Chapter 32 #2
By the third, the fire is blazing. It’s hot—so hot that I’m sweating. She grabs my hand and interlocks her fingers with mine. My vision blurs at the edges, and her laugh sounds lighter than it did before.
“I’m burning up,” I tell her.
“Me too,” she says, unbuttoning my shirt.
The kiss I’ve wanted all night finally happens.
My fingers go to the buttons on her dress. “Fuck. There are a thousand buttons.”
“Forty.” Her laugh is soft. “There’s no rush.”
I’m seeing double of everything as I unwrap her. “You’re a gift.”
She doesn’t help, just watches.
The velvet falls below her shoulders, and she’s not wearing a bra.
Her nipples are at full attention, dark and perky.
It might be in the upper thirties right now, but neither of us is shivering.
Blaire stands, pulling me up with her, removing my clothes.
We exchange a look and lose our underwear. Then we dance.
There’s no music, but we don’t need any.
I stop feeling ridiculous and let all the bullshit go. It’s pure freedom. Bliss. Halfway through, Blaire tips her head back and howls at the thinning moon. The coyotes return our call again.
The sparks rise higher, and I pull Blaire into my arms and kiss her. Even as a skeptic, I can feel the magic in the moment.
We come down onto the quilt together, laughing, and then we aren’t. Our mouths come together, and nothing else in the world makes any fucking sense but this. Her. Us.
She pushes me onto my back and rises over me. The fire blazes against one side of us, and the moon is on the other.
The brew has me wanting to spill every truth.
“I want to tell you things.”
“Don’t,” she says. “Beware of the brew.”
When she sinks down onto me, the fire surges like somebody fed it gasoline. Her skin is fever-warm under my hands in the middle of October. We’re both hot to the touch.
Every time she moves, the truth wants to spill out.
I’m falling in love with you.
“No,” I whisper.
“What?” she asks.
I swallow my words. “I’ll tell you before I leave on November first. Not now.”
Tonight, it would be too much. She’s stressed out over the circus I brought to her doorstep. I keep my feelings tucked away, hidden for another time. But I fight it each time she kisses me, each time her hands thread through my hair. Then there will be nothing for her to blame.
“Jamie,” she whispers.
She looks down at me, and I swear her eyes turn that golden color again.
“Sweetheart,” I say, the moon stealing my focus for a few seconds.
We fit together like we belong to one another.
We climb together. She leads, and I match her. The orgasm threatens to take me.
“I’m so close,” she confesses, her pace slowing. Her head falls back onto her shoulders.
“Do it now,” I tell her. “At the height.”
She meets my eyes, as if she’s asking for permission.
I nod.
Blaire reaches for the blade without missing a beat. She cuts my hand, tracing along my love line from the top to the bottom on my left hand. The hand where my wedding ring will one day go. Blaire does the same to her own, then presses her palm to mine, lacing our fingers.
“By blood freely given, I undo what I did.” Her voice is so soft that I barely hear her saying the oath she memorized on the way here.
Her body presses closer against mine as she kisses me. I run my fingers through her hair as she says the rest in my ear, kissing and nibbling as she does it.
“By fire, I unmake what I made. I cut this cord without anger. Go free of me. I go free of you. I let you go. Let go of me. Be free. Find peace. Find love. Lose me. Forever. Sent from my lover. Thank you.”
I wrap my free arm around her body as she holds my other arm above my head. The fire surges like somebody fed it more wood.
Our palms are tight together, cut to cut, and the sting travels through my fingers, then disappears. I can’t tell the pain from the pleasure, so I quit trying. Every move she makes combines the wound and want. She’s riding the high with me, her eyes on mine, not going anywhere.
“Together,” she breathes, the same word we toasted with. It’s almost like she spoke us into existence.
Blaire spills over first and drags me with her. Our moans echo off the trees, and it’s primal in every sense.
Our fingers stay woven together as she falls against my chest.
The fire falls back to a steady burn.
Our heartbeats hammer against each other. Eventually, she peels herself up and presses her lips against my knuckles.
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a first aid kit. With care, she cleans my hand, then wraps it. I do the same for her.
“It’ll probably leave a small scar,” she confesses. “Anyone who reads your palm from now on will see it and know.”
“Good,” I say, grinning.
The fling has an expiration date.
The scar doesn’t.
Whatever happens after Halloween, a part of me will stay written into her love line too. Just like some part of her is written into mine.
“You’ve taught me a language only a few people speak, Blaire.”
“I hope it’s worth it,” she says.
“If I were asked if I wanted to relive these moments with you a thousand more times, I’d say yes in a heartbeat.” I squeeze my hand tight. “It will make a fun story one day.”
“Yeah? Going to tell our kids about it?”
I stop laughing and smile. “Yeah. And what a story that will be.”
She playfully shoos at me. “The fling ends—”
“On Halloween. I know.”
I watch her get dressed.
Her eyes meet mine. “Thanks for playing witches with me.”
“Any fucking day of the week. Even on Mondays.”