Erin
“I don’t wanna,” I whine, sticking out my bottom lip as far as I can and batting my lashes for good measure.
Clinton chuckles, kissing my knuckles before he stands and tugs on my wrists to try to get me to stand. “I know you don’t wanna, but that’s exactly why we should.”
He gives me a gentle tug until I finally groan and reluctantly stand, and then he sweeps me into his massive arms, encompassing me in his classic Bear Hug that instantly fills me with warmth.
I sigh, leaning into the embrace, my head resting on his chest as I clasp my hands behind the small of his back.
“Tell you what. Give me one hour. If in one hour you still want to come back and get in these sweatpants, I’ll cuddle you all night and deliver wine on demand.”
“I want to cry just thinking about that.”
He smiles, pulling back to search my gaze. “What if I told you wine is still involved?”
“I’m listening…”
“And food.”
I tilt my head to the side, sighing. “Fine. But I’m not putting on makeup or doing my hair.”
“Good because you look perfect without doing a damn thing,” he says, kissing my nose, and then he releases me and practically skips into his kitchen, telling me to get dressed.
It still takes me a while to drag myself back to his room where my weekender bag is, and I dig through it, pulling out a pair of linen shorts and a loose, comfortable blouse to go with them. I tug on my Sperrys and put my hair in a ponytail, grimacing when I see my reflection in the mirror.
Perfect, my ass.
The long week of studying and tests and meeting with my lawyer is evident on every inch of my face — namely in the dark circles under my eyes. I debate putting on makeup despite what I said, but I don’t have the chance before Clinton calls my name from down the hall and tells me to hurry up.
With one last sight, I flick the light off in the bathroom and let him lead me out into the sticky, humid night.
We’re quiet on the drive to wherever he’s taking me, but he’s wearing a wide smile and singing along to the songs on the stereo, one hand on the steering wheel, and the other tucked possessively around my thigh.
I stare at that massive dark hand, the way the fingers curl easily around me, the way I know exactly what they feel like on every inch of my body and like clockwork, my neck heats, mouth watering a bit at the thought of what he might do to me tonight.
We took it excruciatingly slow over the summer — which was half my idea and half my own personal torture. But after Gavin, I wanted to be sure Bear and I were serious before I opened that part of me to him — especially since I hadn’t been with anyone since the night I was raped.
A little shutter goes through me at the thought of the word, but I’m getting better at saying it, at accepting it, at remembering that it’s something that happened to me — not something that defines me.
So the summer was slow, but we still played and touched and kissed and laughed. I still explored him under the covers just as he did with me. And then, a few weeks ago, we finally broke the barrier and went all the way.
And God, it was all I wanted to do nowadays.
It’s hard for me to keep my hands off him, to not kiss him longer and deeper every time, knowing that if I kiss him just the right way, he’ll grow hard without being able to control himself.
I love that I have that effect on him.
I love that he wants me so badly he can barely stand it.
After a slow, calm cruise through town with the windows down, we pull up to a small park by the beach. Clinton climbs out before I can even unbuckle, opening my door for me and helping me out before he grabs a big cooler and duffle bag out of the bed of his truck.
“Did you pack us a picnic?” I ask, eyeing the bag as he slings it over his shoulder and carries the cooler in that same hand so he can hold mine with his other.
“I did, indeed.”
“Wow,” I comment as he steers us toward the water’s edge. “You’ve become such a romantic.”
“I blame you.”
I smile, but can’t help but lean into him a little more as we walk, into this man who I always knew I loved, but never thought I’d actually ever be with. Thinking about all we’ve been through, the obstacles we’ve had to overcome… it’s enough to make me want to cry and rejoice all at once.
Clinton picks a spot under a tree, spreading out a large blanket and unpacking the contents of the cooler and bag while I settle in. He pours me a plastic tumbler full of wine, and then one for him, and after we cheers and take a sip, he leans in to kiss me, long and sweet.
The sun is already setting, just ten minutes or so left before it will dip behind us and dusk will move in. We sip our wine and munch on the different cheeses and meats and fruits Bear packed for us as we watch the colors change in the sky over the beach and the water.
“Have you ever seen a sunset on the west coast?” I ask him.
“Of Florida? Or like California?”
“Both. Either.”
He frowns, thinking. “You know… actually? I don’t believe I have. I mean, we went to Tampa a couple times for Gasparilla, but that was mostly drinking — never really cared to watch the sunset.”
“We should go.”
He smiles. “We should. Where else?”
“Hmm…” I nibble on a piece of sharp cheddar, thinking. “I’ve always wanted to see the Red Woods.”
“Sounds like we’ll be seeing the sunset in California, too, then.”
“Oh! What about Greece?”
He chuckles. “That’s a big leap from California, but yes. Add Greece to the bucket list.”
I instantly pull out my phone and start a new note, titling it Erin and Bear’s Epic List of Adventures.
“Okay,” I say after writing down what we’ve discussed so far. “Your turn. What do you want to add?”
He sighs, eyeing the cotton candy clouds that are now turning a deep shade of purple. “Well, first… I want to take you home.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, perv. Focus.”
“No, I mean home home,” he says, and when I look at him, his eyes are sincere. “To Pittsburgh.”
Butterflies zip through my stomach so fiercely, I place a hand over my navel to soothe them. “You do?”
He nods. “I want to take you to all the spots I went to as a kid, show you where I grew up. You’ve already met my family and hung out with them, so I know you can survive the crazy.”
I laugh at that. “I love their crazy.”
“So, that’s a yes?”
I smile, typing on my phone. “It’s at the top of the list. And you know what? I want to take you home, too.”
Bear frowns. “To Kansas?”
I laugh. “That’s where my grandparents live,” I correct him. “My parents live here in Florida. Jupiter Beach.”
“Oh,” he says, relieved. “Alright, then. Add it to the list.”
We spend the evening drinking wine, snacking, and laughing while we add places to our list. We daydream about what we’ll do, the things we’ll see, the people we’ll meet. And before I know it, it’s been two hours, and I haven’t thought about wanting to go back home once.
Except now, with the night heavy around us, and Clinton holding my back to his chest as he leans up against the tree, I can feel a certain part of him at the small of my back, and the urge to go back to his place is strong again.
I nuzzle into him, wrapping his arms even more around me. “So, I’m thinking it might be sweatpants time again,” I say.
“Oh? Done with being out?”
I bite my lip, reaching behind me and down between us to rub him over his basketball shorts. He stiffens at the touch, and then stifles a groan as I rub the length of him, which grows hard instantly as if I’ve commanded him to do so.
“Very much so,” I whisper.
I turn in his arms, finding his heated gaze just as yearning as mine. He pulls me into him, framing my face for a deep kiss before he stands, yanks me up, and smacks my ass. “Help me pack this shit.”
I laugh at his haste, even more so when I see him adjust himself in his shorts with a shake of his head at me. With lightning speed, he tosses everything back in the cooler and the duffle bag, not the least bit concerned with whether things were packaged correctly or standing upright.
And then, we’re back in the truck and speeding across town.
I can’t help but watch him as he drives, his grip tight on the steering wheel, jaw clenched, and that bulge ever present under his shorts.
When we hit a stoplight downtown, I tug on my seatbelt enough to loosen it so I can lean over the console, and I hesitantly smooth my hand over his abdomen, the band of his shorts, until my hand folds over his hard-on and squeezes.
“Fuck, Erin,” he hisses, grinding his hips into me.
I lick my lips, eyes on his growing length as the light turns green and I squeeze him a little harder, rolling my palm over the slick fabric of his shorts. When we hit the next light, I tug on the string tying his shorts at the top, freeing the knot.
“Can you take these down a bit?”
Bear’s head snaps in my direction, and he gapes for just a millisecond before he presses his foot into the brake and lifts his hips enough to slide his shorts and briefs down to mid-thigh, freeing his cock.
I moan at the sight, biting my lip again before I lean even farther over the console. Clinton adjusts, holding the steering wheel high with one hand so I have enough room to peek my head in, and his other hand is holding his pants out of the way.
Careful not to hit his arm, I run my fist over him — one pump, two — and then I cover his large tip with my lips, spreading them wide until at last my tongue tastes him, swirling and sucking and teasing.
He groans loud, but keeps his eyes on the road, his focus steady as I take him a little farther inside each time. I feel wild and free, sexual in a way I haven’t in a long time — if ever. He makes me feel this way… comfortable, confident, desired.
Safe.