Page 57 of Quiver

“Kylie.” Fletcher’s voice went low, probably as a warning, but it only served to send a shiver of anticipation through her.

She took the final step until only inches separated them. “I don’t think any of it was a lie. I know something we both wanted very much, and if you want honesty, that part hasn’t changed.”

They stared into each other’s eyes, waiting, anticipating, challenging each other to see who would blink first, but Kylie knew, and she suspected Fletcher did, too. There were some things neither of them could deny and no amount of hard lessons learned could fully overcome.

Finally, after too many tense seconds and long, lonely years, Fletcher released her hold on the pitchfork, allowing Kylie to cast it aside and instead grab hold of her. Clutching at the front of her shirt, she planted her feet and pulled.

They collided in every way at once, slamming into each other with a force stronger than physical impact.

All the air left her lungs, swallowed by Fletcher’s need meeting her own. They kissed frantically, like two people who’d learned everything they ever needed to know by doing exactly this. Fletcher’s lips were heaven and home, and also, so fucking hot as they melded to Kylie’s. She pressed into her, hungry for more, desperate to possess as she swept her tongue along Fletcher’s, then nipped at slightly chapped lips.

Fletcher groaned, and her hips rocked to meet Kylie’s, further evidence their bodies remembered things their brains had worked to unlearn. She’d always been that way, saying more without words than any woman Kylie had ever known, and a sense of precious power welled within her. Kylie understood so little these days, and only a small portion of the things she held tightly to actually mattered. But this woman managed to be so many things rolled into one, from her brooding expressions to the set of her shoulders, the way she held herself back and the way she fell forward into her. Fletcher was every glorious paradox she’d ever craved, and the pure decadence of pressing against her now would’ve shattered Kylie if not for the overarching drumbeat of desire urging her forward.

She deepened the kiss, lips parted, breath fast, hot, and shared as Fletcher met her every movement. If Kylie could’ve crawled into her, she would have. Instead, she tightened her hold on the thin cotton Henley clenched in her fist. That shirt symbolized all the frustration that held them apart needlessly, and if she’d had the strength, she would’ve shredded it. She needed bare skin, vulnerability, raw connection. Tugging almost frantically, she dislodged their kiss long enough to rip the shirt and the one below it over Fletcher’s head. Then she clamped her mouth back along her neck. Fletcher tilted her chin, the subtle sign of surrender, making Kylie’s vision go white as she licked the hint of salt along her skin.

She cupped a firm breast in one hand, palming the softness even as she bit into the hard muscle of Fletcher’s shoulder. She relished the contrast while aching to consume. She wanted to own her, to keep her within arm’s reach, to make sure they never, ever forgot again, and at the same time she wanted to burn everything to the ground, letting the flames singe them both until there was nothing left but a pile of ashes in the spot where the barn once stood.

“Fletcher,” she murmured into the hollow at the base of her throat, drunk with the hope that the echo of that name might circle back around to her again and again.

Strong hands sank into her hair, sifting through the strands until fingertips scraped against her scalp. Pectoral muscles flexed under her lips, and she grazed her teeth down to take a nipple between them with a tug. Fletcher sucked a sharp breath, and her abs contracted as Kylie scratched along the ridges hard enough to leave a raised trail of pink from the underside of her breasts to the buckle of her belt. While this body before her certainly qualified as a work of art worth worshiping, she had no intention of handling it gently. She would leave her imprint here, rough and rash and wild. She jerked open the belt, and Fletcher stumbled forward, reaching out one hand to steady herself on a low beam.

Kylie sidestepped her, wrapping an arm around her waist and using the shift in balance to reposition herself so her lips brushed against Fletcher’s ear from behind. “Stay.”

For the first time in twelve years, Fletcher heeded a command without argument. Perhaps Kylie’s grip on the zipper of her pants made her more amenable to taking directions. She pulled it down in one sharp move and slipped her entire hand under the waistband of her boxer briefs.

She wasn’t sure which one of them gasped as fingertips slid into the pool of wetness waiting for her, but all the blood and good sense left Kylie’s brain, surging toward the pulse point between her own legs.

“Oh Fletch,” she practically purred as she split her fingers around the hard center of her need. “You’ve been holding out on me.”

Fletcher’s jaw muscles strained, but Kylie nipped at her earlobe, then sucked until she relaxed, before asking, “How long have you been like this?”

Fletcher shook her head, but Kylie increased her pressure and began to work in small circles.

“Tell me, please.” Her voice sounded calm compared to the ragged breath causing Fletcher’s chest to rise and fall. “Has it been all day?”

Fletcher gave a slight nod.

“All week?”

Another little dip of her head, and Kylie took the chance to inhale the scent of her, musk, hay, need, a sandalwood shampoo in dark curls.

“Since I got back to town?”

Fletcher didn’t answer, and Kylie didn’t intend to torture her or force her surrender. Not now, not like this. She circled faster and harder before pulling back as much as the tight jeans would allow and teased lightly as she tried again. “Tell me how long you’ve tried to convince yourself this was a lie?”

Fletcher gritted her teeth so forcefully Kylie could feel the grind in the place where their cheeks met, but she rasped out, “Twelve.”

Kylie slipped lower, her palm pressed against Fletcher’s clit. “Twelve what?”

Her chin dipped all the way to her chest as the last of the fight drained out of her, replaced by something much stronger as she growled, “Years.”

Something snapped inside Kylie as she cupped Fletcher fully in her hand and used the other to smother one of her breasts from behind. Grinding, grasping, her hips snugged against Fletcher’s ass like some sort of saddle as they rocked together. Fletcher pressed both hands to the overhead beam to keep herself upright, but Kylie held onto her, and only her.

“Yes.” Fletcher’s body thrust forward. “Fuck, Kye, yes. I don’t know.”

“Shh,” she whispered in her ear. “I know. This is how I used to touch myself when I’d think of you.”

Fletcher’s head rolled back onto Kylie’s shoulder as if that information might be too heavy for her brain to bear.