Chapter 29 Selene
TWENTY-NINE
SELENE
The bedroom was steeped in golden light, the kind that only came late in the afternoon, warm and slow like honey poured over the edge of a spoon.
It bled through the gauzy curtains, painting the walls in a soft glow, catching on the floorboards and the abandoned trail of clothes we hadn’t bothered to pick up.
Winnie was with her dad and I was draped across Austin’s chest, my cheek resting against the steady rise and fall of his breathing, with one leg tangled with his beneath the sheets.
The air smelled faintly of him—salt and cedar and whatever soap he kept in my shower now.
His fingertips traced lazy circles along the small of my back, occasionally stretching wider, dragging like he didn’t want to forget I was here.
I didn’t want him to.
For a long time, neither of us said a word. The quiet wasn’t awkward or loaded. It was comfortable. Sacred. I could still feel the echo of his mouth on mine, the press of his body, the way he looked at me like I was something he wanted to keep.
Outside, I could hear a dog bark down the street. A machine buzzed in the distance. Life was still happening beyond this room, but inside, time had slowed to something languid and lovely.
“If we take a nap, are you going to steal all the covers,” he said eventually, voice still thick with sleep and sex, “or just most of them?”
I smiled, barely lifting my head to glance up at him. “Depends. Are you planning to hog all the pillows again?”
He scoffed. “I’m a man of comfort. I require at least three.”
“Diva.” I snorted. “You use one. The other two are just for decoration.”
He grinned, and I couldn’t help myself—I leaned up and kissed him, slow and soft, right at the corner of his mouth. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for more. It simply promised that I was still here.
I settled back against his chest, my hand tracing the faint lines of the tattoos that trailed down his forearm, disappearing beneath the edge of the sheet. Everything about him felt solid and safe.
His body. His presence. His heart.
I wasn’t scared. Not right now and not with him.
Not anymore.
For once, the future didn’t feel like something I needed to outmaneuver. It felt like something I could actually want and look forward to.
I pressed a kiss to his shoulder and closed my eyes.
After a stretch of silence, he shifted beneath me. “You know this thing with us?”
I lifted my chin, met his gaze. “Yeah?”
His eyes held mine. “It’s not just a thing.”
The air left my lungs in a quiet breath. I didn’t smile. I didn’t tease. I just nodded, letting my hand rest over his heart.
“I know,” I whispered.
Austin shifted beneath me, brushing my hair off my shoulder as he leaned in, lips close to my ear. “So what’ll it be?” he murmured, his voice a low, teasing rumble. “A nap? Round two? Or . . . hear me out—both?”
I snorted, eyes still closed, too comfortable to move. “Are those my only options?”
He pretended to think. “I mean, there’s also late lunch. Or a motorcycle ride. We could probably manage both of those things if you’re up for it.”
I turned my head, just enough to meet his eyes. “A motorcycle ride?”
His grin deepened. “Yeah. I want to take you out. A proper date. You, me, a stretch of road. Maybe a place with pie.”
I blinked up at him, heart thudding, caught off guard by how much the idea made me feel . . . giddy. Like a teenager being asked out for the first time. “A date?”
His thumb stroked the curve of my hip. “Yes, a date. You’ve been letting me hang around your house and paint my nails with your daughter, so I figure I should try to romance you a little.”
I smiled slowly. “Well, when you put it like that.”
His lips quirked. “Is that a yes?”
I nodded, holding his gaze. “It might be.”
He rolled on top of me as my smile grew, his mouth brushing mine, fingers sliding down my waist like he already knew I’d said yes.
“We’ve got time before I wow you with my pie-selection skills,” he whispered, voice gravel and heat, “so I’m going to vote for option two.”
I arched beneath him as he nudged my thighs apart with his knee, the sheet slipping away. He reached down, guiding himself between my legs with a tenderness that only made it hotter.
He stretched me slow and reverent, like every time was its own kind of worship.
And when his cock finally filled me—deep and warm, his forehead pressed to mine—I knew I’d say yes to him a thousand times over.
I didn’t remember falling asleep, but at some point we were both thoroughly fucked and his breath slowed against my neck. Mine quickly followed.
We must’ve drifted off tangled together, skin warm against skin, because the next time I opened my eyes, golden light had deepened to soft amber. The shadows stretched longer across the floor. Outside the window, the breeze swayed the oak tree, shaking off dry leaves into the yard.
Austin stirred beneath me, groaning as he stretched.
“That was . . . productive,” he muttered, voice still rough from sleep.
I smiled against his shoulder. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
He chuckled, then pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “Productive. Enlightening. Nap adjacent.”
I rolled to my side and propped myself on an elbow, the sheet clinging to my chest. “Is a motorcycle date still on the table?”
He tilted his head toward the window. “Looks like perfect riding weather.”
My heart fluttered again—an involuntary little thrill I didn’t bother to tamp down this time.
Ten minutes later I was sliding into jeans and a soft Henley, watching him zip his jeans up over bare skin.
He caught me looking, and that crooked smile of his kicked up in one corner. “What?”
“Nothing,” I said, biting the inside of my cheek. “Just appreciating the view.”
His eyes swept over me in return, warm and intoxicating in a way that made me feel claimed without ever saying a word. “I’ll grab the helmets.”
We roared out of town with the sun low behind us, wind in our hair and laughter in our throats.
The bike was old and loud, but steady beneath us.
The rumble of it pressed between my thighs, and Austin’s body was warm against mine.
I clung to him, arms wrapped snug around his middle, and let myself lean in. Trusting the turn. Trusting him.
The road twisted along the edge of the lake, flanked by trees turning orange and red, leaves tumbling across the shoulder in lazy spirals. Every time he took a curve, I felt the shift of his muscles, the subtle lean that told me he’d done this a thousand times.
And yet, when we pulled into the little diner he’d mentioned—hand-painted sign out front boasting “Homemade Pie, Hot Coffee, No Nonsense”—he turned off the engine and sat there for a second, hands still gripping the bars.
The bell above the door jingled as we stepped into the diner, the kind of place that smelled like burned coffee, fryer oil, and cinnamon.
The booths were vinyl, the tabletops scuffed from years of elbows and gossip and lazy Sunday mornings.
An older woman behind the counter gave us a once-over and a knowing smile, like she already knew what kind of date this was.
We slid into a corner booth, his knee bumping mine under the table.
A waitress with a high ponytail and three pens tucked into her apron pocket came by and handed us two laminated menus. “You folks here for dinner or just the important stuff?”
Austin glanced up at her. “We came for pie.”
She grinned. “Smart man. What kind?”
Austin looked at me.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, overwhelmed by choices that somehow all sounded like the right one. “What do you recommend?”
“Apple crumb, if you like classic,” she said. “But we’ve also got maple pecan and a seasonal one—pear with honey and rosemary. That one’s new.”
My brows lifted. “Pear and rosemary?”
She winked. “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
Austin reached across the table, placing his hand over mine. “Let’s get three slices. Try them all.”
“Three?” I laughed. “We are not getting three slices of pie.”
“Sure we are.” He leaned back in the booth, impossibly pleased with himself. “Live a little, Selene.”
The waitress chuckled as she scribbled on her pad. “I like him.”
“Me too,” I said, squeezing his hand.
By the time she brought the plates—each slice warmed just enough to let the filling ooze slightly onto the ceramic—I was already buzzed on endorphins and the way Austin kept looking at me like he couldn’t believe I was real.
He pushed the apple slice toward me. “Start with a classic.”
I took a bite, the tart-sweet crunch melting on my tongue, the crumble crisp and buttery.
“Oh my god,” I said around a mouthful. “That’s stupid good.”
He grinned and picked up a fork. “Now, try the pear.”
He fed me a bite over the table, his elbow on the edge as he watched my reaction like it was the only thing he cared about.
My eyes widened. “Okay, that’s unfair. That might be the best pie I’ve ever had.”
His lips curved. “Told you.”
I leaned forward, stealing a bite of the maple pecan from his plate. He made a noise of protest as I licked my fork, slow and smug.
“Rude,” he muttered, but he was smiling.
“You invited me on this date,” I teased. “You should’ve known pie thievery was inevitable.”
He tilted his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Honestly, I’m just glad you said yes.”
I froze, just for a second, then softened. “Me too.”
We took the last of the pie in to-go containers and walked across the street to the beach, shoes in hand, the light beginning to shift into something duskier, moodier. Lake Michigan was calm, glassy and gold, stretching out toward the horizon in a manner that made everything else fall away.
We found a quiet spot just off the path, tucked near a drift of tall dune grass. He shrugged off his hoodie and spread it across the sand for us to sit on.
I curled up beside him, the pie forgotten in my lap, my body leaned into his. A few gulls called overhead. Waves lapped lazily at the shore.