Page 78 of Those Two Words

Walking over to where Jo is standing in front of the sink, I place our glasses on the counter and loop my arms around her waist, my chin resting on her shoulder. I love that she’s always been the perfect height, and I drop my face into the crook of her neck to prove it. She tries to escape my grasp with a squeal as I nip at her skin and breathe her in, scrunching her neck to hide from my attack.

“The decorations look great. Lottie is going to lose her mind. I can’t wait to see her little face,” she says, trying to catch her breath from her laughter.

There’s something so special about hearing the excitement in Jo’s voice when she speaks about my daughter.“She’s going to lose her mind when she sees you actually came dressed as a princess.”

She cranes her neck and looks up at me with wide eyes. “Please tell me I’m not the only adult dressed up in full princess getup today?”

“Okay, I won’t tell you.” The grimace on my face must reveal the truth.

“Nooo. This is mortifying. She told me at my dad’s house all the girls were dressing up.”

“All the girls under three feet, yes.”

Shaking her head in laughter, she settles against me, and we look out into the yard. I don’t have a green thumb, and I don’t need to, because my mom comes by every couple of weeks to help keep it maintained. A large spruce sits in the back corner and flower beds line either side of the lawn. Purple, white, yellow, and blue flowers have begun blooming, bringing the space to life.

“I think my mom planted those white ones with your mom in mind.” I feel her tense as I point to the small white buds, not quite ready to blossom yet. It’s such a fleeting reaction; you’d miss it if you weren’t paying attention, but I don’t miss a thing when it comes to her.

“Starflower,” she whispers. “Or Mayflower, as my mom called it. Her favorite. They don’t flower until May.”

“Wait, as in your middle name? Johanna May Thomas?”

“Yes, you goof,” she says, her body shaking against mine. “You’re telling me that after knowing me for this long, you didn’t know where my middle name came from? My mom literally called me Mayflower.”

“Uh, I plead the fifth? I don’t know half the names of the plants out there. You’d have to ask my mom.”

“Men! You’re useless,” she gripes and nudges me in the ribs with her elbow.

“Hey now. I taught myself to braid hair, I’m not totally useless,” I argue.

“You taught yourself?” she asks, gaping up at me.

“Yeah, who else?”

“I don’t know, your mom, sister, or Carrie?”

“Nope. All me, baby. Well, and YouTube. It’s one of the few times Lottie will sit still for me.”

“That’s really sweet, Patrick,” she says.

I tug her in closer, and from the way she brushes up against me, she can feel how hard I am. Have been since the moment she walked into my house. “I am sweet, aren’t I?”

“Mm-hm, so sweet.”

I turn her in my arms and push her up against the granite countertop. “Should I show you how sweet?” My lips find hers in a gentle kiss, hands diving into her hair, and running through the soft curls as my tongue runs across her lips. Her nails drag through my hair and across my scalp, sending delicious shivers across my body.

“I love it when your hair is down,” I say in between kisses, combing my fingers through her golden locks.

We remain locked in each other’s embrace as our mouths slowly explore each other. Her back arches as I push her further into the counter and skim my hands down her body. I gather the many layers of her dress in my hands, until my fingers find her soft, warm skin.

She shakes her head at me, like she knows this is a bad idea, but doesn’t stop me as I hitch the material up around her waist. Even through my jeans and her underwear, I can feel the heat from between her thighs as I grind against her.

Gone is my sweetness as I trace along the edge of her panties, toying back and forth with the lace, so close to where I know she’s already soaked for me.

“Can you be quiet, love? We don’t want anyone to walk in, do we?” A voice in my head says yes, we do. The thrill of someone catching us spurs me on. The tip of my pointer slips under the damp material, and I groan when I find her hot and wet.

“Yes,” she rasps out, head falling against the cabinet as my finger circles her entrance.

Before we can go any further, a throat clears behind us, and we freeze.

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