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Her teeth sank into her bottom lip. “Something like that.”
I stroked her hair, and my fingers trailed down her neck and across her breasts. “I’ve never seen more perfect tits. Seriously, they’re works of art.”
Her head tipped back in laughter. I loved seeing this side of her, all light and relaxed. “That’s awfully poetic. I’ve never been very impressed with them. They aren’t big, but they aren’t too small either. They’re just… average.”
“Nothing average about them,” I said, my fingers trailing from one to the next, and her nipples were hard enough to cut glass now. “They’re the perfect handful, with pretty pink nipples, full enough, yet I can still get my mouth around them.”
“Oh my God,” she groaned. “Stop talking about my boobs.”
“Fine. I’ll stop talking about them if I can keep touching them.”
“They’re yours till the sun comes up, remember?”
“I remember, Queenie.”
We were quiet for a few minutes, and now she was running her fingers up and down my arm.
“Tell me about the ink you’ve got. I love all the colors, and I’ve tried to make out the writing, but you never stand still long enough for me to do that,” she whispered.
“My parents’ names are in script here,” I said, placing a hand over hers and moving it to my right shoulder.
“They passed away when you were young, right?” she whispered.
It was quiet again. This was not something I talked about with anyone. Hell, I didn’t even talk about it with Kingston very often.
“They were killed in a car accident when I was five years old. That’s when Kingston and I moved to Magnolia Falls to live with my grandparents.”
She stilled for a moment before her fingers trailed along my arm again. “I’m so sorry, River. Were they the only ones in the car?”
“No. I was in the back seat. They were taking me to my first hockey game for my birthday. Apparently, I wanted to be a hockey player when I was young,” I said, trying hard to keep my tone light, when the back of my throat was already burning. I didn’t like to talk about this shit.
“Were you hurt?”
“I spent six months in the hospital, recovering. My grandmother stayed with me the whole time.”
“King wasn’t in the car with you?”
“He was home with the babysitter because he was too young to go. The dude had the attention span of a Labrador puppy back then. Hell, he’s the same way now. He doesn’t really remember much about them or about that time, which I guess is both a blessing and a curse.”
She pushed up on an elbow, one hand resting on my chest as she looked down at me. “But you remember them? You remember the accident?”
“I remember things about them. The way they loved us, I guess. I remember my mom’s smile and my dad’s laugh. I remember being in the hospital and feeling really fucking sad. But that’s as deep as it goes.”
She ran a finger over my eyebrows, down the bridge of my nose, and along my bottom lip. “That’s pretty deep. Those memories can’t be easy.”
“Shit happens, right?”
I nodded. “Yeah. I guess shit does happen. But that doesn’t mean you can’t grieve or be sad or struggle with it.”
“Okay, Dr. Rose. That’s enough psychoanalyzing for the day.” I pulled her down and wrapped my arms around her.
I’d never slept with a woman in my arms.
Never wanted to.
But I really wanted to keep her right here.
At least for now.
