Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
florence
Birds chirping. Streaks of sunshine. Cool morning breeze. A large erection digging into my stomach.
One of these things is not a common occurrence after a night of camping.
It should be.
I’m afraid to move. The man snoring underneath me might be a figment of my imagination. One wrong move, he’ll poof, disappear.
The constellation of hickeys on my breasts and the ache between my legs are delicious reminders of last night. If I thought New Year’s was hot, it was nothing compared to what Dex did to my body until the early hours. He wears my marks too—scratches score his shoulders and chest.
He not only camped under the stars with me, he ravished me under them until my voice grew hoarse and legs gave out.
He doesn’t budge as I untangle myself from the two sleeping bags we swaddled ourselves in last night.
Instantly, I miss his warmth. I take the opportunity to admire him.
The muscles in his bicep pull taut with his arm slung over his face, revealing only his parted lips and the soft hairs above his lip fluttering with his shallow breathing.
I move lower, the outline of his cock obvious against the thin material of his sweatpants. The thick vein running—
A grumble interrupts my sordid monologue. “Florence, quit licking your lips while staring at my dick.”
My eyes dart up to meet a drowsy pair. “I was not licking my lips.”
“Believe me,” he groans, rising to sit and scraping his fingers through the coarse hairs on his chest, “you were.”
I clear my throat, averting my gaze when he adjusts himself.
Yes, we fucked—a lot. Hard. Fast. Slow. Soft.
In typical fashion, my brain has me replaying every single detail.
Dex said a lot last night, things that made me second-guess my worries, but he also said nothing.
More specifically, about what we do now.
“Florence,” Dex says, voice stern. “Look at me.”
When I don’t immediately turn, my attention on a squirrel scaling a spruce, he sighs. I’m being a chicken, but if there’s any hint of doubt or sympathy in his eyes, I’ll crack.
I squeal when there’s a firm tug on my ankle, dragging me across the mattress.
He drapes my legs sideways over his, fingers weaving into my bed hair.
I have no choice but to look at him. A whoosh of air leaves me when he presses his lips to mine, as if it’s the only thing to quench a century old thirst.
My blood hums with the kiss, and before I can lose myself to it, he pulls away.
“Don’t run away with your thoughts, Trouble. That was the single best night of my life. There will be more nights, days, and mornings. I promise, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling featherlight as he vanquishes all my self-doubts. One still remains, though. “I’m not asking for you to drive to Patrick’s today and declare your undying love for me, just…”
Don’t keep me a secret forever.
I’m used to Dex’s contemplative silences, but the relief in his words douses my final speck of doubt. “Soon. I promise. It’s not a one-time thing for me. I want this. I just need some time.”
I don’t push him to share his plans. We steal kisses while the morning ticks away, until I’m ready to bust at the seams with satisfaction.
“Why can’t waders be pink?”
Dex pauses what he’s doing. The fishing lure looks miniature in his hands. Pushing back his cap with his forearm, he deadpans, “Bright pink might scare the fish off, baby.”
Baby.
Hearing him use that word has my tummy swooping.
After our lazy morning, we cooked instant ramen, fooled around in the tent, then packed up and left the campsite at midday.
Rosewick Waters is a short drive away—the perfect spot to check off item number four.
During the winter, the lake is a frozen wonderland, great to try a fresh pair of ice skates.
As I stare out at the crystal waters sparkling under the bright blue sky, I’m reminded why summer is my favorite season.
A family of ducks weave their way through the tall reeds, completely unbothered by our arrival.
“Right,” Dex announces. “This rod is ready to use. Go ahead and cast it out.”
My camouflage waders squeak as I amble over to where he sits on a camping chair. While mine swallows my lanky frame, his sits snuggly against his thighs, and his broad shoulders tests the strength of the suspenders.
“Cast? That’s where you do this?” I make a zipping noise and mimic throwing the reel over my shoulder.
His eyes narrow. “You’ve fished before, right?”
“Define fishing…”
Deep laughter rolls off him, big body shaking.
“My dad took me and my brothers fishing plenty, but it never interested me. I preferred splashing around in the lake—which, apparently isn’t helpful.”
“Of course you did.” He pats his knee. “Come here.”
“I’ll watch you first.” I inch backward, suddenly embarrassed I’ve dragged this grown man out here to teach me how to fish.
“Trouble, it wasn’t an invitation.” He leans forward. “Get your ass in my lap now, or you’re going over it.”
I gawk at him. He takes advantage of my surprise, hooks an arm around my waist, and tugs me down to sit, my back to his front.
“You’re so bossy.” I wiggle in his hold, eliciting a resonant sound from deep in his chest.
“You’re a brat.”
“You love it,” I barb.
“Hmm. Occasionally.”
Liar.
Choosing to cooperate, I listen closely to Dex’s instructions. He passes me the rod, hands encompassing mine, showing me how to hold it correctly. It’s hard to concentrate with his chin resting on my shoulder and warm breath tickling my cheek.
“You want to keep tight hold of this part. That’s the pistol grip.
Rest your thumb here, and when you’re facing your target, push down and hold it in.
” He nudges me to stand and guides me to the water’s edge.
Angling my hips, he points in front of us.
“Aim there. Nice and smooth. Bend your arm at the elbow.”
He retreats to the side, watching on.
I fumble with the rod and lose my stance. Frustration trickles in; I try again, but something doesn’t feel right.
“Here, let’s do it together.”
When he steps up behind me again, my frustration wanes. Arms bracketing mine, he helps me draw the rod back, attempting a few practice runs.
“We’re going to release this button when the rod reaches eye level. No rush. Go at your own pace. Ready?”
Positioned comfortably and grip strong, Dex directs my arms to flick out at the right angle. A zipping noise whizzes through the air, and the lure plops into the mirrored waters.
Eyes wide with excitement, I twist my head, beaming up at him. His grin is already stretching across his face. “Now what?”
“Set your rod in the holder, and then we wait for something to take the bait.”
I do that, admiring the bright orange bobber cresting the small ripples.
Dex sits again, ducking his chin, inviting me back to my seat.
It’s hot with the layers of rubber between us, mosquitoes buzz above our heads, and I’m sure there’s a bite on my left ankle. It’s the most perfect day.
“You’re a very good teacher,” I say, studying his side profile—the strong bridge of his nose, dark brown whiskers, the fine lines around his eyes.
“I’m invested.” He tucks me in closer.
“In fishing?”
“Nah.” He turns his gaze on me. “In you.”