“I needed this. Just this. The air, the sun, good company,” she glances towards where Calida is snoring softly in her shields, sleeping off a pizza coma.
“We aren’t done yet.”
My heart picks up its pace until I feel it galloping in my ears. I had been simultaneously terrified and hopeful that this picnic, this nod to our special place and our past, would light a fire of remembrance in Ash. That it could encourage her memories to the surface.
I pick up the book of fairy tales I’d tried to keep out of sight until now. When her eyes light up at the cover, I have a moment of intense hope.
“I love those stories!” She sits up, taking the book from me. She flips idly through the pages, tracing some of the breathtaking illustrations with the tip of one finger. “This book is almost seventy years old. I can’t imagine creating something that would last that long and touch so many people.”
I tug the book away from her, leaning my back against the tree and opening it next to me on the ground. After studying me for a moment, she moves her pillow closer, then lays her hip against it, letting her body slowly relax until she’s tucked against my chest. I wrap my arm around her waist, letting my finger tips linger on the exposed skin where her shirt has ridden up.
With my fingers brushing against her soft skin, I hear her contented sigh as I turn to the first story and begin to read.
Later, she’s lying back on the bed, legs bent, head tilted to the side with a soft, dreamy smile on her lips. The room is dark save for the soft glow of lamplight. She’s wearing one of my T-shirts, no bra, no panties. It hangs loose over her thighs, teasing the edges of what’s already mine.
I kneel between her legs, shirtless, my hands slow, deliberate as I smooth up the outside of her thighs. Her breath catches when I hook my fingers under the hem of the shirt and it begins to lift.
She raises her arms, arching up, letting me peel it away. When it’s gone, I stop and marvel at what’s before me. It seems like miles of skin, dusted softly over long, lean muscle.
When the barrier is gone, she’s bare to me, flushed and waiting.
“I love looking at you,” I murmur, voice low, gravelly. “You don’t know how many nights I’ve dreamed about this.”
Her brow furrows slightly, but she doesn’t ask. Not tonight. Not with the way I’m touching her — like worship, like a man who’s missed something he thought he’d lost forever. As I am.
I bend forward, kissing the inside of her knee. Then higher. And higher still. She squirms, breath catching in anticipation.
When my mouth finally brushes her inner thigh, she gasps — a soft, startled sound that only makes me groan against her skin. I part her legs further, my thumbs resting on her hips as I lower myself completely, face inches from her heat. I spread her wider.
She’s already wet. Already aching. Her hands grip the sheets beside her.
I start slowly, my tongue making a single unhurried pass over her folds. She jerks at the contact, hips lifting.
“Gods…” she breathes.
I hum against her — low and pleased — and do it again, this time flicking the tip of my tongue over her clit with teasing precision. She cries out softly, hips shifting, legs tightening around my shoulders.
But I don’t rush her. I hold her open, lapping at her slowly, thoroughly — tasting her like she’s as sacred as she is.
My tongue moves with purpose — alternating dragging strokes with soft, focused flicks of my tongue against her clit. She’s gasping now, her hips grinding against my face, her hands in my hair, tugging with increasing desperation.
“I—I can’t—” she pants.
“Yes, you can,” I murmur against her. “Let me.”
I suck her clit between my lips, tongue circling it, pressure just right — and sheshatters.
Her whole body goes taught, thighs clamping around my head, a loud, helpless moan spilling from her lips. Her back arches off the bed, head thrown back, hands gripping my shoulders as waves of pleasure roll through her.
I don’t stop until she’s trembling, shaking. Wrung out and gasping, thighs twitching on either side of my head. Only then do I press one last, soft kiss to her inner thigh and rise over her.
Her eyes flutter open, dazed and wide.
“You…” she swallows. “That was…”
I kiss her gently, catching her breath with my own. “I know,” I say. “I remember.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
