Page 103 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

“When you kissed me, it was like nothing I’ve experienced before. Like — like —“ I struggle to find the right words.

Autumn rescues me. “Like coming home,” she breathes, brown eyes exploring my face, reflecting the wonder that I feel.

“Yes,” I growl. “Exactly.”

I bend my head and lay my lips over hers, probing, tasting her lips, her tongue, her teeth. She tastes of cinnamon and smoke, of everything I’ve ever longed for.

Andrew was right. I’ve known Autumn for only a handful of hours, but already the whole of my existence is changed for the better.

I can’t wait to see what tomorrow brings, and the tomorrow after that, the tomorrow after that, on into a future that’s filled with the one who’s returning every kiss I give with a passion and power that makes me believe anything is possible.

Autumn

Inever thought Deadwood could surprise me, for good or ill.

But here I am, locking lips with a man that makes my insides pool and my heart hammer fast, mere hours after my arrival. In a graveyard, no less.

I shiver, but not from the cold, although the night certainly is that. My quiver is more from how beautiful this feels. I clutch tight to the front of Xander’s shirt, afraid that if I let go, he’ll disappear.

Xander leads me further into the graveyard, illuminating the path ahead with the flashlight built into his phone until we meet a low but solid-looking stone wall. There, he produces two blankets as if by magic. He spreads one over the chilled earth and wraps the others around my shoulders.

Sinking onto the blanket on the ground, I pull him down with me until we’re sprawled out together in his family’s cemetery.

I wonder at the fact that this doesn’t feel strange or awkward or uncomfortable. Not even a little. I was telling the truth before — being with Xander truly does feel like coming home. I don’t know how or why, just that it does. And there’s no power on this earth that could make me second-guess the connection we share, the one we both feel.

If it took everything that happened in New York to bring me into this man’s arms, I’ll count it as worth it. Every snide internet comment, every fashion label that shunned me — it all brought me here, to Xander.

Sliding my palms down his torso, I begin to explore his body. He is all muscle, his solidness a comfort beneath my touch. His kisses are somehow simultaneously demanding and gentle — asking everything of me, but promising that he’ll always be here to catch me when I fall.

I could’ve used someone like this in New York, someone’s chest to cry into, someone to tell me that, somehow, everything would turn out okay.

But if I’d met someone there, then I wouldn’t be here — and then we wouldn’t be getting it on in a cemetery just days before Halloween. And somehow that’s really damn sexy.

He wraps his arms around my waist and presses his hands into the small of my back, urging my hips closer to his. I am happy to comply, stretching a leg up and over his. I can feel his hardness nudging through the tight tent of his jeans.

Xander wants me, as is. That’s something I never felt in New York, not from a single person. Everything was alwaystrim upandlose weightandwatch your carbs, even though at size six I’m hardly overweight, the cardinal sin in the fashion industry. The industry’s so-called beauty standard in itself is ridiculous, of course — just as ridiculous as the fact that as a model, I was always too much. Why can’t women of all sizes and shapes be celebrated?

I drop my hand to cup Xander’s erection. He doesn’t seem to think I’m too much, and it’s so damn refreshing that I could cry.

Instead, I gasp, because Xander’s nibbling at the tender expanse of my neck while massaging my breasts. He’s barely touched me, and I can already feel how soaked my panties are. I need to feel him there, at my most intimate place, and soon.

I unbutton his jeans and open his zipper. His eyes fly to my face in surprise, but I only give him a sly smile and pop his cock from the confines of his pants.

Holding his shaft in my hand, so warm against the night’s chill, I admire his weight, how soft his skin his, how right this feels.

I take him in my mouth, wanting to show Xander how much this moment means to me — how muchhemeans. He rocks back onto his elbows, his gaze on me almost as hard as his rod.

Sucking, swirling, licking, lapping, I make love with my mouth to Xander’s sensitive member. I cup his balls with gentle fingers, squeezing and twisting, earning myself groans that make my skin prickle and my insides hum.

“Stop,” he commands suddenly, voice hoarse, the single syllable urgent.

I look up at him, questioning.

He combs his fingers through the hair that’s fallen across my forehead. There’s tension gathered on his forehead, but he has a smile for me. “You’re going to make me come.”

I lean my head to one side, lifting a single mischievous brow. “So?”

“So,” he growls, seizing my hips and lifting me like I’m as light as a fallen autumn leaf, laying me flat on my back and covering my body with his, “I want to make you mine before that happens.” Then he rocks back on his knees, fully clothed with only his beautiful penis exposed, conflict brewing in his eyes. “I mean, if that’s what you want—“

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