Page 81 of Light Up The Night
There is only Cadence.
She's passed out. Her head lolls against my chest, one hand curled under her chin. She shivers and cuddles closer to me—best get her home, I suppose, even if the last thing I want to do is leave this place, this moment.
I refasten my jeans, shrug into my tee, slide the blanket out from beneath me, and wrap Cadence up in it, discarded clothing and all. I hop out of the truck bed, open the passenger door, lift Cadence out of the bed, and set her in the cab, shutting her door gently. She blinks blearily, mumbling something incoherent. I shut the tailgate and hustle around to the driver's side, slide in, start the truck, and then let Cadence slide sideways until she's laying across my lap; the nice thing about this older truck is that the center console lifts up out of the way to create a three-across bench.
The ride home is quick and silent—Cadence is down for the count, I think. I try not to feel smug, or at least self-satisfied, but…I made the girl come so hard she passed out. Hard not to feel pretty damn good about that. I'm fighting a motherfucker of a hard-on, but that's a small price to pay for the privilege of what I just got to do. Hard-ons will fade. Maybe I'll have a case of blue balls later, whatever. I can deal with that. Cadence is what matters.
She's so smart, so wise, so unique and interesting. I've never met anyone even remotely like her, and I know I never will. The combination of sexy, cute, smart, beautiful, and fascinating is damned addictive.
Two days. I've known her for two days.
She's under my skin. Inside my brain. Buried in my heart.
And she's leaving.
Soon.
She may never come back.
The thought of never seeing her again makes my entire being recoil in horror, but that's something I'm just going to have to live with. This crazy, possibly suicidal mission to Sudan is her calling. I can’t stand in the way of that—I won't.
I also know there won’t be any other girls…not for a long, long time.
By the time I'm pulling into my driveway, I'm a weird combination of turned on, proud of myself, sad as fuck, and exhausted.
I prop open my side door and then carry Cadence inside, still wrapped in the blanket. I settle her into my bed, trading bed covers for the scratchy wool blanket, and then go back and close doors. Back in my room, I peel off my clothes and put on a pair of workout shorts to sleep in.
I pause in the doorway of my bedroom, glancing back at her; she stirs, one eye cracking open. "Riley?" Her voice is barely audible, muzzy with sleep.
I cross back to the bed and perch on the edge. "Yeah, sweetheart? I'm here."
One eye, a drowsy slit of green, fixes on me. "Stay." She worms a hand out from beneath the covers and grabs my thigh. "Do not leave. Please."
"Uh, yeah," I whisper. "I'll stay, if you want."
"Mmmm."
I go around to the other side and slide under the covers behind her. I hesitate—how close do I get? I'm not a cuddler. I don't have girls stay the night, and I don't stay. I sidle close enough that I can rest my hand on her waist in what seems like no-man's land, but far enough away that I'm not shoving my will-not-go-away erection into her ass, as much as I want to.
I feel myself drowsing, lulling, drifting…
And then she rolls over. Making a soft, delicate mewling noise, she shimmies into me, closer and then closer again until she's pressing every inch of her glorious, warm, smooth, soft, naked body against me. Her bare tit drapes onto my chest, the other smashed against my ribcage. She's spooning my thigh and hip, rubbing her naked pussy against my bare thigh.
Fuck.
My cock stiffens into an aching iron rod, and my pulse pounds. I ignore all that, curling my arm around her shoulders and trying to find sleepiness again.
It's a long, long time in coming.
Erotic dreams riddle my sleep.Cadence, unsurprisingly, is the star of all of them. I dream of what happened—getting to kiss her, to see those big, round, juicy, lush tits, getting to touch them and kiss them and have their beauty all for me…her eagerness, her desperation. Her pussy wreathed in a fine cloud of strawberry blonde fuzz, with plump lips and so fucking tight I could barely fit my fingers inside her, weeping and glistening with her arousal.
The way she arched off the blanket, screaming, whimpering, pleading.
Fuck.
I jolt awake all at once, my eyes flying open. The first thing I see is huge pair of moss-green eyes.
"Good morning, Riley Crowe of Three Rivers.” She's hiding a smile behind the blanket she has clutched in one hand, but the glittering twinkle in her eye is so bright it dims the dawn glow streaming in through my bedroom window.
