Chapter 7 #2
“She had me shipped to boarding school as soon as she could,” I admit.
“And that wasn’t the hard part. Week after week, month after month, I’d watch as other girls in my school were sent things, gifts, letters, treats.
From my parents, there was only silence.
I’d go home to visit them maybe once a year for Christmas so that we could have the perfect holiday family photo.
I’d attend all the right parties before I was shipped off again, quietly ignored until the next time they needed their daughter as a prop. ”
He swears under his breath. “That never should have happened. You deserved so much more.”
“It’s just hard, you know?” I say softly.
“But the way they acted, it kind of led me here. The way they are so cold, so obsessed with money and appearances, it made me want to be around people who had figured out life, who knew the meaning of it all. When I started my work in the medical field, I realized that my favorite patients were the seniors, because they understand what’s important in life. ”
“That’s how you came to work at the retirement community,” he says softly.
I nod. “I love the community. I love the patients, and I’m falling in love with the people of Courage County. It’s a special little town.”
“The perfect place to raise a family,” he agrees. I wonder if he’s talking about me or him, or just speaking in hypotheticals.
Either way, the sky chooses that moment to rumble again. Lightning flashes, and then ice is falling, pelting my skin.
“Is that hail?” I ask, watching bigger pieces bounce into the grass.
I grab the plates and try to shove them into the picnic basket, but Dalton pushes to his feet.
“Don’t worry about those. They don’t matter,” he says, and scoops me into his arms in a move that makes my heart flutter.
He manages to shelter me from the pelting ice, carrying me quickly to a small structure. When he steps inside, I realize it’s a workshop. An old workshop filled with gardening supplies.
“There’s no light in here,” he says. “All we have is the window. But it’s a shelter from the hail.”
“What about Max and Rex?” I ask watching even larger pieces come down. I remember seeing a video once of a runner getting caught out in hail. His back was a bloody mess by the time the storm was over. It’s easy to underestimate what little chunks of falling ice can do.
“They have the shelter on the far side of the lawn. They’re better at sensing the weather than humans are, and they’re both smarter than most of the jarheads I’ve served with.”
He sets me down on a long workbench and props up my leg, pulling off his faded flannel to use as a pillow beneath it.
I try to protest, to tell him he doesn’t have to do that, but the look on his face is entirely serious when he says, “I want to take care of you.” He cups my face and stares down at me. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
Here in the dimly lit shed with no one around, I’m suddenly aware that we’re alone, away from prying eyes. The shed feels even smaller with him pressing against me, our breaths mingling, his body bracketing mine.
I let out a soft whimper before I fuse my lips to his. The moment I taste him, my hands go to his shoulders for balance. Everything in me melts. I’ve found the safe place where I can relax. I found my shelter, my port in the storm.
He puts his hands on my back, urging me closer. When I moan, he slips his tongue into my mouth, strokes my tongue.
I press my chest against his, feeling his heat through the thin material of his t-shirt. He’s so strong and solid.
I remember walking in on him that first day and how golden his chest was, how much I wanted to kiss and lick it.
I call his name in a gasp and pull away long enough to suck in oxygen. I’m lightheaded and dizzy.
This is probably a terrible idea, but right here, tucked away in this tiny workshop where no one can see us, it doesn’t feel real. It feels like we’re the last two people in the world.
He presses kisses to my jaw along my collarbones. The entire time his hands are roaming up under my scrub top, kneading and pressing my flesh, plucking at my nipples through the soft satin of my bra. I arch against him and wiggle.
He raises his head and stares down at me. His look is molten lava. “Can I taste you?”
“Yes.”
He helps me out of my top and spreads me out on the workbench, pausing to put my rumpled top behind my head so I have a makeshift pillow. He stares down at me. “Are you comfortable?”
“I ache,” I admit out loud, my voice trembling as I admit my secret need.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises, and the sound of his voice, the commitment in it, makes me think he’s talking about more than just this moment, more than a random orgasm in the middle of the day.
He tugs down my pants, trailing kisses along my stomach. As he goes, he worships every roll and every bit of cellulite. He touches my stretch marks with reverence, going down, down, further down, until he reaches the apex of my thighs.
He presses the softest kiss to my mound. Then he parts my inner lips with his thumbs and licks a stripe from my seam to my clit, devouring me in one long, luscious lick.
I clamp my thighs around his ears, and he growls his approval against the hot skin of my pussy before he goes back to work, licking, sucking, nibbling.
He teases me until I’m a soaking mess, licking me to the best orgasm of my life. When he’s done and I’m completely spent, he raises his head and stares at me as my heart rate comes down, my body heaving from the exertion.
I realize I can no longer hear the hail outside. Now it’s changed to a gentle, thrumming rain on the tin roof. Even though I’m in the middle of this workshop, it was still an amazing orgasm, perhaps the best one of my life.
I reach for his pants, wanting to return the favor.
He stops me and shakes his head. “No. This is not what I want for our first time together. I want your first memory of us together to be in my big bed in my cabin.”
I swallow hard and whisper, “I want that too.”
His eyes soften. “Let me take you there now.”
“Right now?” I ask.
“Right now,” he confirms.
“I’d like that,” I admit, as he helps me sit up and dresses me. He carries me to his truck, despite the fact that I keep telling him I can walk myself, though I secretly love the way he carries me and the way he makes me feel so precious and safe.
Before he starts the truck, he gives me a look. “Are you sure about this?”
I put my hand on his thigh and give it a squeeze, feeling his muscles contract beneath me. I can’t wait to feel those big strong muscles against me in his cabin. So I say the only word I can think of. “Drive.”