Page 93 of When There Was You
He drives all the way in, and then it’s just us, joined at our centers, our gazes, our hearts.
Butch moves with raw, magnetizing strength, his muscles flexing, undulating under my fingers. With each piston of his hips, he steals my breath.
My legs widen, beckoning him closer.
Fill me, obliterate me, own me.
Our bodies create new music, writing a melody never heard before and finding a rhythm that eclipses everything…my pain, my heart, maybe my soul.
Something shifts.
It’s then I realize: We’re not fucking.
We’re making love.
Forty-Seven
Butch and I revel in the aftermath. The air is heavy with unsaid words.
“Sundance?”he whispers.
“Hmm?”
“Say you’re mine.”
A languid smile unfurls. “I’m yours.”
“Glad that’s settled.”
I chuckle and grip him tighter.
He groans near my ear. “I don’t want to leave…but we should probably get back.”
“M’kay.”
He pushes up with those strong arms, and our sweaty bodies stick to each other like they aren’t ready to part either. The affection in his eyes strikes my chest like a meteor, setting off a blinding happiness that threatens to crater my soul and light the world.
His lips find mine, ardent but controlled, before he slowly pulls out of me. As he fetches a towel from the bathroom, I admire his glorious backside—everything from his broad back to how it tapers into a toned ass, leading to those burly legs.
We clean up and get dressed, camouflagingour clandestine tryst, then walk the path, hands clasped, back to his parents’ house.
The skies darken,signaling I should head back to Richmond. I have to work tomorrow and still need to call my parents. Although Jerri offered to let me use her phone, I declined. It’s long-distance, plus I didn’t want to risk upsetting myself. Talking to my mom and dad is always a crap shoot.
Butch’s grandparents have already departed, and Liz and Dan are corralling their kids to leave too. I’m standing with Butch and his parents in the kitchen, and Jerri’s attempting to send me home with leftovers.
“That’s nice of you to offer, but?—”
“Better just do what she wants,” Butch interrupts. “Don’t want to get on her bad side.”
His mother shoots me a pointed look, her brows raised in challenge, as if her son knows what he’s talking about.
I accept her offering with a grateful smile. “Today has been wonderful. Thank you, really, for the best Thanksgiving I’ve ever had.”
Surprise crosses Jerri’s face. “It was our pleasure, Jacqui. And if you’re free next Saturday, we’d love you to join us for cookie day. We get all the ladies together and bake and decorate an unholy amount of Christmas cookies. Some we give to the shut-ins nearby, folks who are elderly or sick and can’t get out much. It’s a Hamilton tradition.”
I don’t sense this is lip service from his mother. She wants me around. And something about this annual cookie-a-thon also hits me hard—but what, I’m not sure. “That sounds wonderful.”
Emmy careens into the kitchen, her socks sliding on the hardwoods. “Are you leaving?” she asks, a touch breathless.
