Page 196 of Not Another Yesterday
Two nights ago we were curled up on the couch, halfway through some movie neither of us was really watching, when she got up and disappeared into our bedroom. When she came back, she was holding the memory box from the hospital, still unopened. She’d kept it tucked away in our closet, untouched until now. She sat beside me with the box cradled against her chest, crying. We opened it together for the first time. We didn’t say anything. We just sat together, hands brushing, breath syncing, remembering.
I scoot closer to her, sliding my arm over her waist and nuzzling my face into her hair. I inhale deeply. God, she always smells so good. I could pick her out of a crowd with my eyes closed, just by her scent.
She sighs softly when I kiss her, but doesn’t wake. I linger there for a moment, tempted. Too tempted. Her body is warm against mine, and if I stay like this I’m not going to be able to stop myself from touching her. And I don’t want to wake her. Not today.
So I ease out of bed, take my time under the hot spray of the shower, then dress quietly and make my way into the kitchen to start breakfast.
“Hey you,” Cat says about half an hour later. Her voice is soft, a little sleep-rough, and I turn to see her still in that green sweater. My eyes drag up her bare legs to the hem of the hoodie. It’s just long enough to hide the delicate lace of her panties and the soft V hidden beneath it. Being denied even a glimpse makes my pulse spike. Jesus. She wakes up looking like this?
“Hey you,” I echo, smiling as she walks over and kisses me. Her lips are soft, warm. “You hungry?”
“Yes,” she says, stepping around me to reach for a mug. “The smell of the coffee actually woke me. You know, for someone who doesn’t drink coffee, you make it really well,” she says with a giggle, reaching for the pot.
I grab her wrist before she can pour and tug her gently back toward me. “I just know how you like it,” I murmur, my voice low now, the shift in atmosphere almost immediate as I rest my hands on her hips. It’s not urgent, not hectic, but quiet. Sacred.
“Yeah,” she breathes, eyes darkening. “You always do.”
I kiss her again, deeper this time, coaxing her lips apart so I can taste her. I sweep my tongue over hers, savoring, reverent. She melts into me as I back her up against the kitchen counter, already sliding my thumbs into the waistband of her panties. She wiggles them down, stepping out of them just as I lift her easily and set her on the counter, my mouth never leaving hers.
God, I’m so in love with her, am so wholly, completely hers. Always have been. Always will be. The sight of her like this, the feel of her warm skin under my hands, it makes me want to drop to my knees and worship her.
I push her sweater up, exposing her perfect breasts, my eyes lingering for a second before I bend to take one nipple into my mouthand suck gently. Her fingers tangle in my hair. She tips her head back against the cabinet with a breathless sound that makes me ache.
My hand slides down her side, over her hip, down her thigh. Then I reach between her legs, touch her gently, soft, slow. She gasps and arches toward me. I keep working her, teasing her, stroking her in ways I know will drive her to the edge. When I finally slip one, then two fingers inside her, curling them to stroke her inner walls, she whimpers quietly, desperately.
She’s so wet already. So warm and tight. I’m completely lost in her, focused only on the way her body reacts to mine. Her hips move in rhythm with my slow fingers, breathy moans bursting from her lips. Until I hear it. A key in the lock.
“Nooo,” I groan, withdrawing my hand and scooping her off the counter. Her legs immediately wrap around my waist.
Shane’s voice filters in as the door opens. Tori’s laugh follows. Perfect fucking timing. I swear, two and a half years later and people still can’t seem to stop barging in on us.
“My underwear is still on the kitchen floor,” Cat giggles against my neck, her moist heat seeping through my jeans. All I want is to sink into her slowly.
“Well, Merry Christmas, Shane,” I mutter, hurrying down the hall with Cat in my arms. I kick the bedroom door shut behind us before I slow and move Cat onto the bed.
I don’t want to rush her today. So I move quietly, intentionally as I rid myself of my clothes, then peel off her sweater. Her skin is warm and soft beneath my palms, and she watches me with wide, trusting eyes as I undress her like I’m unwrapping something precious. I am.
I kiss her collarbone to her shoulder, the swell of her breast to her nipple. I lick it softly. Her breath catches, her hands finding my face, my jaw.
But I don’t linger. I work my way down, kissing and nipping at her soft skin, letting my tongue trail the landscape of her body until I arrive between her thighs.
“Hmm,” I groan, and run my tongue along her sensitive flesh, tasting her.
She moans quietly, fingers threaded through my hair as she thrusts against my face slowly. I glance up at her. Cat’s eyes are closed, cheeks rosy, her head tipping back against the pillows while her chest rises and falls with labored breaths.
I hold her gently, hands stroking her hips, her thighs, anchoring her as I devour her. I let my tongue move in slow, teasing circles, learning the rhythm of her breath, the catch of her sighs. I savor every sound, every shift of her body, the way her knees bend around me like she’s cradling something sacred.
I slip a finger inside her, then a second, curling them, stroking her inner walls as she clenches around me as though her body is seeking more, is beginning to become one with mine. But I stay there, tongue circling, fingers moving.
She’s trembling now, breath coming in tiny stuttering gasps. But I don’t push her. I hold her steady and love her slow.
When her thighs start to shake, when she lets out a soft, broken moan, I hum against her in encouragement. She comes with a sigh and a shiver, pulsing around me, squeezing and thrusting and so damn perfect.
I kiss her inner thigh, then her hip, then the space just below her navel, crawling up her body slowly. Her eyes are still glassy, her lips parted. She tugs at my shoulders, urging me up. “Come here,” she whispers, and I do.
She reaches between us, wrapping a warm hand around my erection as I slide between her thighs, careful, cradling her face as she guides me inside her with a soft sigh. I groan against her lips like I’ve finally come home.
I move inside her with long, deep, slow thrusts she meets with her own. God she’s beautiful—a light sheen of sweat between her perfect breasts, her lips plump and parted, cheeks flushed with lust. Her soft moans are rhythmic, secret declarations of love, of trust.
