22. Ramona #3
He notices immediately. He always does. That’s the problem with a man who has known your face for years.
“Ramona, talk to me.” He bends so I don’t have to look up so far.
“I want tonight to stay good.” I rub my thumb over his bare knuckle, over the place his ring used to sit. “I don’t want to start thinking about tomorrow halfway through.”
“We can slow down.” He stays bent in front of me. He makes no move to pull away or come closer.
I put my hand against his cheek. His skin is warm. He smells of the outside of this place, horses and cold air, and under that the expensive soap he started using after the checks got big. I know both versions of him. I married both. I’m still not sure which one I’m about to lose.
“That isn’t what I’m asking.” I hold his eyes until he nods. “Stay with me.”
“I’m here.” He kisses my palm, then turns his face back toward mine.
I draw him onto the bed beside me. He catches his shoulder against the cupboard, knocks its door open, swears under his breath, and makes me laugh again before he settles on his side.
“There’s barely room for you.” I turn toward him, our knees touching.
“Then you’ll have to come closer.” He rests his hand at my waist and waits for me to move.
I slide against him and put my leg over his so he can’t retreat. His gaze drops to my mouth, then comes back to my eyes.
“That’s better.” He brushes his thumb along my cheek.
“You’re still talking.” I pull him into another kiss.
This time he takes his time answering. He kisses me once, slow, then again, deeper, until I’m trying to get him on top of me and he won’t go.
He stays on his side. He gets my jeans and boots the rest of the way off, then his own.
When he finally presses against me, he doesn’t push in.
He lets me feel him. He watches my face.
“Julius, come on.” I hate how badly I still want him.
“I know.” He reaches between us and rubs the head of his cock through me, slow, until I’m wet enough that I can hear it in this tiny room.
I try to take him. He holds my hip and doesn’t let me.
“Ask me properly.” His eyes don’t leave mine.
I stare at him, breathing hard. “Please fuck me.”
“There you go.” He slides in sideways, one of my legs hooked over his waist, his chest against mine.
It’s tight like this. Close. There’s nowhere to look except his face. He gives me an inch, then another, then stills when I’ve taken all of him and my mouth has gone slack.
“You okay?” His hand is in my hair.
“Yeah. Just…” I swallow. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“I’m not.” He starts to move.
He fucks me like that, slow at first, because the angle is deep and he can feel every flinch of it in me. When I try to bury my face in his throat, he tips my chin back up with two fingers.
“No. I want that.” He keeps looking at me.
I keep my eyes on him. He rewards me by going deeper instead of harder. His hand finds my ass and holds me there so I can’t rock away from it. Every time I gasp, he kisses it off my mouth and keeps moving.
“You feel that?” His voice is low.
“God, yes.” I hold onto his shoulder.
“Good. Stay on me.” He picks up the pace without turning it rough.
The bed is too narrow for anything else, and it makes every thrust drag. I start to come apart again and he feels it. He eases almost out, then fills me in one slow push that makes me swear.
“Again.” He says it quietly, close to my mouth. “Come on. I’ve got you.”
His hand slips between us. Two fingers on my clit, matching his rhythm, not faster. I break with my eyes still open, forehead against his, one hand fisted in his hair. He follows me through it, then chases his own, hips stuttering, mouth open against mine, still looking at me when he comes.
After, he doesn’t pull out right away. He breathes. His thumb is on my cheek. The cupboard is still an inch from his shoulder.
I laugh first. It comes out small and unsteady.
“You’re going to have a mark.” I touch the spot with my fingers.
“Worth it.” He kisses the corner of my mouth and doesn’t look away. “You still here?”
“Yeah.” I trace the line of his jaw. “Don’t you dare start talking about tomorrow.”
“Wasn’t going to.” He tucks me closer, still inside me, still watching. “I’m right here.”
I believe him for as long as I can. Outside this room he owns half the county, and tomorrow his phone will light up again, and we’ll have to remember why we’ve been so careful with each other. In here, his hand stays on my waist, and he doesn’t look at the door.
My shirt is beneath Julius’s elbow when I reach for it. He moves so I can get it free, then pulls the blanket over my legs while I sit up.
“We should have chosen the larger trailer.” I shake out my shirt and find it inside out.
“I can have a serious conversation with whoever owns this place.” He rests his palm against my back. “The accommodation needs work.”
“You’re going to turn this into a renovation, aren’t you?” I look over my shoulder.
“I’d rather keep doing what we came for.” He takes my hand and kisses the inside of my wrist.
I settle beside him again instead of putting on the shirt.
We fall asleep in the narrow bed with the cupboard door still hanging open. In the morning he makes coffee on the two-burner stove and gets the first pot wrong. We drink the second one on the trailer steps with our shoulders touching, and nobody’s phone goes off until he leaves for the barn.
***
Four nights later, I’m at the cottage table with June’s feed chart when Julius’s truck comes up the track too fast.
I’m on the porch before he’s out of the cab. He stays beside the open door with his phone in his hand.
“June’s down.” He says it before I can ask. “Blake found her sweating and struggling to breathe. The vet’s on the way.”
“Are they trying to get her up?”
“No. She told them to keep everyone clear and let her lie quietly if she can.”
I’m down the steps with one boot unlaced. He has the passenger door open before I reach it and waits only long enough for me to fasten the belt.
He drives toward the main barn, slowing at the turns even when I want to tell him to hurry. I stop talking somewhere past the program barn. He glances at me once and doesn’t ask me to start again.
By the time we reach the yard, I can see the light from her stall spilling into the passage.
I open my door as soon as the truck stops.
Blake meets us inside. His sleeve is damp, and he looks past me toward Julius.
“Show me.” I catch his arm before he can start explaining, and he leads us down the passage.
June is lying on her side in the deep bedding, her coat dark with sweat. Her nostrils flare with every breath. Nobody is inside the stall. One hand has moved the bucket and the fork out of the doorway. Another stands back with the radio against his chest.
June lifts her head at my voice. Her legs shift, then settle again.
I stop at the door instead of going straight to her. I know how fast those legs could move if she panicked. Knowing doesn’t make staying outside any easier.
“Easy, baby.” I lower myself beside the opening, clear of her reach. “I’m here.”
Her eye turns toward me. Every breath moves more of her body than it should.
“How long has she been down?”
“About twenty minutes since I found her.” Blake stays beside the wall. “She was standing at the last check. When I came back, she was down and sweating.”
“Was she rolling? Looking at her side?”
“Not while I was here. She tried to get up once. I called the vet before we did anything else.”
I watch June’s nostrils widen. My hand closes around the doorframe because I need to put it somewhere.
Julius comes beside me, leaving the opening clear.
“She ate before I went back to the cottage.” I keep watching June. “I stood here while she finished.”
He doesn’t tell me that means she’ll be fine.
I’ve had her since the day she was born, when nobody thought she was worth the trouble. I bottle-fed her in the barn where Julius first walked in. I know how she asks for food and how she objects to a cold brush and which ear turns toward me before the rest of her follows.
I don’t know what this breathing means.
June moves her head again, and I start forward before catching myself.
“Julius.” I reach for him without looking away from her. “I don’t know how to help her.”
His hand closes around mine.
We wait for the vet.