AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I move on instinct. I act on drive alone, rising onto my tiptoes, my hands slide up his torso, over his shoulders, and around his neck. I pull him down to me and kiss him. He lets me have control of this kiss, so my lips against his are soft and hesitant and hopeful.
He tastes like coffee andhim.He didn't shave this morning, and the stubble is deliciously sharp against my soft skin. When I break the kiss, I close my eyes as he drops his forehead to mine.
“You don't have to tell me now. You don't have to show me anything now. But when you do—when you want to—when you're ready—I'm here.” That's all I say as I turn around, pull two bowls from the cupboard, and fill them with baked potato soup. I sprinkle the bacon bits that I fried earlier into the soup with cheese and sour cream. Then I hand him a bowl, grab my wine from the counter, and head for the table.
He follows me silently, his eyes watching me, taking me in, studying me. I try not to be uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Try not to wonder what he sees, but I can't help it. I want to know what he sees when he looks at me. I want to know what he wants from me.
I wish we met in another less odd way. As crazy and beautifully lovely our story could become if we made it into something more, the reality is that this is not easy. This is bizarre, and there's no roadmap for this. For us.
I don't know what we're doing. I don't know what we can possibly become. But I know I want more, and that's terrifying because my life isn't here. I'm not Mom. I'm not crazy and wild and reckless. I don't have her Gypsy Soul. As much as I think I would love to just pick up and run away to wherever my heart led me, I'm not sure that I can—or that I would. And that kind of makes me sad.
ChapterFifteen
Nick
It's been a long time since I've woken with a woman in my arms. Truth be told, I've never woken with a woman in my arms. Not like this. Beside me, yes. Close, yes. But never with her chest pressed against mine, her head in the nook of my shoulder, her hand palming the other side of my neck. I've never felt the slow, steady puff of breath from a woman's mouth against my chest in the still of the morning.
Patricia wasn't one for cuddling. She said I got too hot, and that I snore. Sadie doesn't seem to mind even if I do get too hot or that I might snore. It's so early it's still dark outside, but I can tell the storm has settled. The idea of the storm not keeping her here is terrifying to me. I don't want to lose her. I don't want her to leave.
I don't want to spend this holiday alone. Not after having her. Not after kissing her. Not after holding her all night. The idea that she could see the clear skies as the path to escape makes me feel sick inside.
What am I going to do if she decides to leave?
What am I going to do if she calls a taxi and disappears from my life forever? Worse, what am I going to do if she asks me to drive her to the airport?
I have half a mind to make her stay. The other half is seriously considering going outside and cutting down a tree like a lumberjack, offering her an incentive to stay by telling her she can decorate it—giving her something, anything to do so that she doesn't go.
This tiny woman in my arms has turned my world upside down and inside out in days.
I don't know what she could do if she had the three weeks she was planning on staying. She would wreck me, destroy my life, changeeverything. The funny thing is that I want to do all that.
She lets out a little sigh and snuggles in deeper. Like she's not ready to let go of this, me. I like that—the idea that she wants to cling to me like I want to cling to her. I like it a lot. Too much.
After a baked potato soup—which was fucking delicious—she gave me two options. We could play Yahtzee like old people, because she printed off Yahtzee cards as I certainly didn't have any. Or we could watch a movie. I'm a dude, a man, so of course, I picked movie.
Of course, she picked some cheesy Hallmark Christmas romance. It was terrible. I suffered through it, and it couldn't have been that good, because not three quarters of the way in, her head was on my shoulder, and she was asleep.
If I was a better man, I'd have woken her at the end of the movie. But it didn't. I slid down the couch, taking her with me. I pulled her into my side, her head on my chest, the throw over us, and I let myself have that moment. Then I let myself take the entire night.
As I hold her now, I'm hard as fuck. I want her with a fierceness that I've never felt for any other woman in my life.
I want to taste her and lose myself inside her. I've taken enough liberties with her already, so I don't move. I hardly breathe. I'm torn between elation at having her in my arms all night long, and fear of what the day—the clear skies and undoubted sun after the storm will bring.
The wind is silent this morning. The battering of snow against the siding of the house is still. The entire world feels still in this moment.
It's usually at times like these, alone in this house, that I feel the pointed ache of my loneliness. I don't feel lonely with this woman here in my arms, though.
I feel like a king who can take on the world.
Shemakes me feel like I can take on the world, anything, anyone.
She fits against me, even though she's tiny. She's like the missing piece of the puzzle I've been aching to find, searching blindly for.
She sighs and my heart lurches. Sleep is leaving her, and with her awareness she might leave me too. My arm pulses around her waist. It's involuntary, and I wince. I want to hold her closer, to keep her with me, to roll her onto her back and pin her captive beneath me on the couch—to never let her escape. I want to steal kisses from her mouth and burn my touch into her skin in a way that she'll wear me forever. Kind of like I wear my scars, etched into me, burned into me by flame.
I wouldn't mind being the flame that burns her—that etches me onto her skin—into her sighs.
Into every moan, and hope, and dream—into her heart.
