Chapter 10 The Quiet Side #2
She moved backward through them.
A loose board became solid. The north rail straightened. A stain on the ceiling disappeared beneath matched cedar. The table rose level again.
Then she moved forward.
Trash disappeared. The panes cleared. The shelves stopped sagging. Pine needles vanished from the floor.
We'd been leaving proof for each other without leaving names.
"Every time I came back, something was better," she said. "I thought maybe whoever owned the property had finally noticed."
"Nobody official has cared about this place in years."
"I know." Her shoulder pressed harder into mine. "That's why I kept coming."
I looked at the photographs again. The lookout had held both our histories, one repair and one careful act at a time.
"I should've known," I said.
"Known what?"
"Whoever kept the place clean cared about details nobody else noticed." I looked at her. "Of course it was you."
Her lips parted.
For one beat, Bristol had no precise answer ready.
Then she set the camera safely on the table, took my hand, and threaded our fingers together.
"Of course it was you too," she said. "The boards. The roof. The table. You make things safe, then act like they were always that way."
"Not everything."
"Enough things."
She stepped into me and rested her forehead against my chest. I wrapped my free arm around her waist. The first laugh that escaped her was small and surprised, as though she'd found it somewhere she hadn't meant to open.
I felt it through my shirt.
"I've been coming here when I need to remember I'm still mine," she said. "Three summers."
"Same reason I come."
"And you were here the whole time."
"Apparently you missed a spot while cleaning."
She laughed again, warmer this time, then tipped her face up. Her eyes shone in the fading light, but she didn't look away.
"I might add you to the list."
"Of things to clean?"
"Things worth keeping."
She kissed me before I could answer. Soft at first. Then her hand slid around my neck, her body fitted to mine, and her tongue found mine with a slow certainty that carried every quiet hour we'd unknowingly shared.
When she drew back, she didn't leave space between us.
"Show me dinner," she said. "I want to eat at my table."
"Your table?"
"I kept it clean."
"I kept it standing."
"Fine." Her mouth curved against mine. "Our table."
I fetched the water and last blanket. When I returned, Bristol had stored her camera, set her bag near the sleeping area, and opened the shutters toward the lake. She met me at the steps, took the water, and kissed me.
"You were gone too long," she said.
"Ninety seconds."
"I noticed."
That did more to me than any polished entrance she'd ever made.
I lit two lanterns as dusk settled into the trees. Warm light spread over the restored wood while I unpacked grilled chicken, salad, fresh bread, sliced fruit, and two real plates from the basket.
Bristol watched the plates land on the table.
Then she looked at me.
"You heard me."
"You asked for a table."
"I said I wanted the table, not the aftermath."
"I remember."
Her fingers followed the edge I'd sanded smooth. "Most men would've treated that as decorative language."
"Most men haven't spent enough time listening to you."
She took the chair beside mine before I could pull out the one across from me.
"I don't understand why people sit across from someone they came to touch," she said.
"Terrible design flaw."
"Fix it, Brewster."
I moved my chair closer. Bristol hooked one leg over mine beneath the table and leaned into my side like she'd been doing it for years.
We ate slowly at first. Then she started feeding me bites from her plate and stealing mine. She held a strawberry to my mouth, watched me bite half, and ate the rest without looking away. When a drop of juice caught on her thumb, I drew it into my mouth.
Her eyes darkened. She dipped her fingertip into the juice and offered it again. I sucked it clean, and her thigh tightened over mine.
"Better," she said.
"Still taking corrections?"
"Several."
She kissed me between bites, each one longer than the last. Her hand stayed on my thigh. Mine settled at her waist, then moved around to her lower back when she curled against me. The more comfortable she became, the less she seemed willing to spend even a second beyond reach.
Halfway through dinner, Bristol left her chair and sat sideways in my lap. She decided that was where she belonged, wrapped one arm around my shoulders, and finished a piece of bread with the other hand.
"Better?" I asked.
"Much."
I slid my palm over the curve of her ass through the dress. "You planning to eat the rest of dinner from here?"
"I might eat breakfast from here."
My cock went hard beneath her.
Bristol felt it and shifted once, slow enough to be deliberate.
"That wasn't an accident," I said.
"Neither was the dress. Keep up."
I kissed the place below her ear. She tilted her head to give me more room, then fed me another bite while my hand squeezed her ass.
The lake called her untouchable because it had never earned this much warmth from her.
She finished the last bite, set the plate aside, and turned fully in my lap. Her knees settled on either side of my hips. Both arms went around my neck.
"I need an answer," she said.
"Ask."
"I'm not waiting around as a possibility. I don't want to be someone you like, someone inside the circle, or someone you're taking on dates until we figure out what to call it." Her gaze stayed locked on mine. "I want to be your girlfriend. I choose that. Do you?"
There wasn't a trace of fear in the way she asked. The risk lived in how tightly her arms held me while she waited.
"Yes," I said. "I want you as my girlfriend."
Her shoulders lowered.
I cupped the back of her neck. "You're my girlfriend, Bristol. I'm not trying you out. I'm not waiting to see if you fit. I choose you."
She kissed me so hard the chair shifted beneath us.
Her mouth opened. Her tongue swept over mine, hungry and relieved, while her hips rolled against my cock. I held her ass in both hands and pulled her tighter. She made a low sound against my lips, then kissed me again until we were both breathing too hard for a conversation she'd already settled.
"Bris," she whispered when she finally drew back.
"What?"
"You can call me Bris. When it's us."
The name was softer than the woman she'd let the lake know.
I brushed my mouth over hers. "Bris."
Her eyes closed for half a second.
When they opened, the warmth in them belonged to me.
"Again."
"Bris."
She smiled and rested her forehead against mine. "I like that."
"Good. I plan to use it."
"Privately."
"Privately," I agreed.
She slid from my lap but kept both hands linked with mine. The second I stood, she pressed herself against me and kissed my jaw.
"Come with me, baby."
One word. Quiet. Unguarded.
It landed harder than anything she'd said all night.
Bristol saw it happen and smiled against my skin.
"You like that too."
"Very much."
"Good."
She led me toward the wide cushioned sleeping area beneath the covered side of the lookout.
Clean blankets lay over the pad I'd stored in the loft, with two pillows against the wall and one lantern turned low beside it.
Her camera rested safely on the shelf. Her phone was still tucked inside the overnight bag.
Bristol stopped at the edge of the blankets, turned, and placed my hands on the tie at her waist.
"Every layer," she said. "I want you to take off every layer."
Then she kissed me and loosened the first button of my shirt.
I pulled the tie free. Her dress opened beneath my hands, revealing the black bikini and every warm, golden inch between the pieces. Bristol pushed my shirt off my shoulders while I slid the dress down hers. The fabric followed the flare of her hips and fell around her feet.
She stepped out of it without breaking the kiss.
Her fingers worked the rest of my buttons, impatient now. I let her strip the shirt away, then caught her against me. Bare skin met bare skin from her stomach to the tops of her breasts. Her nipples pressed visibly beneath the bikini. My cock strained against my shorts between us.
Bristol dragged her mouth from mine to my jaw.
"Tell me what you want to do," she said.
I slipped both hands beneath the back of her bikini top. "I want these tits in my hands."
Her breath warmed my ear.
"Then?"
"I want my mouth on your pussy until you forget why you ever bothered being quiet."
She leaned back enough to meet my eyes. The composed expression lasted one second before hunger pulled at her mouth.
"Good answer, baby."
She reached behind herself and untied the top.
The cups loosened. I drew them forward, and her breasts settled into my palms, full and high, her dark nipples already hard. Bristol watched my face while I weighed them in my hands, measuring exactly how badly I wanted her.
I bent and pulled one nipple into my mouth. Her fingers slid into my hair as I sucked, and her body came forward until I had her breast pressed against my tongue. I rolled the other nipple between my fingers, increasing the pressure until she gasped.
"More," she said.
I pinched harder.
"There."
She held my head to her chest as I switched breasts and sucked the other nipple. Her precise voice roughened every time my teeth grazed her skin.
"That's how I like it," she said. "Pay attention."
"I'm taking notes."
"Use your mouth."
I bit gently, then soothed the place with my tongue.
Her knees softened.
"Excellent work, Brewster."
I laughed against her breast. She pulled my face up and kissed me, tasting the smile before driving her tongue into my mouth. Her hands went to my belt. She opened it, shoved my shorts and briefs down together, and wrapped her fingers around my cock the instant it sprang free.
The first stroke nearly took my legs out from under me.
"This is what I did to you on the boat?" she asked.
"You know exactly what you did."
"I enjoy confirmation."
She stroked me again, slow and firm. I caught her wrist before she could end the night too soon.
"Your turn first."
"Bossy."