I’m already counting until the next time I can see him.
6
River
Saturday? Who in the hell am I kidding? I last three days before I’m hitting my limit. Three days of pacing my cabin like a caged animal, feeling like my skin is too tight, like I might crawl right out of it if I don’t see Daliah soon. Three days of fisting my cock enough times to risk actual injury, her name on my lips bouncing repeatedly off the walls, the memory of her soft sounds playing on a loop in my head.
Even if I had that kind of strength, that kind of patience, there’s no telling what I’d do the moment I set my eyes on her again. I’ve imagined it a hundred ways.
Pinning her against my truck door while everyone’s distracted at the market, her gasps lost in the crowd noise. Having her pressed into the grass somewhere private, her golden hair spread out beneath her. The fantasies blur together, each one ending the same way. With my name rolling off her tongue, and her pussy putting my cock out of its misery.
The more I thought about it, the weaker I became. So I shot her a message about checking out her beehives early in the morning after another restless night—a flimsy excuse, sure. Even if I had to beg her to accept, I’d do it. Fuck, I need to see her.
When my phone finally buzzes in the middle of the afternoon, it’s pitiful how quickly I swipe it up. I’m in the middle of mixing molten hot jam, sugar bubbling at dangerous temperatures, and I don’t even hesitate. Don’t even think about the risk.
Her address lights up my screen with a list of directions in case I get lost. The best response she could’ve given.
That’s what has me rushing through my work, sloppier than I’ve been in years, making a hell of a mess that’ll need hours to clean later. I don’t care. I need to see her. I make myself a promise—one more painful hour of separation before I can visit—and then I’m hurrying along, burning my finger on a stray splash of jam and barely feeling it. The pain’s worth it. Every second of delay is agony, but the anticipation is something else entirely.
Soon enough, I’m grabbing my keys and shooting her a warning that I’m on my way.
The drive is a blur of trees and gravel and my own ragged breathing. And then I realize—she’s close. Only a mile away, down a winding road I’ve passed a hundred times without knowing. She’d always been within my reach, sleeping and living and existing just over the ridge, and I never knew.
That’s going to torture me for a lifetime. All those months of watching the calendar as I waited for spring to roll around, aching for her, and she was right here. Now I’m going to have to work on making up for all that lost time.
I’m not going to be able to stay away for long periods. That much is clear already. Hell, she’ll have to tell me to stay awaynow if she wants me out of her life. Because I’m not leaving on my own. Not ever.
Her cabin comes into view—small, charming, tucked into the trees as if it grew there. And there she is, stepping onto the porch, and I almost swerve off the road.
Another dress. This one’s different—lighter, softer, something floral that skims her body in ways that make my mouth go dry. Her hair’s down, still slightly damp at the ends, and she’s barefoot on the wooden steps. She looks like something out of a dream. Like someone I invented because reality couldn’t possibly be this good.
I’m stumbling out of the truck as soon as it’s parked, hunger clawing through my chest, my legs carrying me toward her like they have a mind of their own. I grab the jar from my passenger seat on the way—complimentary jam, I’d told myself, a gift for letting me visit.
Right now, it feels like the stupidest idea I’ve ever had, because who cares about jam when she’s standing right there?
“Hi.” Her voice is soft and shy, and she’s looking at me like she’s been counting the days, too. Eagerly following me as I climb the stairs leading up to her porch.
“Hi.” I hold up the jar, suddenly awkward. “Brought you this. Hope you like mixed berries.”
She giggles, those gray eyes twinkling with amusement. “Finally, I get to try it. I’m looking forward to it.”
Sounding like she’s been waiting for a lifetime, I wish I had offered to give her one sooner.
She takes it, our fingers brushing, and doesn’t pull away. “Come in. I can give you a tour of the hives soon—they’re just out back. But I’m in the middle of cleaning up.” She steps back, holding the door open. “You can take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.”
I step inside. Her cabin is warm, cluttered in the best way—books stacked on tables, dried flowers hanging from hooks, the faint sweetness of honey in every breath. It’s cozy, giving me an insight into who this woman really is.
Her living space reveals more and more about her as I look around. Drifting to her couch, I notice pictures on the wall. More golden-haired people of different ages, probably siblings if I have to guess. Her parents, too. I hope to meet them all one day.
She’s moving around me, gathering things, tidying up, and I notice she’s pink. A flush creeping up her neck, spreading across her cheeks, that’s continuing to grow the longer I watch her.
I can’t help myself. She’s like a magnet that keeps my gaze glued to her. The way she’s moving, it’s more like pacing. Almost like she’s nervous.
She passes by so close, and I reach out without thinking. My hand circles her wrist, gentle but firm, stopping her. She looks at me, her blush now full, devastating and beautiful, her eyes wide.
“Have you been thinking about it too?” My voice is rough. “The kisses.”
She nods just once, but it’s enough. That’s why she’s moving around? She’s got nothing to get worked up about. Hell, I’ll be upfront with my feelings if it makes her feel more comfortable.
