup my breast. He gives it a squeeze.
White cotton sheets rustle as I turn in his arms to face him.
The low glow from the bedside light I left on for him spills over the bed, warm and butter yellow and make his eyes appear pewter.
“Sweets,” he whispers in greeting.
“Pickle.” I kiss him with sleepy languor, running my fingers through his silky hair, along the strong column of his neck where his pulse beats strong and sure.
When we break apart, he smiles softly. “Best welcome I’ve ever had.”
“There’s more where that came from.”
His chest rumbles with a chuckle. “Does that mean I have permission to sneak into your house at all hours and wake you up in any devious way I see fit?”
“Describe these devious ways. I’m intrigued.”
He laughs again and hauls me up so I’m resting on his long length. He’s so much bigger than me, my toes brush his shins. Gentle fingers thread through my hair, pushing it away from my face.
“My little pervert,” he says fondly. “I love how much you love fucking.”
“Now, who’s the pervert?” I rest my chin on my hands and gaze down at him. He’s utterly beautiful like this, dark hair mussed and his strong body at total ease. “I do, though.”
“Do what?” He’s distracted by touching my cheek, and then the shell of my ear again. The man loves touching me. All the time.
“Love fucking you.”
August bursts out laughing, his body shaking beneath mine. “God, I’ve created an addict.”
“Your addict.”
He pauses at that, eyes alight with something that looks like joy, and his voice lowers. “Are you?”
The way he asks, as if he can’t believe it might be true. It amazes me. I’m the one constantly wondering if I’m in a dream. Craning forward, I brush a kiss over his soft mouth.
“I’m yours, August.” I’ve been his for as long as I can remember. One day I’ll tell him. One day, I’ll have the courage.
This day, however, August merely hums thoughtfully and pulls me forward to kiss me again. “And if I want to keep you?”
His low murmur takes my breath. It gusts from my mouth and into his. He must feel how he’s shocked me, how he’s stolen my heart. August eases back to meet my gaze, but he doesn’t stop touching me, gentle quests of his hands over my body.
Before I can answer him, he kisses the far edge of my brow where I have an old scar. He kisses that place a lot, though I’m not sure he knows I’ve noticed.
“I remember when you got that,” he says, touching it with the tip of his thumb.
“You do?”
His lip curls wryly. “Pen, come on. I was there.”
This isn’t the conversation I want to have, laid out half-naked on top of him.
My emotions feel too . . . thin. Without breaking contact, I slide to the side and tug him to face me.
He goes easily, tucking a hand under the pillow while his free arm drapes over my waist. It hits me that he’s giving me an out on the question of keeping me. His quiet care never fails to undo me.
My voice is thick when I speak. “It was so long ago, I didn’t think you’d remember.”
August searches my face for a moment, then traces the scar with a delicate touch. “I was ten. You were nine. All of us kids were outside playing around my backyard.”
“You, Jan, and May were climbing trees,” I fill in.
“And you, June, and March were hitting baseballs.” His attention flits to my scar. “March threw you a fastball, the dumbass.”
“I didn’t even see it coming.” A small laugh escapes. “Just lights exploding in front of my eyes.”
“Little twerp could have killed you.” August sounds as mad today as he was then.
“He was nine. What did he know?”
He makes a noise of dissent but then strokes my hair. “God, there was so much blood. And you were sobbing. It terrified me.”
That makes me smile. “You didn’t show it. You ran over, tore off your shirt, and bunched it against the wound.”
“Yeah, well, we were accident prone, so we all knew how to deal with those things.”
I shake my head. “Only the rest of them, except for you and Jan, just stared in horror.” As soon as he’d seen August taking care of me, Jan had run off to get our parents.
There are memories of my childhood that have already begun to fade away. But not this one. August had sat behind me, his already long legs wrapped around mine, his arm tight over my shoulder as he held the shirt against my head and told me I’d be okay, that my mom would be there soon.
It was the most he’d ever paid attention to me. Even then, I’d noted the difference. And, despite my pain, I’d felt safe with him.
“I knew it would be okay,” I tell him now. “Because you said so. And you never lied.”
Something in his eyes dim, and his hand drifts down to my waist. Long fingers grip my waist as he searches my face, almost as if he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. Then his lips tilt in a half smile. “I wasn’t totally correct. You had to get your forehead taped back together.”
“Details.” I wave it away with an idle hand, and grin. “You made me feel safe and didn’t yell at me for doing something stupid like my dad did later.”
He scowls. “Well, he’s an asshole.”
“True.” I lean in and kiss the tip of his nose. “August Luck, however, was my hero.”
August’s eyes narrow. “So long as you don’t call me sweet.”
“Well, it was really—”
“Pen . . .”
“Fine, you were a total badass. Satisfied?”
“Were?”
A giggle, easy and languid, leaves me. “Always. You slay. In all things.”
“Better.” But he grins and kisses me. It deepens, goes slower, a bit greedy.
My body melts into his, as I eat at his lush mouth, taking my fill. He doesn’t take it further, content right now to kiss me and kiss me. I slide a hand to the warm column of his neck.
“Pickle?”
“Hmm.” He nibbles my lower lip, touches his tongue to the sensitive corner.
“You don’t have to ask to come over every night. Or keep going home to get clothes.”
August pauses and meets my eyes. “I do look good naked. But eventually—”
“I meant, well, you don’t like your house. And we mostly stay here. You could bring your stuff over if—”
The careful expression erupts into a wide smile, and he grabs my hand to press it against his chest. “Penny love, are you asking me to move in with you?”
“Umm . . .”
Brows knit as he gives me a stern look. “Don’t mess with my heart here, Sweets. Tell me that’s what you’re saying.”
Beneath my palm, his heart beats a rapid tattoo. And I know this means as much to him as it does to me. I exhale deeply and press my hand more firmly against him. “Yes, that’s what I’m saying. I miss you when you leave, and I don’t sleep as well. I don’t care if it sounds clingy.”
His eyes light up. “Cling all you want, Penny love. I can take it.”
Before I can say another word, he rolls me over, bracketing my head with his arms, and kisses me until I’m weak and dazed. “I was going to ask the same, you know,” he says against my lips.
It takes me a moment to focus. “Really?”
“I’m gone so much, when I’m home, I want home to be where you are.”
“Oh, my.”
“I know.” He gives me a cheeky look. “I would have won major points. But you’ve gone and messed it up by asking me first.” His head shake is dramatically aggrieved.
I brush back his hair. “Somehow I think you’ll survive.”
August answers by kissing me again. Soft, luscious kisses. Like I’m priceless, precious, his.
“We’re going to be so happy here,” he says.
“Just remember who asked first.”