Page 74 of Speak from the Heart

“How’s Katie?” I ask. The question might burst his bubble, but his focus on me intensifies.

“How did you do it?”

“I didn’t do anything.” I hold his gaze.

“Why did she speak for you?”

“It wasn’t me,” I tell him. “It was just . . . time. I guess?”

“It’s all that make-believe you fed her.”

“I told you once before that sometimes you just need to believe in something. Real or not.”

He continues to look at me.

“Make me believe,” he whispers. “Make me believe this was real. You. Me.” His hand cups my cheek and then his lips lower to mine. He takes his time kissing me. His kisses are as soft as the petals of the flower he stroked over my face. Delicate and fragile. I know I’m going to break if we do this, if he makes love to me again.

One final time.

We start slow, the pace measured as his hands roam my body. He tugs down the blanket covering me, grabs my sleep shirt, and removes it by pulling it up and over my head. When I lie back, he’s quick to take off my shorts, and then he lies beside me. He strokes down the center of my body and back up with the flower head of the daisy. The soft petals circle a breast before he drops the daisy to use his fingertips, callused and rough from labor, and I love the feel of them on my skin. His fingers trail over the slope and tweak my nipple between his forefinger and thumb. He plucks at me and then moves to the other breast. His eyes follow his motions as if he’s memorizing the swell and dip of my breasts.

His palm flattens, coasts up my chest, and covers my throat. He leans down to kiss me with his fingers pressed to the pulse hammering at my neck. When he pulls back, his nose rubs against mine. His hand continues to travel my body. It glides to my center and curls over the mound. He slips two fingers into me, and I bow off the bed a bit, melting under his touch.

“You’re so perfect,” he says to me, and I close my eyes. I can’t listen to his sweet words. Let this just be sex, but I know I’m lying to myself. I’ve never felt the way I feel when I’m with this man.

While his fingers work, his mouth lowers to my breast, and sucks at it. The onslaught of sensation brings me quickly to a breaking point. I softly cry out my pleasure. He shifts over my body and moves his mouth to my other breast before pressing kisses down my midsection. He moves down my body once again. His face settles between my thighs, and his tongue lashes forward. His tongue that snapped and snipped at me when we first met. The same one he used to call me pushy. The one that kissed me in a library. That tongue now works at my core, and I’m rapidly approaching a cresting point again. My hips rock, and the gentle force brings him closer against me. He laps and licks before sucking at my clit, and I crash once more.

He presses a final kiss on my sensitive folds, then sits back and tugs his own T-shirt over his head. He tosses it aside and shifts off the bed to pull down his shorts and boxers in one smooth movement. Naked and beautiful, he brings his lean body back over mine and holds himself at my entrance.

“You’ve broken the spell put on my daughter, but you’ve put one on me instead. I can’t get enough of you.” He enters me with a slow surge forward, filling me to the hilt. Pausing, we breathe each other in. His mouth hovers over mine, not kissing me but stealing my breath.

“I can’t let you go,” he says, and my heart breaks. He must. I need to leave. We haven’t spoken about my new reason for leaving. We are only this, right now, joined as one. He pulls back, and my hands cup his firm ass, holding him before he withdraws completely. He thrusts forward, and we both gasp. We repeat the dance a few times, but it’s not long before we can’t keep it slow. Our tempo increases, and his fingers move to my core once again.

“Not three,” I whisper. I don’t think I can come again.

“Three,” he demands, flicking at my clit while he enters me over and over again. The tension builds, and he knows it’s coming. I’m amazed how well he knows my body after only a few times together.

“There it is,” he mutters, pleased with himself as my legs stiffen and my back arches, drawing him into me as I melt around him. It’s slow and languid, dragged out over his length, and it makes me hum. My hands skim up and down his spine and coast over the warmth of his skin as I rub myself against him, clenching around him until he warns me.

“I’m coming.” He pumps into me three times himself before stilling, and I feel the warmth within. He holds himself up as if he can see what’s happening inside me, and then he collapses, blanketing me for a moment in the heat of his body. After too short a time, he rolls us to the side, keeping us attached and tugs me tight against his chest.

“I’m sorry for what I said to you.”

I tip up my head, expressing my question with my face.

“I shouldn’t have told you to shut up like that.” He slips from me, rolls to his back, and swipes at his hair, tucking his hand behind his head. I scoot into his side and wrap my leg over his.

“You seemed very frustrated this evening.” Frustrated isn’t the correct word, but I’m softening the blow after what we’ve just done. He looks away from me.

“You’re still leaving tomorrow?” It’s a question, not a statement of fact, but it sounds like a clarification of his earlier attitude.

“I got offered a new position.”

“When?” He pulls back to gaze at me.

“I took the call a few hours ago. A colleague quit, and they offered me his column. It’s a great opportunity for me. It’s what I’ve been waiting for,” I say, but instantly, I feel the burn of the words.

Jess stares at me. His eyes move over my face before his brows crease together. With my voice remaining monotone, even I heard the unspoken question within it.

Am I making the right decision?

He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead.

When he leans away, he says, “Guess I won’t be seeing you around after all, Emily Post of Chicago.” He’s trying to tease me, but the humor is lost on both of us.

“Guess not,” I whisper before he tucks me into his chest. We both know it’s the end of our story.