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With a sly smile, I slip my arms around his neck, and whisper, “Then take me to my room.”
I yelp, when in the same second, I’m tossed over Noah’s shoulder, and just like that… we’re headed to my room.
Noah
* * *
I take the steps two at a time, and when I push into her room, my feet jerk to a stop. Holy shit.
Fuck me.
Slowly, I lower her to her feet, my eyes flicking to hers.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she whispers, a hint of bashfulness washing over her cheeks.
I squeeze her palms, but quickly release her, moving to the calendar lying open on her bed, red rose petals all around it.
The room itself is lined with red-dimmed lights, and flameless candles are lit all around the room, something I should be doing for her. Something I planned to do for her, the items in my bag in the truck proof of that, but this…
The calendar.
The item that led her back to me.
But it’s not the same one. It’s open to February, this month, and the image on the top half is of her, wearing my letterman’s jacket. Wearing nothing but my letterman’s jacket.
She’s angled to the side slightly, sitting back on her knees, her legs bent just right to hide what’s mine, the jacket pulled in close, but only enough so that the buttons of the jacket hides her nipples, the swell of her breasts, her breastbone, and stomach on full display.
Her brown hair is down and silky straight, her eyes covered in golden glitter, her lashes thick and painted black. Her arms are bent as well, gripping onto the collar as she stares straight into the camera, the tips of her blue-painted nails, the only thing showing through the sleeves, it’s so large on her tiny frame.
I pick it up and look to her.
She smiles from the doorway, her gown glowing against the shine of the candles in the room.
“Wait until you see the ones in your jersey.”
Heat pulls at my groin, and I stalk toward her, but her hands dart up, halting me, and I glare.
Ari chuckles softly, her palms gliding up my chest. “Turn to July.”
“You covered in red and blue paint?” I picture it, her body dripping with color and nothing else.
Laughter leaves her again and she shakes her head, a softness falling over her.
Eager for more, I quickly turn to August, and my muscles grow weak. I don’t remember moving backward, but suddenly, I’m sitting on the edge of the bed, staring down at a photo of her and me, the one my mom’s nurse took of us back in November.
But the photo, it’s not the one I saw. It’s not the one where we’re smiling for the camera, the one my mother had up in her room for her to see, for us to see. It’s the moments before.
When I was overcome with Ari’s understanding as she led us to the fountain rather than timestamping sorrow to the memory of fall pumpkins and hay bales.
I’d sat down, lowered her into my lap, angled her so she was sideways, her shoulder pressed into my chest, and called her eyes to mine. The shot was taken right then, when she looked to me, and I see it there, what I had hoped for then, but couldn’t dare claim, just in case.
Her love for me.
It’s so obvious.
My Juliet.
“Where… where did you get this?” My voice is a raspy whisper.
She comes to me, steps between my legs and lifts my head, her hands gliding into my hair.
“Your mom… she left it for me.”
My lungs squeeze, and I grip her, gently dropping the calendar to the floor on the other side of the bed.
“There’s more—” she begins, but I’ve pulled her down, taking her lips as my own.
Because they are.
Every fucking part of her, is mine.
I kiss her savagely, my tongue tangling with hers, and then I’m sucking hers, biting at her lips, chin, neck. “More will have to wait. I need inside you. Now, now. Right now.”
“Then why are your sweats still on?”
I groan, tossing her on the bed, kicking my joggers off in one motion, and then I’m settled over her, between her thighs and that hint of wild clashes in her brown eyes.
My hand slips under the dress, my palms clamping around her lower thigh, and I drag the material with me. “Is this the dress? The one you were going to wear for me that night?”
She nods, licking her lips as she watches my hand grow closer and closer to her sweet spot. “My favorite color.”
I groan, and then my muscles lock, because as I reach the apex of her thigh, there’s no soft cotton, no silky string. No panties to be found.
Ari bites her lip, presses her head into the pillow and smirks. “Exactly what you’d have found that night. Me, bare for you.”
