Page 66 of Chasing Clouds

“Do you need me to stay?” I ask, narrowing my gaze and looking for any clue that she does. I would in a heartbeat if she wanted me to.

“No, but thank you. They’ll never stop unless I make them. It didn’t use to be this way—I didn’t use to be this way.” She shakes her head and pulls away from me. “It’s important to me that you know that.”

“Okay.” I agree with her, because it does seem important to her, but I have no idea what she’s talking about. How has her life ever been any different?

“It’s because of my past, and the things I have to say to them . . . it won’t be a shock.”

I nod; she seems so certain. “Well, you know I’m only a phone call away.”

“I do.” She inches closer and rubs a soothing hand up my chest. Giving me a grateful smile, she adds, “And I appreciate that more than you will ever know.”

She grabs her phone off the counter and we move back into the living room.

“Do you know what you want me to order?” she asks as I flip on her television and select a music channel.

“No, I’m indifferent. It doesn’t matter.”

Sitting down on the couch, I reach for her hand and pull her to straddle me. Her legs fall beside my hips as she settles on my thighs, and she stills.

Instantly, the music playing in the background is lost. My senses are overloaded, sight winning out, consuming my attention. Neither one of us moves, just staring at each other.

“You are so beautiful,” I whisper, taking in so many details of her face. Pale blonde hair, heart-shaped face, perfect eyebrows, freckles across her nose, and a bottom lip slightly fuller than the top. Reaching up, I tuck a few loose strands of her hair behind her ear. My fingers tremble, but she doesn’t seem to notice.

Her eyes widen just a little, and she takes in a long, slow breath before releasing it in a rush.

Tossing her phone on the couch next to us, her hands run up my arms and wrap around the sides of my face, her thumbs brushing the stubble across my cheekbones.

“Reid . . .” She pauses, her eyes imploring me to already know what she wants to say, but I don’t, and that makes me afraid, because it might not be something I’m ready to hear. Sucking her bottom lip between her teeth, she blinks, and little wrinkles form between her brows.

With my hands on her hips and a slight shake of my head to keep her silent, I pull her closer until her chest brushes mine and my lips seal onto hers.

Hours and hours I’ve spent kissing her over the last few weeks, but this kiss feels different, more. It’s unhurried, deeper, more sentimental and tragic at the same time. Her fingers run across my scalp and tangle in my hair. I mimic her, gripping her silky strands and tilting her head to taste even more. She feels me harden beneath her and rolls her hips, letting out a small moan.

God, what her sounds do to me.

Piece by piece, our clothes vanish. We take our time exploring and memorizing in the late afternoon light, until finally, rising up, she positions herself over me then sinks down. My eyes roll back in my head and the tendons strain in my neck. This is the purest kind of torture—knowing how out of this world this feels, how she feels, and that I can’t have it every day.

“Reid,” she whispers, her eyes closed. Her head tilts back, and her hair tickles my hands as I begin to guide her hips to move with mine. Her face is a mixture of pure pleasure and pain—pleasure because the two of us together is complete ecstasy, pain because this is devastating her heart like it is mine, and I completely understand.

Time passes.

There’s no frenzy, no rush, only a gentle tenderness to our cadence that creates and builds something so intense, it leaves us both shaking in the end.

I pull her as close as I can, her chest flattens against mine, and she tucks her face into my neck.

Somewhere in the deepest part of me, I hear a whisper like strokes of a feather. It cherishes her and calls her my wife, and in this moment, she is, by every definition of the word. She’s my wife, I’m her husband, and what we just shared was real and true. I made love to my wife.

Warm wetness rolls over my collarbone and onto my chest.

“Hey.” I tip her chin so she looks at me. There are sad, watery tears in her big blue eyes, a pout on her swollen lips. She blinks a few times as I study her, and my heart damn near bursts. I can’t allow this to be because of me. I need her smiling, not crying. “This isn’t over. We aren’t over—you know that, right? I’m not going to disappear, and neither are you.”

“I’m not ready to say goodbye to you,” she says quietly, like she’s not supposed to admit it out loud.

“Then don’t.” It’s as simple as that.

She lets out a sigh, the muscles in her face relax, and after a few blinks, the sorrow recedes.

“Like we’ve said since the beginning, nothing has to be decided today, okay?” I trail my fingers over her face, erasing the tracks of the few escaped tears.