I close my eyes and give myself over to the sensation of the moment. My body is completely electrified. His drenched fingers slip up my dress, along my bare flesh, until he finds my bra. He slips underneath a cup and plays with the nipple. I feel the pull throughout my body.
“I can feel you close to the edge, Addie,” Zander grits out before a low moan rips from his throat. “You’re clenching so hard around me.”
I pant, hard. I can’t catch my breath as our bodies move together. His hips slap against my ass, the sound echoing.
“Zander.” I breathe. I’m so out of body, it barely even sounds like his name. “I can’t—please.”
I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
Somehow he does.
He grinds into me, hitting a spot I never would have thought was possible. I let out a strangled cry.
“Can I come inside you?” he asks, kissing my neck.
“Yes.”
The word gives us permission to explode. He strokes erratically as he empties himself inside me. I fall back against him as my body turns to rubber. He lowers us to the ground, his back against the darkened glass of the balcony, my head on his chest.
“I’ve never…” I can’t finish the sentence.
“I know.” His chest heaves as much as mine. “Sorry, I ruined your dress.”
I look down at the black fabric, the inside dotted with the white of his cum, still leaking out of me. I shrug.
“This makes it better.”
Somewhere in the recesses of my brain, a tinny, scratching noise registers. I look up from where I’m cradled against Zander’s body and laugh. His head snaps up.
“Lucy,” he whispers and face palms.
“Poor girl had to witness that through stick-on stained glass. Which, hey, were you inspired by someone?”
“Do I need to ruin more of your clothes to prove just how inspiring you are?” he asks.
“No, thank you,” I say. I get up on my knees, crawl until I find my underwear, then stuff it into a pocket of my dress. “Should we go eat?” He smirks. “Some actual food, this time.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Adelaide
“What do you think?” Brianna asks as I’m checking out all my holds that came in at the same time. “I’m picturing a partnership with Beaver Tales. They already have all your books so we could sell them here, and also have a table for people to check them out.”
“I’ve never taught writing before,” I say, adding eight books to my already stuffed tote bag. “I don’t even know if I know how.”
She shrugs, then adds a stack of books on the desk into the book cart next to her. “Think about it, okay? It’d be fun to set something up for the fall.”
“I will, thanks,” I say.
“You could even bring your author boyfriend with you,” she adds with a little smirk, “teach the class together.”
I laugh and wave as I walk off, shoulder weighed down by all the books.
I do think about it. Teaching with Zander sounds nice. I can picture us working together, talking about what works for us andhow people can apply that to their own writing lives. The only question is: would anyone in townwantto learn from him?
I’ve heard some rumblings from the town council. Rumours fly. Everyone thinks they know who Zander is. I’ve caught snippets of gossip at the library, the bakery, the ice cream shop, even the bathroom at The Dam Drunkard. They all go quiet when they notice me.
They think I don’t know Jordan Porter, the bitter old man who's furious he lost the town's mayoral race to a woman a couple years ago, is heading the witch hunt against my boyfriend. It’s his newest unhinged cause.
