Chapter 6 River
River
Saturday? Who in the hell am I kidding? I last three days before I’m hitting my limit.
Three days of pacing my cabin like a caged animal, feeling like my skin is too tight, like I might crawl right out of it if I don’t see Daliah soon.
Three days of fisting my cock enough times to risk actual injury, her name on my lips bouncing repeatedly off the walls, the memory of her soft sounds playing on a loop in my head.
Even if I had that kind of strength, that kind of patience, there’s no telling what I’d do the moment I set my eyes on her again. I’ve imagined it a hundred ways.
Pinning her against my truck door while everyone’s distracted at the market, her gasps lost in the crowd noise.
Having her pressed into the grass somewhere private, her golden hair spread out beneath her.
The fantasies blur together, each one ending the same way.
With my name rolling off her tongue, and her pussy putting my cock out of its misery.
The more I thought about it, the weaker I became. So I shot her a message about checking out her beehives early in the morning after another restless night—a flimsy excuse, sure. Even if I had to beg her to accept, I’d do it. Fuck, I need to see her.
When my phone finally buzzes in the middle of the afternoon, it’s pitiful how quickly I swipe it up. I’m in the middle of mixing molten hot jam, sugar bubbling at dangerous temperatures, and I don’t even hesitate. Don’t even think about the risk.
Her address lights up my screen with a list of directions in case I get lost. The best response she could’ve given.
That’s what has me rushing through my work, sloppier than I’ve been in years, making a hell of a mess that’ll need hours to clean later.
I don’t care. I need to see her. I make myself a promise—one more painful hour of separation before I can visit—and then I’m hurrying along, burning my finger on a stray splash of jam and barely feeling it.
The pain’s worth it. Every second of delay is agony, but the anticipation is something else entirely.
Soon enough, I’m grabbing my keys and shooting her a warning that I’m on my way.
The drive is a blur of trees and gravel and my own ragged breathing. And then I realize—she’s close. Only a mile away, down a winding road I’ve passed a hundred times without knowing. She’d always been within my reach, sleeping and living and existing just over the ridge, and I never knew.
That’s going to torture me for a lifetime. All those months of watching the calendar as I waited for spring to roll around, aching for her, and she was right here. Now I’m going to have to work on making up for all that lost time.
I’m not going to be able to stay away for long periods. That much is clear already. Hell, she’ll have to tell me to stay away now if she wants me out of her life. Because I’m not leaving on my own. Not ever.
Her cabin comes into view—small, charming, tucked into the trees as if it grew there. And there she is, stepping onto the porch, and I almost swerve off the road.
Another dress. This one’s different—lighter, softer, something floral that skims her body in ways that make my mouth go dry.
Her hair’s down, still slightly damp at the ends, and she’s barefoot on the wooden steps.
She looks like something out of a dream.
Like someone I invented because reality couldn’t possibly be this good.
I’m stumbling out of the truck as soon as it’s parked, hunger clawing through my chest, my legs carrying me toward her like they have a mind of their own. I grab the jar from my passenger seat on the way—complimentary jam, I’d told myself, a gift for letting me visit.
Right now, it feels like the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, because who cares about jam when she’s standing right there?
“Hi.” Her voice is soft and shy, and she’s looking at me like she’s been counting the days, too. Eagerly following me as I climb the stairs leading up to her porch.
“Hi.” I hold up the jar, suddenly awkward. “Brought you this. Hope you like mixed berries.”
She giggles, those gray eyes twinkling with amusement. “Finally, I get to try it. I’m looking forward to it.”
Sounding like she’s been waiting for a lifetime, I wish I had offered to give her one sooner.
She takes it, our fingers brushing, and doesn’t pull away. “Come in. I can give you a tour of the hives soon—they’re just out back. But I’m in the middle of cleaning up.” She steps back, holding the door open. “You can take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I step inside. Her cabin is warm, cluttered in the best way—books stacked on tables, dried flowers hanging from hooks, the faint sweetness of honey in every breath. It’s cozy, giving me an insight into who this woman really is.
Her living space reveals more and more about her as I look around. Drifting to her couch, I notice pictures on the wall. More golden-haired people of different ages, probably siblings if I have to guess. Her parents, too. I hope to meet them all one day.
She’s moving around me, gathering things, tidying up, and I notice she’s pink. A flush creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks, that’s continuing to grow the longer I watch her.
I can’t help myself. She’s like a magnet that keeps my gaze glued to her. The way she’s moving, it’s more like pacing. Almost like she’s nervous.
She passes by so close, and I reach out without thinking. My hand circles her wrist, gentle but firm, stopping her. She looks at me, her blush now full, devastating and beautiful, her eyes wide.
“Have you been thinking about it too?” My voice is rough. “The kisses.”
She nods just once, but it’s enough. That’s why she’s moving around? She’s got nothing to get worked up about. Hell, I’ll be upfront with my feelings if it makes her feel more comfortable.
A groan tears from my throat. I tug her forward, light but insistent, guiding her until she’s standing between my legs. I’m still sitting on the edge of her couch, and she’s right there, close enough to feel the heat rolling off of her.
I really notice it now—the damp ends of her hair, the clean scent of soap, the way her skin looks fresh-scrubbed and soft. The floral scent is stronger than ever, and it’s what’s making me press against the metal teeth of my zipper.
“Did you shower for me?”
She nods again, lips parting. Her breathing is picking up in speed, but she’s not trying to step back. Rather, she lifts her hands and gently runs them against my fingers. Leaning into my touch, a sigh leaves her when I run my fingers down to her hips and give them both a squeeze.
I love these dresses. Is her entire wardrobe full of them, or did she just wear one for me?
Another groan, this one lower in my gut. “Fuck, Daliah.”
I can ask her why, but the answer is obvious. Now all I want to do is nuzzle my nose into the crook of her neck and breathe her in until I’m deprived of oxygen, just filling myself with her.
Pulling her down, a gasp escapes her as she climbs onto my lap. Another laugh leaves her as she’s forced to cling to me, this one coming out more nervous. However, once my hand slides to the back of her neck, she’s making more of a purring sound.
“Can I kiss you again, Daliah?” Reaching down with my free hand, I stroke her thigh through the thin fabric of that haunting dress. “I haven’t been able to get those lips off my mind.”
Just to tease me, she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “There’s no one to interrupt us this time.”
Good to know I wasn’t the only one upset by that.
When she nods, I don’t have the strength to wait a second longer.
I’m kissing her like I’ve been dying to for three days. She melts into me instantly, her hands finding my chest, fisting in my shirt. Her mouth opens beneath mine, and I take everything she offers, licking inside, tasting her, drinking her in.
She breaks away just long enough to gasp, “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I want—I want you to do more than kiss me.”
I’m a weak man. The weakest. My hands return to her hips, and I pull her right where I need her, where she can feel exactly what she does to me. She gasps against my mouth, shifting instinctively, and I have to grip her harder to keep from losing my mind right there.
“I swear I just came to see you, Daliah.” The words are pained, honest. “I just needed to see you. But if you want me to touch you—” I curse softly, my head tilting back as I try to keep myself collected. “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”
“Please, River. I want… No, I need it. I need you.”
My hands find the hem of her dress—that soft, flowing part that’s been driving me crazy since I got here—and I lift just enough to reveal the delicate fabric beneath, the panties that are doing nothing to hide how much she wants this by their dampened dark color. How much she wants me.
I force myself to meet her eyes. “Have you touched yourself? Thinking about me?”
At first, her eyes grow wide at my question. But then, she’s nodding, her breath hitching.
“How many times?”
“Twice last night.”
Christ. I want to know about the nights before, too, but that’ll take too long. I want her to cream on my fingers. Want her juices to prune my fingertips.
I don’t wait. My hand slides beneath the fabric, shoving inside, to find her wet in a way that matches everything I’ve been feeling.
She cries out, hips jerking forward, and I capture the sound with my mouth.
This isn’t going the way I thought it would, but there’s no way in hell we’re going to be able to slow down. Not now, not ever.
By the end of today, this woman is going to be mine.