Knowing the practical application I’m surprised when instead of sliding his hips between mine, he settles lower on the bed. The hair that he wore slicked back has lost its shape. Strands hang over his forehead as he leans down.
I start to ask what he’s doing, but the first touch of his tongue to my core silences me. I don’t care what he’s doing.
All I know is that it feels wonderful.
He kisses my center, tongue slicing through my folds, and licking deep. My toes curl and my eyes roll back as he thrusts inside me, slick and hot. The ache between my thighs grows. My essence drips onto the bed beneath us, but I can’t be bothered.
His tongue is rough against my sensitive folds. My pleasure crests making my back arch as my muscles clench. Fists clench sheets. My core clenches around his tongue.
Lying back onto the bed, all the tension melts out of my body as bliss blankets my mind. Grady’s arms bracket my head, his hips sliding between mine until the tip of his length rubs against my slit.
“Every second I’m not inside you feels like dying,” he whispers into my ear.
He presses his hips forward until I take every last inch. There’s a small moment of pain as my body adjusts to his, but then when he withdraws pleasure races along my walls.
“Bring me to life, Rose.”
Clinging to his shoulders, my hands slipping along his arms with heat pulsing through my core all I can do is hang on to him. Dizzying waves of pleasure ripple through me, suns burst behind my eyelids, and my entire body shakes.
I whisper his name and he moans above me. Warmth fills me as his length twitches in spurts. His dark eyes lock with mine as he settles his weight over me.
“Do you still want your own room?” he asks with a lazy smile.
He’s entirely too confident. I should lie or demure to tamp down his ego, but I can’t bring myself to do either.
“Hell, no.”
He kisses my smile until I melt against him. His length slips out soft and spent, but it’s not long before he’s nudging my thighs apart and sinking into me once again.
Later when Grady’s breathing deepens and sleep claims him easily, I slip from the bed. The basin water is cool against myskin as I wash, for once not avoiding my own reflection in the mirror.
I’m the same woman I have always been. The uneven line along my jaw, the tightened skin that pulls when I smile. I trace it with my fingers, for once not mourning a different face.
I think of Grady’s mouth against my skin, of the way his hands held me. As if I were not broken or ruined or less than whole.
I smile, testing the movement. The skin pulls. It always will. It just no longer bothers me.
Rose
Morning comes softly.
Sunlight spills through the thin curtains, pale and tentative, as if it is testing whether it is welcome. I lie still for a moment, listening to the sounds of the house. The creak of floorboards. The faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen. Grady moving with the unhurried confidence of a man already at home in his life.
There is no panic waiting for me.No regret.
That alone feels like a small miracle.
By the time we lock the front door behind us and walk toward the store, Porterville is just beginning to stir. A wagon rattles down the street. A man sweeps dust from his porch. The town smells faintly of earth and wood smoke.
Widow Winthrop is waiting on her porch as if she has been watching for us.
Her hair is gray and pinned back tight, her spine straight despite her years. She takes me in at a glance, her eyes lingering only a moment before her expression softens.
“Well,” she says briskly. “If it isn’t Mr. and Mrs. McKinnon.”
“Yes ma’am,” Grady replies easily.
“You must be Rose,” she says, stepping down from the porch. “I’m glad you’ve come.”
