He shuffles forward on his knees slowly until his lips are a hint from mine. “I think I can shut up long enough to kiss you.”
His hand slides up my thigh and around to my backside, cupping my butt. He slides me forward to meet him and when our bodies connect, the air between us sizzles.
I’m going to embrace this experience with no regrets. This moment, this bliss, is all mine.
His kiss begins soft as he explores and relearns me. Because it's been awhile, the first touch is almost foreign, but moments later the novel is replaced with familiar. I know this man, his lips, his taste. We slip into the past and know without having to ask what the other likes.
“Where can we take this?” Dax mumbles against my lips.
With his shirt fisted in my hand, I draw him into the van. “Let’s take this to the cargo area?” I say with laughter and a wink.
He clicks the lever to close the door as I low scoot between the middle row seats and into the spacious cargo area. He follows. I flip open one of the spare blankets I keep in the back for Tyler and lie back on it, opening myself up to Dax.
He hovers over me, and I see his smile in the moonlight. “I think I might be too tall; my feet touch the back of the driver’s seat.” His legs extend back between the two captain chairs of the middle row.
“All the better to brace yourself,” I say wickedly.
He laughs while lifting the hem of my T-shirt. “Let’s get this wet shirt off you.”
It's a flurry of shirts coming off and jeans sliding down. We bump our heads against each other and the top of the van, but I don’t care, and I can tell Dax doesn’t either. His single focus is on me. Like I’m the center of the universe. And I revel in this adoration.
“Heather, are you sure you’re good with this here? We can go back to my room, or we can—”
“Are you gonna use that mouth to yammer all night, or is there something better you can do with it?” Because here is perfect. If we leave, I’ll second-guess everything. This is living in the moment.
Dax cups my cheek and says, “Let me show you what I can do.” He softly drops on top of me and proceeds to show me his skills.
Setting doesn’t matter. All that counts is that we are in each other's arms. We caress and explore once-familiar land. He kisses my cesarean scar. When we join, I cling to him as I shudder and release and then hold him tightly when he does the same.
Afterward, I rest against him, his large hand stroking my hair. He kisses my temple.
“I have a cramp in my injured leg,” I say with regret. Because I don’t want to pop the bubble.
“I can help with that,” he says and rolls me over. He straddles me then claps his hands together with a solid smack. He rubs them vigorously as if to warm them then presses one palm to my bruised hip and the other to the inner thigh on the same leg.
“Let me show you a few things I learned since we last connected,” he says.
“Mood killer,” I say. “No woman wants to hear about a guy’s other conquests, especially after having rocking sex in her shaggin’ wagon.”
“Oh, this isn’t about other conquests. And I promise. I can get that mood right back.”
He proceeds to prove his point. And I’m happily wrong all night long.