Reminders of Him(78)
When we’re in the thick of fogging up all the windows, he pulls away from my neck, and there’s a split-second look he gives me. It’s so quick; it’s a flicker, a flash. But I can tell he wants more in that quick glance, and so do I, so I nod and he pulls away and opens his glove box. He grabs a condom and starts to open it with his teeth, bracing himself up with one arm. I take this opportunity to slide my panties off and bunch my long skirt up around my waist.
He gets the package open, but then he pauses.
The seconds begin to drag as he silently stares down at me with contemplation.
Then he tosses the condom aside and lowers himself on top of me again. He presses a soft kiss against my lips. His breath is hot against my cheek when he says, “You deserve a bed.”
I drag a hand through his hair. “You don’t have a bed here?”
He shakes his head. “Nope.”
“Not even an inflatable mattress?”
“Our first two times were on an inflatable mattress. You deserve a real bed. And no, I don’t have either one here.”
“How about a hammock?”
He smiles at that, but still shakes his head.
“A yoga mat? I’m not picky.”
He laughs and kisses my chin. “Stop it, or we’ll end up fucking in this truck.”
I wrap my legs around his waist. “And that’s bad how?”
He groans into my neck, and then I lift my hips and he gives in.
He grabs the condom and finishes opening it. While he’s doing that, I’m unzipping his jeans.
He slides on the condom and then pulls me to the edge of the seat. His truck is the perfect height for this. Neither of us even has to adjust ourselves or change positions. He just grips my hips and pushes into me, and even though it isn’t a real bed, it’s still just as good as it was last night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
LEDGER
I don’t know how I found the strength to pull away from her long enough to go inside and get the floors started.
I figured she’d sit back and watch me, or write in her notebook, but as soon as I told her I needed to get some work finished, she asked how she could help.
It’s been three hours. We’ve mostly worked, with the occasional short break to rehydrate and kiss some more, but we’ve finished most of what will be the living room floor.
We’d be done by now if she weren’t wearing that shirt with that skirt. She’s been crawling across the floor, helping me lock the flooring into place, and every time I look at her I can see straight down her shirt. I’m so distracted I’m surprised I haven’t injured myself.
We haven’t discussed a single thing of importance since we exited the truck. It’s as if we left all the important stuff inside it and chose to carry nothing of weight with us into this house.
It’s been such a heavy day already; I’m doing everything I can to keep things light. We both are. I haven’t brought up the letter since we came inside. She hasn’t mentioned the restraining order, I haven’t mentioned Mother’s Day under this roof, we haven’t talked about what our new physical connection means or how we’re possibly going to navigate it. I think we both know the conversations will come, but right now it feels like we’re on the same page, and all we want out of today’s page is to ride the high of each other.
I think Kenna and I needed today. Kenna especially needed today. She always looks like she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, but today she looks like she’s floating. She makes gravity seem powerless against her.
She’s smiled and laughed more in the last few hours than she has since the day I met her. It makes me wonder if I’ve been a huge chunk of the weight she’s been carrying.
Kenna locks the piece of wood in place on her end and then reaches for a bottle of water. She catches me staring at her chest, and she laughs. “You sure do have a hard time looking me in the eye now.”
“I think I have an obsession with your shirt.” She usually wears T-shirts, but this particular shirt is made out of a slinky material that dips down in the front, and now that she’s been working for three hours, it’s starting to stick to her in all the places where she’s sweating. “That shirt is fucking lovely.”
She laughs, and I want to kiss her again. I crawl over to her, and when I reach her, I press my mouth to hers so hard she falls backward against the floor. I kiss her through her laughter, until I’m on top of her.
I hate that I have no furniture. We just keep ending up on the hardwood floor we’ve been installing, and it’s nice, but I’d give anything to kiss her on something more comfortable. Something as soft as her mouth.
“You’ll never finish these floors,” she whispers.
“Fuck the floors.” We kiss for a few minutes, and we just keep getting better at it. There’s a lot of pulling and tugging and tasting, and it gets a little chaotic, and her shirt that I love so fucking much ends up somewhere on the floor next to us.
I’m admiring her bra now, kissing her skin right above it, when she whispers, “I’m scared.” Her hands are in my hair, and she keeps them there when I lift up just enough to look down at her. “What if they find out about us before you have a chance to tell them? We’re being reckless.”
I don’t want her to think about this today because today is good, and they’re out of town, so there’s no point in dwelling on it until they return. I press a comforting kiss against her forehead. “Worrying won’t make the situation any better,” I say. “They’re out of town. Whatever happens is going to happen whether we make out right now or not.”