Page 78 of Rory Rides Her Fake Fiancé
I shrug. “Sometimes I think there’s something about the shape of the valley and the way the wind blows through it. But I’ve heard—or maybe felt is a better word—the song of this place.” I pause, a tub of hummus in my hands, and look out over the valley. “There’s something that calls to people here. It might be a song. Something we can’t really hear, but feel.”
I take the lid off the hummus and set it down on the blanket. Then I fish out a bag of pita chips and tear it open. “Anyway, the lodge was opened in the sixties as an attempt to revive tourism in the Catskills, and the legends persisted enough to stick it with the name.”
Rory raises an eyebrow. “And the rest is history?”
I grin. “Exactly.”
We eat our meal and watch the way the sun plays over the valley. I finish my beer, and so does Rory. She cracks open the last two and hands me one. I pack up the leftovers and crawl around to sit behind her. She leans against me, my spread knees caging her in. She rests her left hand on my knee, and the diamond glows in the warm light.
“Where did you get this ring?”
I smile into her hair. I’m surprised it took so long to ask, but Rory hasn’t exactly been as open to me as she is now—or as inquisitive. “It was my grandmother’s.”
Rory’s quiet a beat and then sits bolt upright. “Wait, what? Your grandmother’s?”
I lean back on one hand, smirking at her. “Yeah.”
“Morgan . . .” She stares at me. “Is this diamond real?”
“Yup.”
“You put a family heirloom on the finger of a total stranger? Do I want to know how much this is worth?”
“Yes and no.”
“Morgan. What the hell? You trust me with this?”
The question sobers me, and I give her the brutally honest answer. “I trust you with a lot of things, Rory Fox.” Like my heart.
Rory
* * *
I launch myself at Morgan and he catches me with a grunt, banding an arm around my waist and meeting my kiss with as much ferocity as I give him. He sits us up straighter as I climb into his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck and squeezing his hips with my knees.
The air is cooling but he’s like a furnace underneath me, his mouth hot and hard and taking long, slow pulls from mine. We’re drinking each other, much like we did with the beers, and I think, ha, best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.
My hands move from Morgan’s hair to his face, cupping his jaw and enjoying the bristle of his scruff against my palms. Morgan’s hands move under my shirt, spots of heat sweeping around until I’m pulled tight against him. I widen my legs and press our groins together.
We both moan.
“We’re alone up here, right?”
“Yeah,” he says, barely pulling his mouth away from mine. “You can be as loud as you want. As loud as I’m going to make you.”
My belly flips and we resume kissing. I grind against his erection, my rocking building more and more until I run out of room and push Morgan down onto the blanket. He goes willingly, eyes sparkling up at me. “Please tell me you want to sit on my face again.”
“I had other things in mind.” I brace myself over him and kiss him again.
“Oh?” he says between kisses.
“Yeah. I have a condom.”
He laughs and I accidentally kiss his teeth. “I do too. We can do both things.”
I move down his body, since I’m on top. We pull the Henley over his head, giving me access to the smooth expanse of his chest. I kiss the tattoos, enjoying the way his chest rises and falls with every hitch of his breath.
“Rory . . .” he mutters when I get to his belt and start to undo it. I pull and he lifts his hips and the moment his clothes are down far enough I suck the head of his cock into my mouth. “Jesus. Fuck!”
