But, as tends to happen when I have too much time to think, my brain takes off down a road that is less happy and cozy thoughts, and more doom and gloom.
Arthur smooths the pad of his thumb in the space between my brows. “What’s going on in there?” he asks gently.
I could lie and pretend I’m thinking about work, but instead, the full truth comes out. “I want to tell you why I didn’t want to come back to Ojai, if that’s okay.” Some part of me needs him to understand why it’s so hard to be here, why I’ve been so adamant about leaving.
“Of course it’s okay. You can tell me anything, tesouro.” He kisses the top of my head and goes silent, waiting for me to begin.
“I wasn’t supposed to be born. My mom’s pregnancy was an accident, and my grandmother begged her to have an abortion. Mom was in her third year of college, on track to get a business degree, and she had an affair with a professor from another faculty. That’s how she got pregnant. She thought if she kept the baby, he’d leave his wife and take care of her, but he didn’t. He got a job in another state and left. During the entire pregnancy, according to Gran, my mom thought he’d come back for her. Well, hedidn’t do that, either. My mom dropped out of college. I was born.”
I take a breath, smoothing my hand over his chest. “She was heartbroken, and I don’t think she ever got over him. She drank a lot, but when I was about six or seven, she started using drugs.” He tenses for a moment, and it’s so quick I almost wonder if I imagined it. “I don’t know what kind, because I was too young, but I remember the change. I don’t think Gran ever knew how bad it got, or maybe she didn’t want to see it.
“Suddenly, there were always new men in our house. I think Mom was constantly chasing love. It was like that for years, and then one day I came home from school and there were a bunch of people there. Police officers and paramedics. Gran was there. She didn’t even pick me up from school early; she let me come home and see the aftermath for myself. The police tape all over the place. The flashing lights. The body bag being wheeled out of our house. Mom had overdosed, and one of her friends found her.”
Arthur’s grip on me tightens, and his breath hitches. I know if I look at him, I’ll lose it, so I keep going. “That was when I went to live with Gran, who blamed me for losing her only daughter. She had been a single mom, too, and she didn’t want that for my mom. Every day, I was reminded I’d been a mistake, so when I graduated from high school, I left. I did so intending to never come back.
“Then, all those weeks ago, I got a call from a doctor who told me my grandmother had advanced Alzheimer’s, and that I either needed to provide her with twenty-four-seven care myself or find a place that could do that for her. So here I am, trying to figure out how to sell a house full of painful memories and fire damage, in a town that birthed all my worst moments.” I chance a look at Arthur then,and find him openly crying, which instantly makes me do the same. “Sorry,” I whisper.
Shaking his head, he wipes my tears away. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I—Thank you for telling me.”
Reaching up, I touch my lips to his, but he keeps the kiss short. “Alice, I?—”
“I don’t want to talk anymore right now. Okay?” My fingers trace his jaw, letting the roughness of his stubble on my skin be the feeling I focus on.
“Yeah.” He swallows, his eyes still sad. But I don’t want to be sad. I want to enjoy the time I have with him because soon, it’ll end. At least now he knows why. Now he understands.
I straddle him and begin trailing kisses down his neck, over his chest. He’s quiet, but his breathing picks up.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” I whisper into his skin. “What do they mean?” I’ve always wondered about the colorful flowers and birds he has on his skin, and I have never asked.
“The flowers are for my grandmother. They’re roses. Her favorites.” He moans when I kiss over his abs, running my hand over the waistband of his boxer briefs. “But we’re not gonna talk about her right now.”
“What about the birds?” I ask, chuckling while I pull on the fabric until he’s naked beneath me, hoping none of the other tattoos are for family members, too.
“The sabiá-laranjeira is Brazil’s national bird. I remember the first time I heard them singing, there were thousands of them. It was—” He pauses when my lips reach his hip, and I stop moving, waiting for him. “Incredible,” he mumbles, groaning when I continue to kiss him lower.
“And the hummingbird?” I ask, my lips hovering over where he’s hard for me. He doesn’t answer, and when Iswirl my tongue over the head of his cock, tasting him with a moan, a strangled sound leaves him. “Arthur, are you going to answer my question?”
He struggles to answer me again, fisting the sheets when I lick him from base to tip.
“Uh, I l-like them. They’re a symbol of, um, uh, r-resilience. They—They’re, uh delicate, b-but strong.” He struggles through the explanation as I continue to tease him with my mouth, and when he finishes, I wrap my lips around him and take him as deeply as I can. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers, his breath catching when I hum around him, sucking as I somehow take him even deeper.
Lifting my gaze, I find his eyes already on me, and it makes my core throb to see him watching me with fire in his eyes. I moan, searching for friction as I squeeze my thighs together.
And then, faster than I can fully process in the moment, he’s lifting me so I’m straddling him again and pulling my oversized T-shirt over my head, his heated gaze making my core throb.
“You want my cock, baby?” With all the confidence in the world, he puts his hands behind his head and waits.
“Yes,” I answer, bracing my hands on his abs until the head of his cock grazes over my clit, making me moan.
“Then take it, tesouro. Take what’s yours. Ride me. Soak me.” I move my hips, coating him in the proof of what he does to my body.
Finding some confidence of my own, I lift my leg and maneuver myself until I’m straddling him again, but facing the other way. Keeping my eyes low, I use one hand to guide him to my entrance and the other to brace myself on his thigh.
“Goddamn it, how are you real?” The awe in his question only spurs me on more, and I sink down onto him,whimpering at the delicious stretch and pleasure that seems to reach every part of me.
I lift and lower myself until all that exists are our labored breaths and the feel of him, long and so hard inside me. As my movements become more erratic, I know I can’t keep this up much longer, and Arthur senses it, as he holds me at the waist. “On your hands and knees, tesouro.”
Holy hell, I might come just from his deep, gravelly voice commanding me. I do as he asks, and whine when he slips out of me, only to find myself moaning loudly the next moment when he thrusts fully inside me with a groan.
