1. Clara #2
But right now he was here. Right now he was looking at me like I was the center of his universe. And I was going to hold onto that for as long as it lasted.
“I need you,” I said, and it came out more desperate than I intended.
He kissed me again, harder this time, and his mouth went lower.
He sucked my nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing just enough to make my head fall back.
I buried my hands in his hair and held him there while he worked me, switching sides, licking, biting gently, until I was squirming on the edge of the table and the ache between my legs was almost unbearable.
“Quin. Please.”
He dropped to his knees.
The sight of him there, this man in dusty jeans, glitter still on his cheek, looking up at me like worship, nearly undid me before he even touched me.
He popped the button of my riding pants, dragged the zipper down, and I lifted my hips so he could peel them off along with my underwear, boots thudding to the floor.
Then his hands were on my inner thighs, spreading me open, and he just looked for a second, breathing hard.
“So wet for me already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Christ, Clara.”
His mouth found me.
I clapped a hand over my own mouth to keep from crying out.
The festival was right outside, music and laughter and the whole world, and in here his tongue was sliding through me like he’d been starving for it.
Slow at first, tasting, then focused, circling my clit with devastating patience while two fingers pressed inside me, curling, finding that place he knew better than I did.
“Eyes on me,” he said against my skin, and I forced them open, looking down at him between my thighs. The intimacy of it was almost too much. His dark eyes locked on mine while he licked me, while his fingers worked me open, while I shook.
“That’s it. Let me feel you.”
I came apart faster than I wanted to, a sharp, helpless climax that punched through me with no warning.
My thighs clamped around his head. He didn’t stop.
He licked me through it, groaning like he was the one falling apart, until I tugged at his hair because it was too much, too sensitive, and I needed him inside me more than I needed air.
He stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and the look on his face was feral.
He unbuckled his belt, shoved his jeans down just far enough, and I reached for him, wrapping my hand around his cock.
Thick, hot, already slick at the tip. I stroked him once, twice, and his forehead dropped against mine.
“Clara…”
“Now.”
He pulled me to the edge of the table so I could wrap my legs around him. He entered me slowly at first, giving me time to adjust, watching my face the whole time. He wanted to see exactly what he was doing to me, exactly how I was responding, like my pleasure was a puzzle he needed to solve.
The stretch of him after months of almost-nothing made my breath catch. He bottomed out and held there, shaking, his hands gripping the edge of the vanity on either side of my hips.
“Eyes on me,” he said when I tried to close them.
I forced them open, meeting his gaze, and felt something crack open in my chest. It was almost more than I could hold.
Looking into the eyes of the man I’d loved since I was old enough to know what love meant while he moved inside me, slow and deep.
Every inch. Every roll of his hips that dragged against me just right.
“Clara.” My name was a prayer on his lips. “My Clara. You feel… fuck. You feel like coming home.”
I dug my nails into his shoulders and pulled him closer, and he took the hint, picking up the pace. The vanity table creaked beneath us. Somewhere outside I could hear the festival continuing, the noise of the crowd, the music from the stage, the whole world going on without us.
But in here, there was only this. Only us. Only the wet sound of him driving into me, the slap of skin, my broken little moans that I couldn’t swallow down. He hooked one of my legs higher, changing the angle, and I saw stars.
“There,” I gasped. “Right there. Don’t stop.”
“Not stopping.” His voice was wrecked. “Not ever. You take me so well. Always have. Always will.” He kissed me messy, open-mouthed, swallowing my sounds. “I miss this. I miss you. I know I’ve been…” He thrust harder, like the words hurt. “I know. I’m here. I’m here.”
I shattered around him, clenching so tight he cursed, and he followed right after, burying himself to the hilt, his forehead pressed against mine, both of us breathing hard, both of us trembling. I felt him pulse inside me, and I held him there with my legs and my arms and everything I had.
“I love you,” he said, still inside me, still holding me like I might disappear if he let go. “You know that, right? I love you so much.”
“I know,” I said. And I did. Even when I doubted everything else, I never doubted that.
He kissed my forehead, then my mouth, then the tear I hadn’t noticed slipping down my cheek. I closed my eyes and let myself have this moment. His heartbeat against mine. The dusty air. The faint glitter still on his skin.
We cleaned up as best we could with the ancient towels in the corner and the one working sink. He was gentle about it, wiping between my thighs with a tenderness that made my chest ache all over again. Quin helped me zip my vest back up, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck that made me shiver.
“Ready to face the world again?” he asked.
“Ready to eat my weight in barbecue,” I corrected, my voice still hoarse. “I worked up an appetite.”
His grin was wicked. “I noticed.”
He tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear, and for a second his expression went serious again.
Like he wanted to say more. Like he knew one frantic hour in a tack room didn’t fix the months of distance.
Then Katie’s distant shriek of delight over cotton candy floated through the walls, and the moment passed.
We walked back toward the festival hand in hand, and for the first time in months, I felt like myself again. Like the woman who’d married the love of her life and built a family with him and found her place in the world. My body still hummed with him. I could still feel where he’d been.
Later, after more barbecue and more ice cream and a truly terrible performance by a local country band, we headed back toward the car.
Katie was asleep in Quin’s arms, drooling on his shoulder.
Naomi had gone home an hour ago, claiming old age and tiredness though we all knew she just wanted to give us family time.
“Wait,” I said, pausing by the stable. “Did you grab your phone from the dressing room?”
Quin’s step faltered for just a second. “I’ll get it tomorrow.”
I stared at him.
He’d left his phone behind. For hours. This man who practically slept with the thing attached to his hand had gone an entire afternoon without it.
I didn’t know what to make of that. Whether it was intentional or just an oversight.
Whether it meant something or nothing at all. Hope started blooming in my chest.
But as I watched him settle our sleeping daughter into her car seat, murmuring soft words to her when she stirred, I decided not to question it.
For today, at least, I had my husband back.
I just had to figure out how to keep him.