Page 96 of Parentmoon

“We can wait until you two leave tomorrow to start our honeymoon.” Michael’s reminder hits me like a ship plowing into a hidden reef.

Their honeymoon.

Dallas and I have just spent ten days using part of Michael and Keli’s original trip, and now they deserve their time here.

“Nonsense.” Dallas waves dismissively. “You need a wedding night. I’m sorry you’ve been bouncing around, baby girl. Tomorrow the house is all yours.”

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow will be the last day he greets me with his signature ‘good morning, darlin’.’ The last day I hear any words in that sexy Southern drawl of his. The last day he kisses me like I’m the air he needs to breathe. The last day he’ll link his pinky with mine and pull me to his chest, letting me breathe him in.

Only this morning did my feelings hit me hardest and as much as I want to brush them off as wedding fever and lovesickness, I can’t deny the true diagnosis is just love.

I’m in love with the father of my son’s bride.

And the sun has set on our parentmoon.

+ + +

After saying good night to our grown children, Dallas and I saunter to the house. Inside, we take a shower together but don’t touch like we have over the last ten days. I’m in bed first as Dallas double-checks locks. When he comes to the loft, he climbs up next to my extended legs, wrapping his arm over my pelvis. I’m sitting upright with pillows behind my back. He tucks his face into my hip.

“Whatcha doin’?” he mumbles. The day has been long. A morning wedding. An afternoon of sunshine and boating. A night of sunsets and alcohol. He sounds tired.

“I’m checking in for my flight.” Fighting the burn in my nose and the prickle of tears behind my eyes, I blink a few times, trying to focus on the airline app and the questions being asked to complete my check-in. And attempting to ignore the pain in my chest.

Earlier, Dallas told me I was all he wanted looking at him and he was the one looking at me, but he meant for the day. Our last day.

Tomorrow, Dallas and I will go our separate ways when I really want us to stay together.

His relaxed arm over me stiffens. He exhales and silence falls between us for a second. Then my tablet is being tugged from my hand and placed on the other side of his body.

“Hey, I wasn’t finished.”

“And I’m not finished with you,” he mutters to my lower body. His hands are on the sides of my underwear—a regular pair beneath his T-shirt—and he’s tugging them down my legs to my knees before he slips his body between my thighs, forcing me to spread. With my panties at my ankles, I kick them off.

Without much warning, Dallas leans in and devours me. I cry out at the first lap which is fierce and full-on, but then he slows, taking his time like I’m a treasured treat. His arms hook under my knees and hold my hips as his lazy licks cause me to feel like I’m coming out of my skin.

“Dallas? Baby,” I groan, swiping both hands over his head, needing more from him. He shakes his head between my thighs. Then his tongue shifts, and he moves an arm to place fingers at my entrance. His actions are languid, like he has all the time in the world to touch me, please me.

Soon enough, I am falling apart, and Dallas continues to take his time, drawing out every drip.

Next, he presses kisses on my inner thighs, moving from one leg to the other as if he’s stitching something together. One kiss is ribbon looping over a hook and the other side is that ribbon threaded through an eye. Back and forth, he weaves until he’s kissing the sides of my feet.

My body shivers from the attention. My position allows me a full view of this man worshiping my flesh. As he nears my toes, he makes a final kiss to each big one, and then he’s on his knees and working down his boxer briefs.

Watching his body tighten and flex as he removes the layer of clothing, I’m reminded of him throughout the day on the beach. He’s a work of art. Sculpted abs. Hard pecs. A blend of steel and midnight hairs on his chest.

I shrug off his T-shirt that I’ve worn to bed almost every night since I’ve been here. I’ll need to sneak it into my suitcase, claiming I’ll wash it for him when I get home, but know I’ll never return it.

Dallas crawls back over me and I scoot beneath him.

“Jo,” he whispers brushing back my hair. My name is like a thousand questions in one breath, and I don’t have answers for any of them.

His hand moves along the side of my face and down my arm before he reaches for himself and lines the masterpiece of his body at my entrance. With slow, measured movements, Dallas fills me with his heavy length. When he reaches the hilt, he pauses, glancing down at me. His eyes search mine while he brushes at the sides of my face again.

“Darlin’,” he breathes out and I breathe in, swallowing that endearment like I can keep it locked inside me, tucked into my heart.

A permanent corsage from my knight to his lady.