It’s reckless, but—again—I’m not waiting.
Anything to remove the pain in his eyes. Anything to keep him from feeling guilt.
I’ll give it to him.
In a flash, he reaches out and yanks me forward, lips crashing into mine. His tongue dips and twirls, parting my lips and tasting me thoroughly. He groans and I urge him on, pressing myself further into him.
His mouth leaves mine, moving to nip at my neck, and on instinct my head rolls to the side eager to grant access. I stumble into the tree, the rough bark chafing against my sheer dress. We stare at each other, both of us panting for air.
One-handed, he grips both my wrists, and with the other, he unknots his tie. The black silk slips from around his neck with ease, and he tugs the fabric over both my hands, drawing it tight.
My stomach muscles tighten.
His hand finds my shoulder—gentle and slow compared to the way his mouth ravaged mine a second ago. My breath catches as his other hand slides to my hip, and I don’t resist as heturns me slowly, until my back is to his chest and I’m suddenly able to count the striations in the oak bark in front of me.
Heat radiates off him through my dress, past my spine, and tucks up into my ribs. I can’t see his face, but I can feel the way he’s breathing against my neck. Sporadic. Unsure. Yet entirely focused.
Noah isn’t uncontrolled most of the time, but in these moments, the ones where I make him chase me, he’s close to coming undone. I love that—that I can drive him wild.
He holds me secure against him, and even though I told him to do whatever he needs with me, he whispers, “Tell me if it’s too much.”
Wrists tied together above me, my palms flatten against the bark. Oddly, I note how dry it is under this canopied oak with the slowing rain.
I have to admit, the writer in me acknowledges there’s something poetic about the woods. Perhaps healing. Darkened by cloud cover to resemble that night all those years ago. Except I want this.Iwant this.
The thought does me in, and I breathe out his name, my forehead falling to the rough bark.
With my forearms propping me up, there’s enough room for him to slide his hands around me. His breath skirts along the shell of my ear. “I love you. I’d break every damn rule in my book for you, Lil.”
I whimper, and a rush, thrilling in nature and like tumbling off a cliff, unravels me completely.
I’m not sure why his words feel like a goodbye. A final exit. The drawing of the damn curtain. But it does, and that breaks me a little.
When we pull up to my car behind the diner, I gather my bag, taking longer than I should and pretending the strap was caught on my foot so I can linger just a bit longer with him. When it’s too obvious what I’m doing, I drop the bag in my lap and look at him.
Rose’s final words to me the day she died echo in the back of my mind, but perhaps this is the best way I can support him. Leave him be to grieve.
Part of me wonders if he’s assuming I’ll be at the house. I’m not sure he knows I haven’t been staying there, but it’s not the time to bring it up. Mitch has me on the schedule almost every day for the next two weeks. He told me yesterday he figured I could use the distraction after Ms. Sullivan’s death, and I’m grateful.
Yeah … Noah probably needs time, and I love him enough to give it to him. I just hope he doesn’t decide I’m not worth his time anymore.
“Are you okay?” he asks. His tie is haphazardly repositioned over his neck, and his eyes sunken in like he could use a good nap.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“I’ll see ya later?”
I offer him a tight-lipped smile but don’t say more. Climbing out of the truck, I splash into a puddle and curse while shutting the door. Figures.
Noah waits while I dig around for my keys. Then, after I’ve unlocked my car and climbed inside, he pulls away.
I start my car, warming it up, and grab for my bag of clothes in the back seat. After changing into sweatpants and one ofNoah’s shirts, I lean my seat back. I pull at the K-9 Unit logo on the front of the shirt and grab for my phone.
My mind wanders to Ruin: my grandparent’s bed-and-breakfast, my brothers, my parents. Did my grandfather put in the pond he wanted to? Did my dad retire early? I picture the golden hay fields, my parents’ community parties, even my mom’s gardens.
My eyes close as I walk through my parent’s home, an old plantation they’ve always kept in outstanding condition. Eucalyptus candles burn throughout the home, and the scent is overpowering in my memories. It isn’t until my eyes burn and pop open do I realize I’m crying.
Hands trembling, I twist my phone. No messages from Noah. Not that I expect there to be.
