Chapter 34
Chuck: Time to chip away at all the old baggage. They’re lugging regrets like extra clubs.
Lou: Maybe one solid chip shot will finally clear some space for new memories.
Chuck: Or at least for a cleaner swing in the future.
Lou: Here’s hoping the old stuff finally gets tossed.
Creating a tradition is something I never considered, and I’m beginning to think I’m checking off a bucket list I didn't realize I made. Getting a chance to create new things with someone I love—it's intoxicating.
After the tree was lit, with well over 1,000 multicolored lights, we grabbed a couple freshly fried donuts covered in sweet powdered sugar along with two decadent hot chocolates.
“I know it’s the beginning of the month, but I have a gift for you. Do you want to come with me to pick it up?” Clint asks me. I nod my head in reply, wondering what he could have possibly gotten.
Popping the last powdered donut into his mouth, Clinton’s callused hand is warm as he tangles his fingers with mine.
He tugs my hand as we walk into a shop that has all types of crystal ornaments hanging about.
Clinton walks right up to the register and speaks to the old man behind the counter.
The associate’s face morphs into a thoughtful expression before reaching into the lower cabinet and pulling out a small box.
I walk up behind Clint, looping my arm into his, as the old man opens the box and pulls out a crystal ornament in the shape of a golf ball.
My lips tilt up happily at our shared love of golf and him wanting to memorialize it in a small memento. I lean in closer and notice the front is flat with gold-painted words etched into it. It simply says Our Mulligan, and my chest grows tight.
“I wanted us to have something to remember our first Christmas together, our—” he says, but I cut him off.
“Our second chance at forever.” I finish his sentence, lying my head against his arm.
“You’ve been quiet since we left the gift shop, Paloma.” His voice has a sense of awareness to it, as if he’s preparing himself for something big.
I’m ready to give in to this love of ours, but it’s so damn scary. What if I can’t love him past this, what if this is just a honeymoon phase and I hurt him again. “Don’t run from me.”
“I’m not running, I just…” My voice catches.
“You’re running right now, Dove. Running in circles inside that beautiful head of yours. Get whatever you’re thinking out so we can work through this together.”
“You know I love you, right?” I ask, needing him to know without a single shadow of a doubt.
“But?” he questions. His hand is still gripping my thigh while his eyes remain on the road ahead of us. Even if he isn’t looking at me, I know there is a worry behind his gaze, and I want to remove it from his system forever.
I intertwine my fingers with his and look at him, needing to fully see him as I say this.
“No buts. I’m just scared of fucking this up, of hurting you so badly you won’t be able to see past the hurt, and I dont know what to do with that fear.
Seeing our ornament made that little whisper inside my brain shout.
I don't have any doubts, other than my own foolishness.”
He squeezes my hand. “You keep telling me. You tell me when you’re stuck in your head, when you're scared, when you're happy, when you're angry. Whatever it is, you tell me, because there is nothing you can do to hurt me except run.”
“No more running,” I say more to myself and then chuckle under my breath. “I didn’t think it was going to be this easy.”
“What do you mean, baby?”
“I didn't think it would be so easy to love you.” He lifts our hands and brings them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to them just as he’d done earlier. My heart melts, and heat blossoms in my core.
The rest of the car ride home is quiet, and I can feel the tension of the unknowns.
No matter how much Clinton tries to hide his concern, I could see the worry when he asked for the “but.” It’s not that he wants one, but he wants to stay far away from anything that could pull us apart.
Those feelings will linger until my consistency outweighs what I did.
The streetlamps highlight his face within the shadows of the car.
He’s so handsome it hurts. Pulling my hand free from under his arm, I reach over and gently rub my hand along the back of his head and neck.
I run my fingernails through the shortened hair along the sides and back, licking my lips as I do.
His warm palm climbs up my thigh slightly, giving it a few reassuring squeezes, and I think about how I wish it was a few inches higher. I press my thighs together at the thought.
Clinton must notice how my legs clench because he flexes his fingers, pushing my legs apart slightly and anchoring his strong hand against my thigh at the apex of my core.
When he pulls into the garage, he parks the car and walks around to my side before opening my door and offering me his hand.
His movements are so smooth, there’s no rush behind them, but there is something primal behind the way his arms flex beneath his shirt.
Like he’s holding himself back from chasing me.
I almost consider running to see if he would act on the chase.
When I take his hand and step out, my gaze flicks up to see his eyes are locked on me. I can’t wait to be devoured by this man.
Walking to the elevator is almost painful. My core throbs with anticipation, from the electric pull I feel coming off the both of us. It’s as if the vulnerability from earlier pushed us into this level of intimacy. He pulls me into him as the elevator doors close, his dick presses against my back.
I want to turn around and climb him, but I follow his lead. The very moment we make it inside his condo, Clint's hands cup my face as we both make attempts to undress the other at a furious pace. Teeth clash, and our tongues fight for dominance over the other.
“You feel so fucking good.” Clint’s voice is gravel and velvet all at once. His hands are everywhere, groping my ass and massaging my breasts. His calloused fingers send me into overdrive as I struggle to remove his shirt.
“Can you just be naked already? God, this shirt,” I groan, kissing him again before I finish with the last button and roughly push his shirt off his shoulders. Between each rushed kiss, he backs me into the bedroom, his hands never leaving my body.
Nipping at his muscled chest, he fists my hair pulling my head back at an almost painful angle. I love how this man undresses every single part of me, how he peels back all my layers. I’m fully clothed still, and somehow I feel naked, vulnerable even.
“Clint.” I don't know what I’m begging for, but I need more of him everywhere.
“I want you to ride my face,” he says, and my breath catches in my throat. He tsks at me. “No you don’t. Don’t go running into that pretty head of yours, bring your sexy ass back here with me.”
“I’ve never done that.”
“Do you want to?”
“I’m heavy,” I respond, eyeing him.
“That’s not what I asked you,” he says. I could say no, and Clint would still make me orgasm until I lose count and forget my own name. He won’t get upset if I say no. Fuck it. If this is how Clint wants to die, then so be it.
My answer is a breathy moan, needing to feel his tongue deep inside me. “Fuck yes.”
“Then let's get these clothes off and have you come sit on your throne.” I think my eyes may have just rolled back.
He leans in, kissing up my throat as he unzips my pants, peeling them off me slowly. But after hearing what he just said, I don’t know if I can take this new slow pace. Before I can complain, my panties join my cargos on the ground, and he’s pulling off my top, exposing my heavy, bare breasts.
“Fuck. You aren't wearing a bra.” Clinton leans downs and sucks one of my brown peaks into his mouth, then doing the same to the other. “I love your breasts, they’re perfect.”
I slide my hands up his naked chest and grin as I push him onto the bed.
I follow, straddling his waist as I rub my wet heat against his hard length.
Clinton groans as I move over him, and then he’s pulling my hips up to his mouth.
I hesitate again, my nerves getting the best of me.
My chest rises and falls. “What if I take too long, what if…”
Swatting my ass twice, he pulls me again, and I let him.
He looks up at me from between my thighs, his hands resting on my ass and says.
“I have craved you for seven long years, I have nothing but time.” And then his mouth is devouring me.
His tongue circles my clit. His hands grip my ass and spread me open wide.
Clinton spears me with his tongue, and his name falls easily from my lips.
When he gives my ass a hard slap, my body moves on its own accord, grinding on his hot mouth.
I drop my hand back on the bed, giving myself some support and pull at my nipple with the other.
Moans pour out of me, consumed by how fucking good Clint makes me feel.
Here in the most erotic moment, I feel safe and taken care of.
He draws loving circles over my clit, the calloused roughness adding to the feeling. My orgasm is already building just beneath my skin. Electric tingles prickle down my spine as he continues to spear me with his tongue.
The sensation travels to my toes, and when Clint spreads my cheeks, delving into me deeper, I lose it. “Oh my God, Clint! I’m–I’m going to come.”
“Come all over my tongue, Dove. Make a mess of me,” he says as he licks me, and my orgasm hits me like a freight train. All I can do is hang on for the ride. Waves coast over my skin, and I release a scream as I come apart.
Clint doesn’t stop. He continues to lick and suck on my clit, edging me closer to another orgasm, and I topple over the edge again, ecstasy sizzling over my skin.
Rolling off my new favorite seat, I lie next to Clint, catching my breath. “That was amazing.”