Chapter 24 Daisy #2
I pull him down a side path, trusting some instinct I can't explain, and we emerge into a small clearing, a pocket of space at the dead end, hidden behind a bend.
The corn towers above us, golden in the fading light, and for a moment it feels like we're the only people in the world.
Adam pulls me close, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.
"I love you," he says quietly.
The words hit me like a physical thing. I go very still in his arms.
"You don't have to say it back," he adds quickly. "I know you're not… I know things are still… I just needed you to know. I love you. I've always loved you, even when I was terrible at showing it. Even when I let you down. Even when I didn't deserve to."
I turn in his arms to face him, and his expression is open and vulnerable and terrified.
"I can't say it back yet," I whisper.
His expression changes, hurt maybe, or acceptance. "I know."
"It's not that I don't—" I stop, frustrated. How do I explain this? That I've loved him for years, have never stopped loving him, but that the words feel different now? That saying them means trusting him with a part of me I'm not sure I can give anyone anymore?
"I loved you when I left," I say slowly. "That's the thing. I loved you so much it was killing me, and you didn't even notice. And I'm scared that if I say those words again, I'm giving you the power to hurt me like that again."
"I won't."
"You can't promise that."
"I can promise to try." He cups my face in his hands, his thumbs wiping under my eyes. I'm crying, and I didn't notice when it started. "I can promise that every single day, I'll try. That's all I've got."
"I know." I turn my face to press a kiss to his palm. "And I'm trying too. But until it feels real, until the trust feels real, I can't—"
"Then I'll wait." His voice is firm. "I'll wait as long as it takes. No bargaining, no conditions. Just waiting."
"That could be a long time."
"I've got nowhere else to be."
He kisses me then, soft and deep, and the corn rustles around us like it's keeping our secret. When we finally break apart, both a little breathless, the sun has nearly set, and neither of us moves toward the exit.
"We should probably find our way out," I murmur against his lips.
"Probably."
His hands are on my waist. Mine are in his hair. The music from the fair reaches us faintly, with no footsteps on the path behind us. The maze is a living wall. The clearing is a pocket of dusk and bad ideas.
"If you keep looking at me like that," Adam whispers, "I'm going to do something inappropriate for agricultural tourism."
"Define inappropriate."
"Quiet sex in a dead end because I can't stop wanting you." His forehead tips to mine. "That's the definition. Also the desire. Tell me no and I'll navigate us out like a gentleman."
"I'm not saying no." My pulse hammers. "I'm saying quiet. Careful. If I make a sound you cover my mouth. If I wince you stop. Doctor-clearance careful, not porcelain-doll careful."
"Copy." His smile is shaky and filthy. "Quiet. Careful. Fast enough that we don't become a cautionary tale on a fairground map."
We move like thieves. My back finds the denser corn wall; dry leaves whisper against my shoulders. He hikes my dress just high enough, drops to check that the path stays empty, then rises and kisses me hard while his fingers slip into my underwear.
"Already wet," he mouths against my cheek, barely audible. "For a man who can't win a ring toss. Ego devastation. Recovery via cunt. Extremely efficient."
"Shut up," I breathe, laughing silently, and then his fingers crook and the laugh becomes a bitten-off moan.
His other hand covers my mouth instantly, gentle, questioning.
I nod. He keeps it there while he works me open, thumb on my clit, two fingers slow and deep, eyes locked on mine in the failing light.
A burst of laughter drifts from the distant exit, then fades. We freeze. His fingers still inside me. My breath hot against his palm. When the voices vanish he resumes like a man rewriting a calendar.
"Need you," I whisper when he uncovers my mouth. "Now. Before courage expires."
"Courage is sexy." He unzips, rolls a condom on with practiced quiet (we'd started carrying them again after the basement lesson, irony noted) and lifts my thigh to his hip. "Legs around me. Tell me if you want to move. I've got you."
He pushes in slow. The stretch makes my eyes water; the fullness makes my head tip back into stalks.
He claps his hand over my mouth again just as a whimper tries to escape, and the muffled sound vibrates into his skin.
He mouths I know against my temple and starts to move, shallow, controlled thrusts that somehow wreck me more than basement violence ever did.
"Quiet," he reminds himself as much as me, voice a thread. "Quiet for the maze. Loud later. Fuck, Daisy, you feel like every good secret."
I dig my heels into his ass to demand more.
He gives it: still quiet, still careful, depth increasing by degrees while his hand stays ready at my lips.
Dry corn scrapes my bare thigh. His belt buckle is cold against my skin.
The pregnancy-aware angle he chooses is almost clever enough to make me cry: tilted, protective, filthy with tenderness.
Halfway through a particularly deep stroke he goes still, buried to the hilt, and looks at me like the dusk has made up its mind about us.
"I love you," he says, out loud, clear, while he is inside me.
The words land differently here than they did with space between our bodies.
They land in the place where we are joined.
My eyes flood. I can't say it back (won't, not until the trust feels as solid as this thrust) but I clench around him in answer and pull his mouth to mine so the next sound I make is shared.