Jackson
Kate’s infectious laughter fills the one-room cabin, a wash of color warms her fair skin—whether from the heat of the crackling fire in the stone fireplace, the sparkling wine she’s been sipping straight from the bottle, or the question I just asked her, it’s hard to know.
Flickers of firelight play across the bedspread, illuminating the wine bottle, the pizza.
“No, no. Skip.”
“Don’t be a poor sport.” I’ve only had a couple minuscule sips of her wine for fear that I’ll get a headache later and not be able to take my painkillers, but I feel a buzz tingling the length of my spine.
I bypassed all the platonic or emotional questions and went right to the bottom of the list—the explicit section I almost didn’t note down because I was positive I’d never have the balls to ask Kate such deeply personal things.
Funny how liquid courage works. “We’ve come so far.
You can’t start skipping questions now.”
“Says who? You failed to mention there were rules.” She untucks her knees from under her and extends her willowy legs across the bed, then picks a piece of pineapple from the pizza between us and pops it onto her tongue. “But fine. I guess my favorite sex position is the butter churner.”
My eyes go wide. The what?! I’m aware I’m a solid sixteen years behind where I used to be when it comes to sexual knowledge—my body seems to know what to do, but my brain’s playing catch-up—but how freaky were we before the accident?
“The…like…the old-timey thing?” I do a butter-churning motion with my hands.
A goofy, lopsided smile overtakes her face.
I groan-laugh. “You’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
“Guess you’ll have to wait and see. Your turn to answer the question.
” She’s been making me answer, not accepting my argument that I don’t know a lot of the answers.
I make them up. She tells me my ability to come up with a story on the fly is the reason the kids love my story time better than hers.
“The, uh…” I glance around the impromptu picnic we have strewn across the bed, seeking inspiration so I don’t hit her with something lame like missionary. Though, to be fair, I’d happily have sex with my wife in any position. “The Double-Hawaiian Pretzel.”
“Oh yeah?” She lifts the bottle of wine to her lips. “How does that one work again?”
“Well, it’s kind of—” I twist my hands, mangling my fingers into what could be a depiction of tangled limbs or the mess of fishing line that ultimately made me give up early when I went fishing with my dad and brothers.
She smiles up at me. Big hazel eyes, fluttering eyelashes, rosy cheeks. And I feel achy not only in my chest, but all over.
I reach for the wine, take a pull and let the heady, fizzy liquid sit on my tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.
I take in my surroundings, taking pleasure in the bubbly feeling in my stomach.
The cabin’s rustic, decorated with antiques that remind me of home, and the firelight casts our shadows on the wall behind Kate.
Anywhere with her is my favorite place in the world, but here tonight might be my favorite of favorites.
“Okay, but where is your favorite place to have sex?” I ask.
“Here’s the thing…you’ve always been a bit…vanilla,” she says, then quickly adds, “That’s not a bad thing. It’s always been good—best I’ve ever had, genuinely. So I didn’t push for you to be more adventurous.”
She says it’s not a bad thing, but there’s no way it’s a good thing, either.
“Let me change the question then…where would you like to have sex?” My heart beats a hundred miles per hour as I wait for her answer.
“Jackson, it’s not a big deal,” she insists. “I’m more than happy with our sex life.”
“If you could pick anywhere.” My voice wobbles. “Doesn’t mean we’ll necessarily do it.”
We will.
Kate studies me. Her elbows dip into the thick bedding to support her upper body, and her tongue skates between her lips.
“I guess…” She thinks another moment.
I reach to brush the hair off her shoulder.
Touching her feels second nature to me now, and a slight brush of skin on skin is enough to tame my darkest demons.
Kate’s smile, the look of adoration she always has for me.
I’m not sure she knows she does it, but her presence is inherently calming.
Funny, given she’s also my biggest bully.
“I guess I’d say in the hot springs.”
“In the hot springs?”
Her hackles raise. “You said anywhere and it doesn’t mean we’ll do it.”
“You’re right, I did.” We will. I don’t know how, but we will. “I think I’d pick…on an airplane.”
“You’ve never even been on a plane.”
“Then it would be the perfect way to ease my nerves about flying for the first time.”
She giggles, flopping back onto the bed and blowing a breath up to the ceiling.
I join her. Our heads nearly collide at the foot of the bed, and I snake my hand through the food mess to pinch the fabric of her shirt between my finger and thumb.
I slip underneath it to stroke her lower stomach, circling around her hip bone and tickling up the side of her torso.
“Can I ask you a question?” Kate’s eyes meet mine. Molten. Warm. She slings an arm overhead, and her fingers wrap around the brass bed frame. “Do you want to have sex with me this weekend?”
Oh, God. Do I.
“Kate.” Her name leaves my lips in a breathless, wanton rasp. “If the only time we leave this bed is to go have sex in the hot springs, I’ll be perfectly happy with that.”
“No, no. I’m still getting my soak. I will not be missing that.” She jabs an index finger through the air at me. “I only asked because I want to make sure we’re on the same page.”
“We are.”
I don’t know how to transition from talking about sex to doing it.
In my dreams, we’re always mid–sex scene.
And in the kitchen, it was a heat-of-the-moment situation, versus this well-thought-out sex-having weekend.
Now we’re here and we both know we want to be having sex, but surely I can’t just jump on top of her and get to it.
“I guess we better clean up this mess—don’t need pizza crumbs getting into unsavory places.” Kate takes the initiative I apparently can’t. “Let’s do that, then take a hot shower since we spent all afternoon sitting in a car, and we’ll go from there. No pressure.”
No pressure. It plays on repeat while I close up the pizza box, pass by her on the way to the tiny fridge, give her perfect ass a soft love tap that she reciprocates.
It plays on repeat as I toss another chunk of timber into the fire.
And it’s reverberating through my skull as I follow her into the bathroom.
There’s so much damn pressure my heart thrashes to fight against suffocating under the weight of it.
I’ve lost my virginity before, I remind myself.
Lost my virginity and made love to this beautiful woman at least three times in my life—got the kids to prove it.
Doesn’t mean I’m any less nervous now than I imagine I was all those years ago.
Kate tucks her hair behind her ears and rummages through her toiletry bag for that body wash I love so damn much.
“Remember when—” She freezes, deer-in-the-headlights style.
Through a throaty laugh, I press, “No, no. Keep going. You have about a ten percent chance here.”
“I was going to bring up the time you tried to go down on me in the shower years ago, but you slipped trying to kneel and took out the shower curtain.”
“Shoot, that fell into the ninety percent. But maybe that explains why I haven’t been too adventurous? Less chance of an embarrassing sex injury if we stay in bed.”
“Maybe. You’ve always been surprisingly risk-averse for a cowboy and horse trainer.” She shrugs, plunking the nearly empty bottle onto the shower shelf. I’m sure she’s noticed how much faster she’s going through it since I came home, but she hasn’t said anything.
Kate turns the shower on. It’s plenty big enough for the two of us, but after hearing the story about my near-death shower sex experience, I’m a little worried about the glass door—not that my natural risk aversion is going to keep me from being under that hot water with her.
Then Kate grabs my hands and slips them around her waist. I’ve never known desire the way I do with my hands on her waist.
She twists in my arms. Back pressed to my chest, her reflection finds mine in the small mirror above the sink.
Kate grasps the hem of her shirt, pulling it up and overhead, tossing it to the bathroom floor.
I drink in the sight of her in a pair of my old jeans and a thin black bra.
I want to touch her. Lick every inch of her skin.
But I remain paralyzed in place, hands trembling against her hips.
“It’s okay to want it, Jackson…it’s already yours. I’m yours.”
She tucks her hair in her hands, sweeping it over to one side, exposing the creamy skin on the back of her neck. Keeping my eyes locked on hers in the mirror, I gently kiss her there.
My heart stops so abruptly at the slow unbuttoning of her jeans I’m afraid it’ll never start again.
And when they fall to the floor, so does my jaw.
Muscular, lithe legs stretch all the way to squeezable hips.
Thin white scars glitter across her stomach, and with fingertips light as a whisper, I trace each one.
It’s unlocking a secret code; I’m overwhelmed with the feeling that I’ve done exactly this before…
. The scars were a dark purple then, and Kate was poking and prodding at them, lamenting the changes in the mirror.
“Kit.” I love you, I say in my head. Aloud, it’s, “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
She lifts a brow. “You only remember the past couple months. How many other women do you have to compare me to?”
“None,” I say, leaning to kiss the tendon pulled taut along the side of her neck. “There’s no comparison.”