Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
dexter
“Can we play Scrabble?” Florence sings.
I laugh. “Your spelling skills might be lacking on account of your blood alcohol level.”
“I’m not drunk,” she gasps, teetering backward.
I snatch her around the waist, hauling her to my side and guiding her into the cabin. “C’mon. Bed time. You’re gonna have one heck of a headache tomorrow.”
We veer left toward my bedroom, Florence babbling on about how good her carbonara was.
She only takes a breath when I sit her on the edge of the tub in my en suite.
Female products have slowly accumulated in my bathroom over the weeks.
It’s like a bobby pin grenade went off in here.
I search through the cabinet, looking for anything that indicates it removes makeup.
Something hits the back of my head.
Turning, I find Florence stripped down to her underwear. She attempts come-hither eyes but ends up looking a little possessed. She’s cute.
With a bottle of clear liquid and cotton pads in hand, I crouch in front of her.
“Hello, sailor.” She hiccups.
“You’re a shameless flirt.” I tilt her face. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Why?”
“Do you ever listen?”
“Nope.”
Her smile is so wide, it makes my heart ache. She smacks her lips to mine, the taste of grapefruit lingering, then snaps her eyes shut.
Saturating the cotton pad, I swipe it over her face. She scrunches her nose and giggles, her hands resting on my shoulders, kneading the tight muscles.
“You’re so good to me,” she announces proudly.
I huff a breath. “If this is the bar, the male population has some work to do.”
She squints with one eye, looking every bit the drunken pirate. “I’ve had a crush on you since high school. Now look. I’ve gone from a lovesick teenager to your dirty little secret.”
My hand falls away. “You’re not my dirt—”
She presses two fingers to my mouth, silencing me. “Am I good for you? Good enough?”
Something tugs in my chest. A dark cloud snuffs out the sunshine. Her chipper attitude slides away. “Are you embarrassed by me? Is that why you don’t want to tell anyone?”
I can’t keep doing this to her. She’s got nothing to prove. I do.
I’m stunned for all of three seconds before clasping her by the chin, forcing her gaze on mine.
“You’re too good for me, baby.” Somehow, my voice is steady, despite the tremors in my hands.
She sniffles, and goddammit, that dejected noise is a dagger to the heart. I press my lips to her cheek, catching the single tear that falls. “I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. Because do you know what you’d see?”
She shakes her head.
My hands frame her face, those green orbs searing holes into my soul.
Being with Florence is like being at sea. Land is safe. Predictable. I’m tired of being safe. I want to live, to take risks, to share my life with someone. She’s the ocean. Ferocious waters. Carving her way through the world. It’s easy to get lost, but the second I stop fighting, a calmness waits.
If loving her is getting lost at sea, let me float away with the current.
I’d happily drown at her hands.
Now isn’t the time for declarations, and she probably wouldn’t remember anyway. My next words are more for me, as if saying them aloud fights off the last of my demons.
“A strong, breathtakingly beautiful woman, inside and out. You love fiercely, light up any room like a firework, and throw everything you’ve got at something, no matter how challenging.
Seeing your smile is the highlight of my day, and going to sleep with you in my arms is the best end to it.
I’ll remind you every day if I need to. So, no, Florence, you don’t embarrass me.
” I feather my lips over hers. “You fucking own me.”
Her breath hitches. “I don’t want to own you. I just want you to be proud to call me yours one day.”
Smoke plumes around me, my mouth watering as I lift the lid on the grill, revealing enough meat to feed an army.
We’re in Pat and Jo’s backyard, enjoying some “Beer, Barbecue, and Bros” as Booth calls it, though the rest of us call it a bachelor party. George, Johanna’s dad, helps Graham set up the poker table on the patio while I man the grill.
Lottie and Jo were on their way out when I arrived. They’re meeting the rest of the girls for a spa day now that Aly and Booth are in town. According to Lottie, the fact she didn’t have a penis was unfair, and she wanted to stay behind and put her money where her mouth is. Her words, not mine.
A girl after my heart.
As predicted, Florence had a wicked hangover this morning. It was clear she’d forgotten her tearful admission last night, but I hadn’t.
Her broken, deflated voice has played on repeat in my head all day.
I go to flip a burger when someone swats the back of my hand.
Booth stands beside me, wielding a spatula. “Mitts off.”
“Fuck off,” I volley. “Who put you in charge?”
He jabs at the white chef hat on his head. “Don’t be dense, Dex. It doesn’t suit you.” The lid slams shut, narrowly missing my fingers. “You’re letting all the heat out. No one wants dry ribs.”
“You’re bossier than usual,” I grumble, swiping his beer out of his hands and taking a sip.
He scoffs. “You’ve met my girl. It’s a dog-eat-dog-world.”
“Or doggy-dog world, as Florence says.” I chuckle, remembering the way she glowed in the light of the flames in my living room, dead serious she’d said it correctly.
Booth snorts and steals his beer back.
“Does Aly hang your balls above the mantelpiece or carry them round with her like a lucky charm?” Graham hollers.
Booth’s head whips toward his brother. “Neither. She does this thing where she tickles—” He’s silenced with a bread roll stuffed in his mouth.
“Much better,” Patrick says.
I hook an arm around his shoulder, carting him into the house. He’s had hearts in his eyes for Johanna since they were kids, but with them days away from exchanging vows, he practically floats into the kitchen, high on love.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, twisting the cap of a beer and passing it to him.
“Like I would have waited another decade so long as Jo and I always ended up here. She’s it. Her. Lottie. This baby.” He sighs happily. “I can’t describe it, man.”
The necks of our bottles meet, glass clinking. “You deserve it.”
He nods before clearing his throat. “And what about you?”
I freeze. “What about me?”
“C’mon, Dex. You deserve the same happiness too. I don’t get it. All these years, and you act allergic to the idea of a committed relationship. Why is that? You seem fine hooking up with women occasionally.”
I falter, and he clocks the slipup.
“You’ve met someone.” He smiles wide, like the idea of me in a relationship pleases him. If only he knew. “I knew it. Jo shot me down so fast when I told her, but something’s changed in the last few months. Who is she?”
Alarm bells ring. Warning signs flash.
It’s the small voice whispering, “Are you embarrassed by me? Is that why you don’t want to tell anyone?” that has me close to revealing all.
It’s your sister, I want to shout. I’m certain I’m falling in love with her, and it’s going to make or break me. Please don’t punch me in the face, but I don’t care what you think.
Now is not the time. It’s easy to use his wedding as an excuse to not reveal what’s going on with Florence. The coward’s way out.
“You’re seeing things. I’m as single as they come.” The lie is bitter and ashy on my tongue. I shove him outside, needing to escape his interrogation before the truth refuses to stay a secret. “Now, enough about me. Let’s get you college drunk and have you passed out on the sofa by eight.”
My face falls when he turns, joining the others.
If we tell her family, it becomes real, and if it becomes real, the probability of it falling apart increases.
These are things she needs to consider before fully committing herself to me.
Florence might be happy now, but what if I become a burden?
She was fine caring for me after my last attack, and though they don’t happen often, they may increase over the years.
The last thing I want to do is bring the light back into her life only for me to snuff it out when I turn out to be the partner she didn’t sign up for.
The cheer of our friends detracts from the guilt gnawing at my conscience. We devour the food, play poker, then put a bleary-eyed Patrick to bed.
Deep violet and vibrant pink paint my cabin when I park. I’m vibrating to see her but also petrified. It’s not from denial, there’s no denying my feelings are strong, winding their way around my bones; it’s that reality has a way of not being everything you hoped it would be.
Steam rising in my peripheral pauses the barrage of emotions. There is so much to say, to tell her, but words leave me. The constant craving I have for her takes over.
I’m climbing out of my truck, striding across the yard to where the outdoor shower is located.
Hearing aid removed and belt unbuckled, I find her. My heart tumbles out of my chest, blood heating, cock thickening.
Under the warm spray, back to me, Florence’s hips sway, fingers massaging the suds in her hair. Tan lines still lace her skin, hinting at a tiny bikini I’ve yet to see. She was created for me. Mine to admire. Carved for my eyes only.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
I drink my fill, letting the cup overflow. The dip of her waist where my hands fit perfectly. The delicate curve of her neck where she loves my kisses. The cleft of her bottom where rivulets of water disappear.
I’m fucking starved, hunger stricken, desperate to lap up her sweet, musky taste.
A few feet away, music filters in, the tempo slow and sensual, like her movements. My belongings join her phone on the windowsill. I toe off my boots and quietly slip into the stall. Bamboo lines the sides for privacy, a large waterfall showerhead overhead, mismatched tiles decorating the floor.
Florence’s body language shifts. One hand cups her breast, soaping it up as she plays with a tight pink nipple. The other snakes down her torso, disappearing between her thighs. Her back bows as she hums in pleasure.
I allow her a few moments to play with herself before I step under the water and snatch up her wrist.
She doesn’t flinch.
I lift her hand overhead and suck her glistening fingers into my mouth.
“Dex,” she breathes, as if my arrival is unexpected.
“Don’t act coy, baby,” I murmur against her knuckles, turning her to face me. “You knew exactly what you were doing.”
She bites her lip, and then on the tips of her toes, she wraps her arms around my neck, dragging me into a kiss. My palm meets her ass with a crack.
“Hey! What was that for?” she shrieks.
“Anyone could have walked in on you, Florence. Anyone could have seen what belongs to me.” Another slap.
A full body shiver wracks her frame.
She squeals as I hook an arm under her bottom, hoisting her over my shoulder. I slap the faucet off, killing the water, and stride toward the house. My wet clothes squelch with each step. I don’t bother closing the front door.
“You’re going to ruin the floors!”
“I’m going to ruin you. No other man will ever be good enough.”
Her resounding silence is telling. She wants that.
Once we’re in my bedroom, I lay her gently on my bed, not caring about the sheets. Or the floors. Or goddamn anything but her. Staring down at her, I snap a mental image of her splayed out, legs open, chest heaving, pussy bared.
I peel off my T-shirt, and it splats on the hardwood floor. My jeans follow next, then my briefs and socks, until I’m standing over her, aching cock in hand.
Her hungry gaze eats up every jerk of my wrist.
“You’re awfully territorial this evening.”
My voice drops a few octaves. “Ain’t nothing territorial about it, Florence. You’re mine, and tonight, you’re going to give every inch of your body over to me.” Her glistening body glows as my gaze sweeps over her. “Get the toy, a condom, and lube.”
Understanding shines in her doe eyes.
Not a moment later, she crawls over the mattress, reaches into the drawer, and pulls out the bright pink dildo and other items. Settling on her knees in front of me, lashes lowered, she hands them over.
She reads my mood, knowing I don’t want to play with the brat tonight.
“Good girl.” I tuck a damp strand of hair behind her ear. “Now, get on all fours, back to me. Let’s see how loud you scream when you’re stuffed full of my cock and this toy.”