Page 150 of Never Let You Go

Because, surely, if he did, he’d tell me. He’d want me in his bedroom.

He’d ask me to move to Emerald Creek, instead of asking me to stay for the summer. I chase the thought away.

I trace the stubble lining his square jaw, grate my nail down his neck, slide it to his shoulder flexing lightly under the weight of my legs, then take a full feel of his biceps.

And sigh.

He chuckles. “Good enough for you?”

“God, Christopher, you have no idea.” I wiggle, my panties suddenly itchy.

He sets me on the bed and cups his palm to my middle, and I answer by rocking against him. Wasting no time, he ditches his clothes on the floor and stands in front of me, hunger in his eyes. As I prop myself on my elbows, my eyes naturally fall on his erection, my mouth watering.

“I’m starting a fire,” he says. That fire’s been burning for a long time.

But he means a literal fire, and I get to watch him naked, muscles rolling, as he adds kindle and logs to the hearth while I take my clothes off. Once I’m down to an innocent-looking white demi-cup bra embroidered with blue flowers, matching panties, white garters, and silk stockings, I lie on top of the bed.

“You look like a goddamn bride,” he says, smirking.

“I do?” I laugh. “How many brides have you seen without a dress?”

He laughs. “None.” Then adds so quietly I can barely hear, “yet.” He lies on the bed next to me, slides down to my hip, and nuzzles the garter. “Isn’t the groom supposed to grab the garter with his teeth. That true?”

“Maybe? I’ve heard of that,” I say. An uneasy vision worms itself inside me and sits at the bottom of my stomach—Christopher getting married. Christopher with another woman. Someone beautiful, and solid, who aligns with him in so many ways.

Someone like Emma.

“I’d never do that in front of people. Wouldn’t want to show my wife’s thighs to the whole party. But it is fun, hmm?” he says, his teeth gripping the garter, his stubble teasing my inner thighs as he begins to make his way down one leg.

Yeah, Christopher will make a great husband someday.

Just not mine.

And god that hurts.

He gently rolls the stocking and places it and the garter on the side of the bed, then crawls back up for the second garter. My hips rock in need, meeting his fingers.

My mind drifts back to Christopher having a wife, to Skye finally having a mother.

I try to shake the thoughts that are killing my mood.

“You okay?” he says, the second garter now at my ankle.

I hate what’s happening to me. That eerie music playing in the back of my head, telling me that the perfect movie I’m in? It’s about to take a turn for the worse.

This is not me. I’ve taught myself to enjoy the little moments of sheer bliss that make life bearable.

And this, right now? This is one of those unforgettable moments that will carry me through all the stuff I don’t even know is coming my way.

This is material for memories to make bad days much, much better.

When all this is over and I’m back to a mountain of problems and backstabbers in New York, I’ll have this memory of a man so gently unwrapping me. So tenderly kissing me. So passionately making my body come alive under his kisses.

Still, the thought of no longer being here in a few weeks triggers my panic. I can’t do soft and gentle in this moment. Soft and gentle is for people who have their lifetimes to explore each other. People who have weddings and garters and weird but fun traditions.

He stands naked and brings the garters and stockings to the chest of drawers. We do have the rest of the night. Which tonight, feels like all the time in the world, and I appreciate that he’s not rushing this. That he’s savoring every moment of us being together without needing to be somewhere else in a short time, or without risking any interruptions.

This whole night is truly ours.

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