Chapter 29
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
dexter
Over the next two weeks, our routine changes.
During working hours, we’re the epitome of professional. Florence conquers whatever tasks she’s set, and we maintain a healthy distance between us during site visits and video calls.
When the clock strikes five o’clock, she’s mine.
Just yesterday, she appeared in the doorway of my workshop, eyes gleaming with mischief at 4:58 p.m.. Three minutes later, she was bent over the workbench, screaming my name as I fucked her from behind.
I’ve had casual partners in the past, but sex was more of a stress reliever.
With Florence, nothing satisfies the craving. I want more of her time, her body, her mind.
And the more I want, the less I can put off the inevitable conversation.
Things between her brothers are tense. Patrick hasn’t mentioned anything about his sister’s speech at dinner the other week, and he’s stopped asking questions about her work performance.
Florence went through the motions of being guilty and angry with them.
Her current mindset is pretending it didn’t happen, though I know she wants to clear the air soon.
Tucking my gloves into my back pocket, I step out on my front porch and spy Florence kneeling in the grass. The goats prance around her, jumping out of her reach every time she surges forward to catch them.
It makes my chest ache.
Florence is a wild thing, covered in dirt, barefoot, with bruises on her knees. A chaotic mind that cares immensely. An alluring beauty. Like nature, she’s unpredictable, a force to be reckoned with. Beyond that, there’s enchantment. You’d miss it if you’re not looking hard enough.
There’s no missing her.
As I make my way over, her laughter filters in.
More. More. More. My heart demands.
Less. Less. Less. My brain commands.
What if, one day, you can’t hear it?
A constant war rages within me. Perhaps that’s what the ache is. Bullets and shrapnel ricochet through my body. My brain usually wins, stopping me from truly declaring her as mine. Keeping our relationship a secret cannot be long-term, but the idea of discussing a future petrifies me.
Today, my heart comes out victorious, allowing me to soak up the moment.
“What are you doing?” I crouch in front of her, tucking her hair behind her ear.
She blows out a breath. “I’m tired of them sneaking up on me and then fainting. So, I’ve come up with a solution.” She shakes a small bell. My hearing aid emits feedback, and my hand shoots up to adjust the device.
Florence winces. “Sorry. I didn’t think.”
“No,” I reassure her. “It’s a good idea, and the bell won’t be at ear level.”
Butt Head lives up to his name and rams into me, knocking me on my ass. He then nuzzles Florence’s arm as if nothing happened and trots away to join his brother.
“Traitor,” I grumble.
“I think I’m their favorite,” she snickers. “So, I was wondering if we could do something tomorrow?”
Her secretive tone entices me. I lean in, whispering, “I’ll do anything with you.”
“Put your dick away, lumberjack.” She shoves me in the chest. “I want to get a tattoo.”
My brows jump. “Is that so?”
Determined as anything, she’s flying through the list, and I’d be lying if the idea of her getting inked didn’t turn me on.
The weekend after our rendezvous in the bathroom, we went paddle boarding. Florence, nimble and slim, nailed it, looking gorgeous as the sunset reflected off her glistening skin. I, on the other hand, am still coughing up salt water.
One evening, we ordered pizza, built a bonfire, and ate s’mores on Piper Beach. We ended the night with Florence on her knees in the sand dunes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she sucked my cock.
Next up, Get a tattoo.
“Yep. Ink me up, baby.” She flops on her back, basking in the sun, eyes closed. I scoop up her legs, laying them across my lap. She smiles. “I’m thinking of getting ‘Dex was here’ on my left butt cheek.”
“Like fuck you are,” I growl then pounce on her. She wriggles and squeals. I pin her wrists above her head. “Barry is a friend. It would be a shame to kill him for looking at my girl’s ass.”
“Your girl, huh?”
I bend, stealing a kiss. “Yes. My girl.”
She hooks her legs around my waist, drawing me closer. “I like the sound of that.”
“I’ll call Barry. I’m sure he can squeeze you in after-hours.”
Vulnerability sweeps over her face. “Thank you for doing this with me.”
I level her with a look. “Florence, nothing is better than spending time with you. There’s a selfish part of me that hopes you fail your driving test because I love driving you around.
I’m praying it rains again. I want to sleep out under the stars every night.
” Releasing her wrists, I cup her face. “I know your brain is trying to tell you otherwise, but there’s no place I’d rather be than here. You got that, Trouble?”
She mirrors me, cradling my stubbled jaw. “It’s funny. All my life, I’ve struggled to fit in, and all it took was half the summer with you to find somewhere I finally belong.”
My heart roars to life, powered by a jet engine, fueled by her very existence. It’s impossible to calm the possessiveness racing through me. Covered in grass stains, our tangled limbs warmed under the later afternoon sun, I hope this summer never ends.
Expression twisted between discomfort and excitement, Florence watches me from her position on the leather chair. The buzz of the tattoo gun and country radio station sound in the background as Barry bends over Florence’s outstretched arm.
She flounced into the studio, oozing with confidence, her design a secret. The second Barry started prepping her skin, she paled.
“It’s like getting the hairs on your arm pulled,” I told her. Apparently, that didn’t help. “Florence, your nose is pierced.”
“That’s ten seconds,” she threw back. “Men have low pain thresholds, always bitching about man-flu and your balls being sore. It’s crazy you have so many.”
Barry and I shared a look.
After the first few strokes of the needle, she relaxed, only wincing occasionally if it hit a sensitive spot on her forearm. At this angle, I can’t see what’s going on. From the sentimental smile Florence wore as she passed the hand-drawn sketch to Barry, it’s meaningful.
“Don’t tell Dex I told you this.” Barry pauses, speaking loud enough for me to hear. “But I had the pleasure of giving him his first piece. It was half the size of yours, and he passed out before I finished. Had to come back a week later to get it shaded.”
Florence giggles, shoulders jiggling as she tries to keep still. “Aww, my big, bad lumberjack. Are those really transfers?”
I point at her. “You watch it.” Then, I turn my scowl on the man next to her. “You’re a fucker. I hadn’t eaten that morning. You swore you’d take that to the grave.”
He shrugs, salt and pepper shoulder-length hair bouncing. He’s in his late forties, covered head to toe in tattoos that are currently colored with purple and green felt tips, thanks to his twin boys. He’s a good guy, and the only person I trust to give Florence her first tattoo.
The joking stops, he resumes, and ten minutes later, he carefully wipes her arm. Florence vibrates with excitement, eyes on me.
“Florence, it’s been an honor.” Barry stands, gaze darting between the two of us. “I’ll give you a minute to show this brute your new ink, and then I’ll wrap it up. Take your time.”
He slaps me on the shoulder on his way out and leans in close. “I know that face, my friend. Made the same one the day I met my wife,” he murmurs before striding away.
Rising to my feet, I step toward Florence.
A deep flush paints her cheeks, fingers wriggling nervously. “You ready to see?”
I nod.
A slow breath blows through her lips. Then, she angles her arm toward me.
The tattoo travels from her wrist to halfway up her forearm: four intricate designs linked by fine lines loop and swoop over her skin, the area slightly raised and red.
“They all bring me joy and ground me. My favorite things. The flower is a New England Aster. An oak tree for my family, like the one outside our house. The camera.” Her voice wobbles. “The camera is for my dad; you remember his old Polaroid? And then the last one…”
The organ behind my ribcage falters. My breathing becomes uneven. Favorite things. Joy. It takes three tries to swallow.
Sitting over her pulse point, connected to the camera, is an axe.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
Fuck, I need to keep her.
She belongs with me.
Not just for the summer.
For all 365 days.
All seasons.
I want to see her glow in the summer, cozied up in the fall, warming by the fire in the winter, and blossoming in the spring.
Adoration pours from her, heart constantly on her sleeve. Now, my mark is on her skin.
There’s one thing stopping me from putting it all out there.
Me.