Page 68 of Our Long Days
Like twisting vines, our fingers intertwine, my larger hand engulfing her smaller dainty one. Her smooth skin coasts against my rough palm. She raises our linked hands and rubs her thumb over the four inked letters along my knuckles.
“V-I-T-A. Vita.” Her green eyes meet my waiting gaze. “I’ve always wanted to ask what this means?”
“It’s Latin for life, or a way of life.”
She studies me acutely, closer than anyone ever has. It’s unnerving, but I don’t shy away.
When a yawn stretches Florence’s mouth and she snuggles into my chest like a lazy cat, humming contently, we share a sleepy smile. It’s one that tilts the scales, tipping me toward what I’ve known since this firecracker of a woman stole my favorite flannel and defiled my Scrabble board.
Florence Sadler is bound to turn my life upside down, and I’m not sure I’m against it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
florence
Birds chirping.Streaks of sunshine. Cool morning breeze. A large erection digging into my stomach.
One of these things is not a common occurrence after a night of camping.
It should be.
I’m afraid to move. The man snoring underneath me might be a figment of my imagination. One wrong move, he’llpoof,disappear.
The constellation of hickeys on my breasts and the ache between my legs are delicious reminders of last night. If I thought New Year’s was hot, it was nothing compared to what Dex did to my body until the early hours. He wears my marks too—scratches score his shoulders and chest.
He not only camped under the stars with me, he ravished me under them until my voice grew hoarse and legs gave out.
He doesn’t budge as I untangle myself from the two sleeping bags we swaddled ourselves in last night. Instantly, I miss his warmth. I take the opportunity to admire him. The muscles in his bicep pull taut with his arm slung over his face, revealing only his parted lips andthe soft hairs above his lip fluttering with his shallow breathing.
I move lower, the outline of his cock obvious against the thin material of his sweatpants. The thick vein running?—
A grumble interrupts my sordid monologue. “Florence, quit licking your lips while staring at my dick.”
My eyes dart up to meet a drowsy pair. “I was not licking my lips.”
“Believe me,” he groans, rising to sit and scraping his fingers through the coarse hairs on his chest, “you were.”
I clear my throat, averting my gaze when he adjusts himself. Yes, we fucked—a lot. Hard. Fast. Slow. Soft. In typical fashion, my brain has me replaying every single detail. Dex said a lot last night, things that made me second-guess my worries, but he also said nothing. More specifically, about what we do now.
“Florence,” Dex says, voice stern. “Look at me.”
When I don’t immediately turn, my attention on a squirrel scaling a spruce, he sighs. I’m being a chicken, but if there’s any hint of doubt or sympathy in his eyes, I’ll crack.
I squeal when there’s a firm tug on my ankle, dragging me across the mattress. He drapes my legs sideways over his, fingers weaving into my bed hair. I have no choice but to look at him. A whoosh of air leaves me when he presses his lips to mine, as if it’s the only thing to quench a century old thirst.
My blood hums with the kiss, and before I can lose myself to it, he pulls away.
“Don’t run away with your thoughts, Trouble. That was the single best night of my life. There will be more nights, days, and mornings. I promise, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, feeling featherlight as he vanquishes all my self-doubts. One still remains, though. “I’m not asking for you to drive to Patrick’s today and declare your undying love for me, just…”
Don’t keep me a secretforever.
I’m used to Dex’s contemplative silences, but the relief in his words douses my final speck of doubt. “Soon. I promise. It’s not a one-time thing for me. I want this. I just need some time.”
I don’t push him to share his plans. We steal kisses while the morning ticks away, until I’m ready to bust at the seams with satisfaction.
“Why can’t waders be pink?”
