Chapter 27
I WANT TO FUCK THE WORD BUDDY OUT OF HER MOUTH.
DARCY
She’s been gone for less than ten minutes, but now she’s back, covered in mud, brown eyes blazing. I try not to let the hope building in my chest take over when she says she wants it to be Groundhog Day, because I know what that meant in Halifax, but…
“I want to go back to before I told you we had to be friendly and professional. Before I set all those stupid rules. I want to go back to what we were in Halifax.”
Holy fuck.
“Billie—” I take a step closer to her, but stop when she puts her hand out.
“I’m not done.” She takes a deep breath, lifting a hand to touch her face, but thinking better of it since it seems to be the only place not currently covered in mud.
“I know you’re leaving. I know this has an expiration date, just like it did in May.
” My jaw tightens at her words, but I keep quiet.
“But I’m tired of pretending I don’t want this. That I don’t want you.”
“What are you saying, exactly?” I take another tentative step.
“I’m saying we have the rest of the summer. However long you’re here for.” She shrugs, like she didn’t set my entire existence on fire.
“And then?” I grip the stair railing as I make my way down, legitimately concerned about how weak in the knees I am.
“And then… we deal with it.” Another shrug.
“We get this out of our systems. No expectations. No complications. We’ve managed to be mostly friendly and civil for the last few weeks after seeing each other naked.
We could do it again, no problem.” She’s confident, and the fact is both thrilling and terrifying because I want her.
I want to be with her. But I don’t want to go back to this friendly, professional shit again unless we’re in a professional environment.
And even then, I might cross a line or two.
“We can be friends and fuck. Fuck buddies. Friends with benefits. Take your pick. And when you leave and inevitably come back to your cottage, we go back to regular buddies.” She smiles proudly, like this is the best plan anyone’s ever come up with.
I want to fuck the word buddy out of her mouth.
“And you’re okay with that? With this ending?” I’m ready to beg her to say no.
“I think it’s better than the alternative.”
“Which is?”
“Not chasing what this could be right now.” She steps closer, finally closing the distance between us.
“You’re covered in mud,” I say, brushing a chunk of it off her shoulder. Touching her in a way I haven’t allowed myself to.
“I’m aware.” She looks down at herself.
“Tammy?”
“Who else?” she asks with a roll of her eyes.
A small smile tugs at my lips. “That pig has it out for you, eh?”
“Are you seriously talking about the pig?”
“Did you seriously drive away from me, turn around, get attacked by a pig, and come back anyway?” I need to make sure she’s serious.
“That’s… exactly what happened.”
I reach out and tuck a muddy strand of hair behind her ear. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay,” I repeat, lowering my hand.
“I should probably shower.” She winces. “I’m disgusting.” I smile for the first time since she came back.
“You are. Want to use mine?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” She grins back, and I take her hand in mine. It’s our first intentional, real touch in weeks, and it lights me up from head to toe as I lead her into my house. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispers when we’re at the base of the stairs.
Tugging her so she’ll face me, I pull her into my body and kiss her, not giving a damn about the mud now on my clothes, too. “Do you believe it now?” I ask, giving the lips I’ve missed one more quick peck before she can answer.
“Getting there. Might need more convincing.” With a smirk, she heads upstairs, hand still in mine, tracking mud through the house. I couldn’t care less about that last thing, though.
The line’s been crossed. No going back now.
She’s been in my shower for twenty minutes.
I’ve changed my clothes, cleaned up some of the mud, put our stuff in the wash, and patted myself on the back for having enough chicken and veggies in the fridge for more than just myself.
Now I’m pacing in the kitchen, wanting to give her space, but also dying to touch her again. Kiss her.
“Hey, Darce?” Her voice comes from the top of the stairs, and I take the steps two at a time until I reach her. I’m smiling because she called me Darce, because she’s in my house, and because she’s probably not wearing anything but a towel right now. “You didn’t leave me any clothes.”
“Oh. Didn’t I?” I tap my chin, pretending to think, but we both know I did that shit on purpose.
Without breaking eye contact, she releases the towel and lets it drop to the floor. I shamelessly stare, taking in every detail I’ve already memorized.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my eyes locked on her tits.
“Let’s.” She takes a step closer. I know I don’t want to start anything out here in the hallway, so I pick her up bridal style—which does all kinds of wild things to my brain, because her, bride, mine… yes, please—and walk into my room, laying her gently on my bed.
“Listen.” She takes my chin in her hand, guiding my face until our eyes meet.
“I don’t want you to think this is the norm.
That this is going to become something we do all the time.
” The smile on my face falls so fast, it hurts.
“No, I don’t mean us having sex. We’re gonna have a lot of sex.
Like a lot, a lot. I mean what I’m about to say next.
” My grin once again stretches from ear to ear, and she giggles.
“I don’t want foreplay right now. I need you to fuck me. Okay?”
A pained groan leaves my mouth, and I rest my forehead on her shoulder. “Jesus, woman, I can never guess what the hell is going to come out of your mouth.”
“And you like that about me. So much.” She kisses my neck sweetly while tugging at my shirt.
“So much,” I repeat onto her skin before I pull my T-shirt over my head with one hand.
In the next instant, I’ve kicked my shorts somewhere in my room, and I’m reaching for the unopened box of condoms in my nightstand.
It’s not because I don’t want the foreplay.
I want it. Badly. But if that’s not what she wants, it doesn’t fucking matter.
I’m going at the plastic wrapping around the box with my teeth and nails as she watches intently, a shit-eating smile on her face.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t need it because I got started in the shower.
Had a delightful orgasm by myself.” Her fingers reach for my nipple, and she tugs on the piercing, causing me to moan and lose my focus.
The plastic wrapping finally gives way, and the force of my combined efforts sends the condoms flying around us.
It’s raining condoms.
One lands on her belly button, and I toss the box aside, making quick work of getting my now painfully hard cock sheathed.
I lower myself, letting the relief of us being skin-to-skin wash over me. “Now, why would you go and do something like that, darling?” Her breath hitches at the nickname.
“I had to. I mean, there I was, getting clean, and everything smelled like you. How could I not?” She lifts her knees, widening them to make room for me. I run my cock along her center, but don’t push in.
Instead, I drop my face to her neck and inhale deeply. “You do smell like me now. I can’t say I’m entirely mad about it, even if I’m partial to your sweet strawberry scent.”
“Quit stalling.” She nips at my shoulder, and I flip us, so she’s straddling me.
“Do it again. Make yourself come, but do it on my cock this time.” I’ve followed her every lead, let her be the one to boss me around, so this is a gamble. But then she doesn’t hesitate to take my dick in her hand and guide me to her core.
“Oh, fuck, Peter,” she whines, sitting on my cock, swiveling her hips.
And she called me Peter. Lately, I don’t care what name she uses for me, but my first name now feels like an intimate thing she reserves for me.
For us. I need to close my eyes and picture my therapist’s shiny, bald head right now, or I’m gonna blow my load in three seconds.
I can’t speak. Can’t think. Can’t breathe. I can’t do anything but focus on how incredible she feels and looks bouncing on my cock.
“Goddammit, I missed this.” She’s already panting through her words. I sit up to kiss her neck, her clit rubbing on my skin as we both thrust. “I’m so close already.”
I crash my lips against hers, needing her to stop talking because I am seriously going to come any second now. When I tweak her nipple, she yelps into my mouth, pulling away and throwing her head back.
“Peter, Peter, I’m—” She cuts off on a strangled moan, her muscles tightening, and I can’t hold back anymore. I pull her body into mine as I come, and come, and come.
“Beth, fuck. Oh my God.” We hold on to one another, our lips meeting in a desperate kiss that eventually slows to something more methodical, delicate, unhurried.
I am so, extremely, terribly, elatedly fucked in every single way when it comes to this woman. If I don’t marry her one day, I won’t marry anyone.