Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
“ If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more .”
~Jane Austen, Emma
E lle woke with a vague recollection of Clayton’s strong arms carrying her up the stairs to the sleeping loft. He’d tucked her in and sat beside her, stroking her hair as she fell asleep. Had he really pressed his lips to her forehead and whispered, “I’m here, you rest? ” Or was that a dream?
Still in her dress from the wedding, Elle sat up. Tiny cracks of light slipped through gaps in the closed blinds. She wasn’t sure what time it was or how long she had slept. What she knew was that she had slept. No nightmares, haunting memories, or racing thoughts interrupting her slumber.
Grabbing her phone from the bed stand, she checked the time. “8:05 a.m.?” she murmured in disbelief. It had been years since she’d slept this late or this soundly.
When I need to talk, I talk. Clayton’s words answered her questioning thoughts. Finally, she had chosen to talk instead of run.
The dread that had coursed her veins was gone. All that was left was a tiny ache in her chest.
She noticed several missed messages.
Carmen had messaged at ten p.m., asking Elle where she was and if Elle wanted her to snag a piece of cake. She responded with an apology and a made-up excuse for leaving early. On the group thread with Viet and Willa there were more texts, asking for updates on hot farmer, if mommy not-so-dearest made an appearance, and how Elle was doing. It was just after five a.m., in California, but she messaged that she was okay and would reach out later. The last message, sent just before midnight, was from Clayton.
Fitz’s Human: I didn’t want to leave you. I’m on the couch downstairs.
Elle had spilled all her ugly truths last night, but he held her tight and whispered that she was enough, she was everything.
Pushing the blankets off, she found her slippers and shoved her feet into them.
Where the sleeping loft was dark with only slivers of light, downstairs was bathed in sunshine. Clayton curled on the too-small-for him couch, a green checkered pillow on his face.
Enveloped by the warmth of his presence, she tiptoed to the bathroom. There she pulled her hair into a messy bun, washed away her dried tears, and brushed her teeth before heading back to the living room.
“Good morning,” Clayton said, his voice a little hoarse and stifled beneath the pillow.
“Why do you have a pillow on your face?”
“To shield my eyes.” He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t sure if you’d see my text and come down not dressed. I didn’t want you to think I was trying to sneak a peek.”
“You may remove your shield. I am fully clothed.” A silent laugh curled her lips.
Removing the pillow, he lifted his head to look at her.
“You didn’t need to stay. That can’t have been comfortable.”
“I know, but I wanted to.” He stretched.
The white button-up shirt from the wedding was thrown over the desk chair, leaving him wearing just his trousers and undershirt like a hero from an old movie. A cell phone and keys lay on the end table beside the couch, his dress shoes tucked under it to keep anyone from tripping. His thoughtfulness jellied her knees.
“What about Fitz? Was he home by himself?” A twinge of concern in her voice.
“With my parents.” He swung his body into a seated position facing her. “Whenever I’m gone for long periods of time, he goes to visit them. My mother spoils him and loves to remind me it’s because he’s the only grandbaby she has.”
“Thank you for staying and everything else,” Elle said, fidgeting with her hands.
“How did you sleep?”
She fixed her gaze on the space beside Clayton occupied only by that pillow. She wanted to kick that pillow off the sofa and take its place next to him.
“Better than I have in years,” she said. Would she have slept even better next to him in the bed? She brushed the errant thought away, focusing on her feet. “Did you put my slippers by the bed?”
“Yes.”
“And closed the loft blinds?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, maybe I should show you my ugly granny panties more often. Such service.” The snarky comment was a veiled attempt to hide the overexposed feeling wrapping around her.
“There’s nothing ugly about you. Ugly things happened to you, but everything about you is beautiful. Here.” He motioned to his face. “And especially here.” He placed his hand on his heart.
“Where it counts.” She ducked her head, the rawness of last night making her feel overexposed.
“You have the most generous heart despite people repeatedly trying to break it. What I see is a thoughtful woman… smart as hell, funny, adorably goofy at times, beautiful, and so strong. I’ve always seen you,” he said, his eyes not looking at her but into her as he spoke.
Her heart thumped as their stares melded as one. I’ve always seen you.
Like fog clearing, realization slammed into her. He’d watched her reading during his high school football practices and had been so curious to know what had such an impact on her facial expressions, he’d started reading the same books.
You are everything. His words in the truck. His toast at the wedding about how when he found his everything, he’d hold on to it.
Really didn’t notice you ‘til then. After that all I could do was notice you. His words as they sat pressed up against the couch on that rainy day.
Her eyes widened. “Why did you come look for me?”
“To buy you the free drink, when I?—"
“No, not last night. The night of the Winter Ball when you saved me from falling off the bleachers.” Her pulse quickened with certainty.
“I had finally gotten the nerve to ask you to dance.”
“Were you scared of what your friends would say?” She kept her tone light, as if the answer didn’t have the power to devastate her.
“No,” he said, his gaze steady. “I was scared of what you would say.”
“But you were you”—she pointed at him and then to herself with a frown—“and I was me.”
“Exactly.” He rose, determination darkened his eyes. “Our favorite books are our favorite, not because of pretty covers but because of what’s written inside, and you are a goddamn masterpiece.”
The air crackled like a coming storm. Anticipation prickled beneath Elle’s skin.
“Are you going to kiss me?” Breath shallow, she stepped toward him.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” he rasped, moving closer, hands clenched at his sides.
“Yes.” She closed the space between them.
He cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers. It wasn’t sweet and tentative like a boy’s first kiss but ravenous, as if the only thing that could appease his hunger was her.
Sliding his hands to her waist, he pulled her tight against him.
A small moan escaped her as his tongue coaxed her lips open, taking the kiss deeper into the sweet release of this moment. Every nerve-ending exploded like her own internal fireworks show. His kiss, his touch, ignited something deep within her. Something she thought had been lost.
Lifting her hands to his shoulders she pressed harder into the firm angles of his chest. He moved backward as she pushed forward, their steps a faultless dance.
He captured her lower lip, and bit softly. The luscious pain released a whimper of need from her. The back of his muscular legs hit the couch and they separated, staring at each other. His raised eyebrow a silent dare. With a teasing smile, she pushed Clayton to a seated position. His grin was a delightful mix of playful and wicked as she straddled his lap.
A throaty grunt escaped him at their newfound closeness, followed by a groan as her mouth met his, her lips leading. And he followed her lead, move for move. With a rumble of pleasure his tongue tangled with hers.
“Clayton,” she panted.
He ceased his kisses, his gray eyes hungry but patient.
Elle rested her hands over his, guiding them to the dress hem and helped him raise the fabric until it bunched at her waist.
Clayton’s eyes flicked to her bare legs. His gaze, desirous and questioning, returned to hers.
With a nod, she mouthed yes .
This is where she wanted to be. With him. The ghosts of her past were not welcomed here. On this couch it was just them.
He trailed languid kisses from her lips to below her ear, over her flushed cheek to her chin and down the long column of her throat to the collarbone and back up. With a sly smile, he moved back to her cheek, and his kiss turned chaste. As Elle let out a frustrated noise, he chuckled before licking her throat. The delicious rasp of his tongue made her back arch.
More! Deep within, a switch flipped, and her movements turned feverish and frantic. Her hips writhed against his lower belly as he continued to suck at the base of her throat. The touch of his hands scorched her already heated skin.
“Touch me, please,” she pleaded breathlessly.
“Where do you want me to touch you?” His voice a low rumble.
Raising her hips, she guided his fingers to her core shielded by a thin layer of lacy underwear, already damp with need. Grazing his fingers under the fabric, he pushed it aside.
The smooth pads of his fingers slipped through her slick folds. “Hmmm…so wet.” The vibration of his deep voice intensifying her need. “Do I do this to you?”
“Yes,” she hissed with the first slow stroke of her clit.
The heat of his gaze moved like a wave across her body as his finger stroked and rubbed and flicked. Hips grinding, she rode his hand, her nails digging into his shoulders. A pleasurable pressure built, readying to rip through her.
She widened her legs and he pushed a second finger inside her body, while continuing to massage her sensitive nub with his thumb. The pressure climbed until he slipped another finger inside her, catapulting her over the edge.
“Clayton,” she whined, her body shuddering.
“Elle,” he rasped and swallowed her moans with a deep kiss.
“That was nice.” Panting, she caressed his cheek.
“Oh, I can do better than nice.” A devilish glint sparked in his eyes. Just as his lips met her skin, an alarm chimed.
“What?” Elle blinked, confused and a little mortified. The alarm sounded like church bells. The worshipping they had done this Sunday morning was certainly not church appropriate.
“Ugh,” he groaned and buried his head against her neck. “My alarm. I set it last night to ensure we had time to get ready for the post-wedding brunch.” His long arms grabbing the phone and turning off the alarm.
“For what?”
“The brunch for your cousin and Jerome, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” Her tone was a little dazed. “Brunch. Sorry, orgasm brain.” She pointed to her head and then to her satiated smile.
“I noticed.”He kissed below the shell of her ear.
“You’re very good at that.”
He arched a cocky eyebrow.
“Noticing.”She aimed a playful swat at his bicep.
The swat resulted in him kissing her. Maybe she’d swat him more.
“So, you put me to bed last night, closed the blinds, made sure my slippers were by the bed, and set the alarm so we wouldn’t be late for the post-wedding brunch?” She pecked his lips after listing each thing he had done.
“Yup.”
“And gave me an orgasm?”
“Yup.”
“You may be the perfect man.”
His mouth curved into a smirking grin. “I can cook too.”
“Oh god, you are perfect.” A whiney laugh fell out of her.
“We should get ready,” he murmured, licking her throat, causing her to throw her head back with a “mmmm.”
“Oh, yes. Right now,” she whispered, rubbing herself against his impressive arousal hidden beneath those slacks.
“Yup. Right now.” He sucked on her throat.
Their lingering kisses lasted until the ten-minute backup alarm broke them apart.