Page 44 of Our Long Days
He leans down, hands planted on either side of my head, his lips skating up my jaw. “Let’s work it out together.”
From his rigid posture and heavy breathing, he’s remembering too. He shakes it away much easier than me, clearly not wanting to revisit that evening. Calmly, he pops open the glove compartment. A piece of paper and pen appear in front of me.
“Check it off,” he instructs.
A list. But not any list—the one I penned with my dad.
His reasons to teach me are obvious now. I was so blinded by nerves and eagerness, I just presumed he didn’t want to drive me around everywhere.
Excitement vibrates through me. Eagerly, I strike a tick next toStart driving lessonsthen catapult myself into his arms. Screw his modesty and any boundaries—thisisa big deal.
He tumbles back, taking me with him. His thick thigh endsup wedged between my legs, our noses inches apart. I’m aware of everywhere our bodies meet, especially where his large hands encompass my waist, fingers flexing against the strip of bare skin.
The thumping of his heart reverberates through my bones.
Yes, I should unravel myself, but my mouth moves before my body. “I’m struggling to put into words how I’m feeling.”
His throat works with a deep gulp. “Describe it for me.”
He doesn’t push me away. The opposite, actually. His grip loosens, and I sink further into his hold.
“It’s how I imagine a flower blooming for the first time. That first taste of sunshine and drop of rain. The wind kissing its leaves and the bees buzzing overhead.” I tap my chest. “That’s what’s going on in here.”
The creases around his eyes deepen, and I stop breathing when he raises a hand to my face. “You’re not a single stem, though. You’re a whole fucking meadow of wildflowers.”
I might have been a flower moments ago, but now, I’m wilting under the heat of his gaze.
“Why?” I whisper.
He tilts his head in question.
“Why are you helping me? Yes, it’s time I learned to drive, but it’s pointless checking the rest of these things off. What’s it going to accomplish?”
“Once upon a time, the idea of them made you happy. Coming home might not have been what you imagined, so reimagine it. A summer doing whatever you want.” The rough pads of his fingers brush my cheek. “Happiness is what you’ll accomplish. I’ll be the lucky bastard to witness it.”
Our faces draw closer, tempting inch by tempting inch. I catalog every fine line, gray hair in his mustache, and flecks of indigo in his irises.
This isn’tforgetting. I’m supposed to be forgetting.
I shift against him, knowing if I don’t move, I’ll do something that leads to him rejecting me. Only, I’m stuck.
“Um, Dex?”
He grunts when my knee brushes the seam of his jeans. I freeze. He’s turned on, thick and hard.
“Florence, do not move,” he grits out, eyes clamped closed.
“I’m caught on your belt buckle,” I squeak, wiggling to free myself and ultimately grinding on his leg.
“Give me a minute.” His left hand drops, fumbling between us, knuckles nudging my aching center. “Please,stop moving,or we’re going to have bigger problems to deal with.”
There’s no fighting the reaction my body has. My nipples pucker, heat floods between my legs, and my breathing resumes, faster this time.
I suck my stomach in, the cold metal of his belt buckle brushing my scorching skin. Another grunt. I hover over him, motionless, until my knees shake. Limbs heavy, I concentrate on something through the window—anything—not what’s going on inches from my soaked panties.
This is so wrong, but my pussy remembers how his fingers, mouth, and cock feel.
The snap of cotton echoes through the cab like the crash of a tree falling in a silent forest. The connection between us breaks, and just as quickly, I’m back behind the wheel, him plastered against the passenger door. The space between us is combustible.
