39. Graham
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
graham
CHRISTMAS MORNING
“ One more, honey. Give me one more.” I pant into the softness of Quinn’s inner thigh, before biting down. Her breathy gasps and the pull she has on my hair have been driving me crazy for the last forty minutes. My hips thrust into the mattress when I dive back into her soaked pussy, thighs bracketing my ears perfectly. “ Let me feel you come apart on my tongue again and I’ll give you your Christmas present.”
“ I can’t. It’s too much,” she cries, yet the way her walls quiver around my finger says otherwise.
“ You can. You’re doing so well.” My voice is calm despite the ravenous need to be inside of her.
“ Oh god, Graham ,” she shouts as I pinch her clit. “ Only for you. Do that thing I love. I’m so close.”
I look up the length of her body. Her supple stomach. Full breasts, heaving with each thrust of my fingers. The rosy-pink nipples she’s rolling between her fingers. Her sexy, buxom figure is a damn masterpiece.
“ So greedy for both your holes to be filled, aren’t you?”
Considering she thought herself as inexperienced when we first got together, she’s always willing to try something at least once. This , she loves. I coat my index finger in her slick arousal, before circling that tight ring of muscle.
She clenches around my fingers, pulling me deeper as she turns her head to bite down on the pillow.
“ God , I can’t wait to take this ass one day.” I thrust both fingers deeper, causing her back to arch off the bed. “ Now let go. Let me hear you, honey.”
As soon as I pull her clit into my mouth, sucking hard, she doesn’t have time to warn me, not that I need it. I’m well versed in Quinn’s pleasure. With a raspy cry, she detonates, fingers clawing at my scalp as her taste fills my mouth.
“ There we go,” I praise her through what is her fourth orgasm. “ Perfect , so perfect for me.”
She collapses onto the mattress, and I kiss her thighs and belly as she comes down from her orgasm.
“ Graham , how on earth am I supposed to turn up to your mom’s for dinner now? You’ve fucked me senseless.” She tries and fails to sit up, but there’s a humor to her exhausted voice.
I crawl up her body, trailing my lips across every dip and curve, until I reach her flushed face. “ I haven’t fucked you yet,” I say with wicked smile.
“ Keep your monster tentacle away from me. I . Am . Done . I’ll give you a blow job later, but”—she glances at the clock on the bedside table—“we have one hour until we need to be there. And I need to shower.”
“ I’m holding you to that,” I call as she climbs off the bed, squeaking when I smack her round ass.
When she returns from her shower, her skin a dusty peach color from the hot water, I’m already waiting for her on the edge of the bed with her present clutched between my hands. I’m mostly shaking from excitement, but there’s always a nervousness when being vulnerable .
It’s been almost two weeks since Quinn and I reunited. I’m still working on not overthinking or doubting myself. Quinn’s trust and belief in me has helped me see myself in a different light. We’re both due to meet with our therapists for the first time next month, but at least we’re not doing it alone.
We’re not perfect, and there will be hard times, but whatever we face, we’ll do it together. On days she needs a quiet, strong pair of arms to bury herself into, I’ll be there. When I need a shot of serotonin and a boost of confidence, she’ll give me that.
Opposites don’t just attract. They come together so uniquely and magnificently, you’d never know they weren’t the same.
My striking other half stands in front of me now, naked, and looking so devastating, it takes a tremendous amount of effort not to fall to my knees and beg her to be my wife.
Soon .
We’re in no rush. And I want Quinn to fully experience all of the amazing things happening with the bakery.
Her van is still parked on Martin Willis’s land, and we stayed there the other night. Never again. I woke up twisted like a bagel and still can’t get the knots out of my back.
She hasn’t moved back in, but she never fully moved out. Something I hope we discuss soon.
I’m now wearing my Christmas Day sweater—one she picked out. And not only does Curly have a matching one, but so does she. She laughed when I said we needed three girls and three boys to be the modern-day Brady Bunch .
She’s wrapping herself in a fluffy robe when her attention falls to my hands, and her eyes sparkle. “ I thought you were kidding about another present. We said one gift this year.”
I love how she says this year . Knowing full well this is one of many.
“ We did agree to one gift. This is more of a thank-you.”
Quinn got me a monogrammed, amber-colored leather journal. The color reminded me of the leaves we saw up on the trail , was what she said when I tore through the gift wrap.
“ A thank-you for what?” She settles on the bed next to me, resting her temple on my shoulder as her finger skates down the spine of the small notebook.
I press my lips to the crown of her head. “ When I shared those journal entries with you, it was a way for me to show you how much of an impact you have on my life.” I slide the notebook onto her lap. “ I’ve always loved writing. You once said words hold a lot of power. The ones in here, while short, show the power you have and will always hold over my heart.”
Her warm palm rests against my cheek. “ I love your words. Spoken or written. Thank you, for being you. And for this.” She holds up the one thing I’ve never shared with anyone. Not from a place of diffidence, but because I wanted to keep this for myself.
Now that I have my person, I want to share this final piece with her.
“ Should I read it now?” She looks up at me eagerly.
“ I’d like that. Read them to me.” I drag her onto my lap and settle us against the pillows.
We’re definitely going to be late for dinner now.
She opens the book and I see her cheeks pull up in a smile as she traces the letters. We drift into our own world when Quinn begins reading out each haiku, slowly and softly.
My words, spoken by her.
The way I would describe my love for Quinn Jackson goes beyond the twenty-six letters of the alphabet. All the languages in the world aren’t enough.
Yet , from the day I met her, I found myself writing poetry again. Something I hadn’t done for almost fourteen years.
Just one moment was all it took for me to see a new future.
Every moment after, has been beautiful, life altering, and allowed me to not only find the love of my life but the old me again. I have the woman tucked against my chest to thank for that.
That’s where she’ll stay, in my arms, until the end of my days.
There's no pot of gold
At the end of the rainbow
You'll only find us