Her breath softened. "It's… beautiful."
We sat together in the quiet, watching the moonlight wash over the fields. The barns. The fences. The place that would be our future. She saw everything with new eyes, and because of that, I saw it fresh again, too. Eventually, I pointed toward a distant rise, silhouetted against the sky.
"Dad said we could build a house there," I murmured. "For us. Big enough for all of us. A place that's just ours."
She tilted her head, thoughtful.
"Is that what you want?" she asked softly.
I brushed my thumb across her cheek. "I want you to be happy, sweetheart."
She looked back at the warm lights of the big house behind us—'Mom's curtains glowing softly, Dad's boots by the door with Molly's boots right next to them.
"Can… can we all live together?" she asked. "In this house? Or is that too much for your parents?"
I smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that. We always lived together. Even when my grandparents were alive. It's the Griffin way."
She nodded. "Together," she whispered. "I like that."
The word settled over us like a blessing.
Together.
I looked at her, my future wife, wrapped in my mother's quilt, with moonlight in her hair and home in her eyes, and something mischievous sparked deep in my chest. I leaned closer. "You know…" I murmured, brushing my lips against her ear, "they're all asleep."
She swallowed.
"So?" she whispered.
A grin tugged at my mouth.
"You want me to show you the hay barn?"
Her breath caught, but the smile she gave me could have lit the whole Montana sky.
We crossed the pasture beneath a river of stars, the grass black and sparkling with dew. I took her hand and led her into the barn. Inside, the hayloft was cavernous and warm, taking in the moonlight through knotholes and cracks, painting everything in a patchwork of silver and soft gold. We climbed the ladder in silence, my hand never letting go of hers, even as we reached the top and she stumbled on the last rung. I caught her, spun her lightly, and she stifled a giggle against the sleeve of my flannel shirt.
I took her face in both hands and kissed her, slow and searching, the dust motes swirling around us like the inside of a snow globe. My lips traced the edge of her jaw, tasting the salt of her skin, feeling the little pulse at her throat as it fluttered under my tongue. She reachedfor my shirt, untucking it with steady hands, and I helped, shucking my flannel and undershirt in a tangle.
She was losing her shyness a little bit more every time we made love. Cautiously and deliberately, her hands roamed over my chest, like she meant to memorize every part of me. I did the same, following the rise and fall of her ribs, my fingers brushed across her shoulders and forearms, the fine blond down at the base of her neck. She gasped when I kissed the hollow below her collarbone, and again when my hands learned the secret softness of her waist.
I stopped for a moment to drape the quilt she had brought over the hay and then kissed her again. She opened up to me with such vigor, it made me dizzy. I still had a hard time believing that this amazing woman had chosen me. But I wouldn't question it; instead, I would use every day of my life to live up to what she seemed to see in me.
"Lie back," I told her, and she did. The moonlight reflected in her eyes, and she watched me as I unbuttoned her blouse, slow, catching the shiver of her pulse at the hollow of her throat. The fabric parted, frame by frame, her collarbones, sharp as table edges; the rise of her breasts under the chemise; the first, soft glint of a nipple through thin cotton. I kissed every inch as I uncovered it, hungry to taste her everywhere.
She tried to hide a gasp when my mouth closed over the tip, tongue flicking gently, then firmer. Her backarched straight off the quilt when I kissed lower, memorizing every gasp, every sound, every part of her: the slope of her ribs, the small, hollowed places the war had left, the line of the scar she wore half-hidden by her side. I lingered there, pressing my lips to it, and whispered, "Beautiful." She made a sound that could have been a laugh, or a sob, or both.
I tugged her skirt down her hips, then her underwear. I kissed down her belly, following the fine dusting of dark hair that arrowed between her legs. I would've gone slow, but I couldn't help it: some primitive thing inside me needed to taste her, right now. I pressed my mouth to her core and licked, soft at first, then deeper and firmer, savoring the way she jolted and her knees flew up around my ears. She tasted like salt and sweetness, like nothing I'd ever had before her, and all at once, I was ravenous for everything she'd give me. Her hands tangled in my hair, her knees were trembling around my ears, every breath a broken prayer.
"Oh God," she said, and it wasn't cursing. "Gideon—don't stop, please?—"
I didn't. I held her hips and tongued her clit, first in circles, then with quick, steady pressure, like learning an instrument by ear. She stiffened, her whole body drew taut, and then she came, loud, sudden, and unrestrained. I felt the wet pulse of it against my tongue, the shudder wracking her frame. I wanted to make her come again, and again, until the memory of every bad night was wiped out by this.
But she pulled at me, insistent, desperate, dragging my face up to hers with greedy hands. "Come here," she demanded, and I liked that side of her. I kicked off my pants, careful not to crowd her, but she pulled me in, legs wrapping my waist. She reached for me, bold in a way that turned my brain to static. "I want you," she whispered. "I want all of you."
"You have me." I lined myself up, pressing just the tip inside, and waited for her to tense. She didn't. She just tipped her chin up and looked at me like she'd drown if I left her now.
I pushed in, slow as I could, until her heat closed around me and the world dropped away. The tightness was almost painful, but she took it, her nails digging into my skin, her mouth open in wonder. I could barely hold off, every instinct screaming to bury myself in her, but I made myself go slow, to work her open, to memorize every angle of her face as pleasure took her over.
