Page 83 of This Is Who I Am

“No, but, um, I’m trying to be less of a giver these days, anyway.” I wait to see how my quip lands.

“Not even a kiss?” She flicks her tongue over her lips.

“I’m still in training, so a kiss is most certainly still on offer.” I get up and walk over to her. By the time I reach her side of the table, she has pushed her chair back, and I straddle her, a little awkwardly but unable to care about how it looks, because I only care about one thing. Her lips on mine—and what comes after.

We kiss and there’s nothing tentative about it. It’s not like last night when we were still uncertain about each other’s reaction. Still, I break from it and trace a path to her ear.

“I’d really like for you to fuck me now,” I whisper, and I don’t think it’s inappropriate in the least. Not anymore. In fact, it feels like something I should say right now.

She did ask me what I wanted.

* * *

“I like looking at you like this,” Estelle says. Her voice has that husky quality that makes my body temperature rise to dangerous heights.

Her hands are careful but unflinching as she undoes the buttons of my shirt, her gaze trailing over every inch of skin she reveals. Because she’s the only one doing the touching, it’s deliberate and focused.

“Part of me still can’t believe you’re really here again,” I whisper, and it’s true. After all that’s happened, this feels impossible.

She leans in and brushes her lips against the skin of my throat. “It’s truly the only place I want to be.”

My shirt falls to the floor, and I don’t feel self-conscious about my fifty-three-year-old body. Not with her—not anymore. Her hands glide up my arms, her thumbs circling just under my collarbones, and I could come undone from that alone.

With Estelle, nothing’s ever rushed. It’s all slow intention and I’m deliciously drowning in it. Her mouth finds the hollow at the base of my neck, lingering there, and I close my eyes.

By the time she’s got me laid back, stripped down to nothing but longing and goose bumps, I’m already breathless.

She’s taken off as much of her clothing as she ever will, and she straddles me. She’s all over me again and, today, I actually love that she’s not asking for anything but is giving me everything.

“I want to make you feel good,” she whispers—and who doesn’t want to hear that?

I nod, not trusting my voice. When her tongue flicks over my nipple and her hand traces lower, I feel like I’m being put back together somehow. Like she’s found all my broken pieces and is assembling them carefully, without instruction.

And then she licks me. Her tongue is firm and slow, right against the center of everything I am. Her hands rest on my hips, anchoring me gently. Her tongue works in lazy circles at first, then quickens, responding to the rhythm my body dictates.

When I come, it’s a full-body unraveling. It’s the grief I’ve held in my muscles and the want I never thought I’d feel again. It’s Estelle’s name in my throat. It’s not just release. It’s surrender. To her. To us. To something I didn’t think I’d get to feel again.

CHAPTER40

ESTELLE

I lie next to Cass, our legs tangled, my body still, but thrumming underneath. It’s not a high. It’s definitely not arousal. It’s not even pride. It’s something gentler and more grounded.

Cass is silent beside me. Her fingers draw slow, meandering lines on my arm. I don’t want her to stop. But this is always the most precarious part—after. When I’m wide open in ways others don’t always understand.

I don’t feel desire the way she does. Not physically. But I feel something else. A pull in my chest so strong it threatens to tear me in two. I want to give this to her. Not to prove something, but because I’m in love with her. Because as far as love and romance are concerned, we are very much alike.

She turns toward me, her eyes a little glassy. “Are you okay?” she whispers.

I nod. “Absolutely fine.” I close my eyes for a few moments, because I don’t feel the need to look for signs of what she wants and I can’t give. Not today, and hopefully not ever again—although that’s the kind of wishful thinking only a hungover, lazy brain can truly believe in.

But it’s different today. Her unspoken excitement doesn’t radiate off her any longer.

Cass tucks a piece of hair behind my ear. “Thank you for that,” she says, grinning from ear to ear.

“My pleasure.” I turn fully toward her so I can see her gorgeous face.

“Can I ask you one of my annoying questions?”

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